The Erotic Space | The Book Club final chapter

1983 Madonna by Steven Meisel

Before you get any boudoir like ideas about how erotic my current space actually looks, or how I look, I will tell you I am typing this from my desk which also contains five to ten notebooks, journals and diaries all of them in use, a teddy bear, also in use, a water bottle, a stack of laminated vision board cards (not as frequently consulted as I want to), hand-cream, three pencil cases, an inspirational photo of my 40th birthday and I remember being slightly disappointed because I did not think I had my ideal body, where I can see now a woman in killer shape.
And I m wearing a towel covering a coconut hair mask.
Right now; Not on my fortieth birthday where I had gorgeous blonde mane, which contained no grey hair not even underneath the dye.

I am writing you from a space where only the memory of size 8 times past, and the future vision of card decks to come are alive. You would be hard pressed to find anything erotic.
Yet as soon as I heard of the word or concept “erotic space”, I knew it was a key element in defining my art, my writing, my sexuality.
But also my yoga, the way I talk, how I teach or coach or perhaps the reason why I don’t teach or coach.
Erotic space, and the necessity of it in my life, can explain for all of my likes (erotic space present) and dislikes (erotic space absent).

And here behind my desk on a Tuesday in November, writing the final chapter for The Book Club, the erotic space is present.
It is in the freedom to put words to this day.
To mark it as special.
To have a plan for it, which is here right before me, and to then abandon it.
Instead of doing research for two areas of my art where I from now on want to get my fingers in on a daily basis, I am writing.

The erotic space, why it is so rare, why people forget to pay attention to it, or fail to put it high on their list of wants or – like I now know – their list of needs, is first and foremost;

Space in itself is already highly erotic, although in theory it can be taken up very rapidly by things not erotic at all.
But more on that later.

So space, is the basis of erotic space.

Having a date to have sex is not erotic space.
Having a date to be together and talk over the day, connect, see how the other is, is not erotic space.
Knowing you will buy a toy and unpack it together is not erotic space.
Writing a chapter knowing what the different elements will be is not erotic space.
Dedicating time to doing daily research of two areas of your art is not erotic space.

A long time ago I knew the ending for a book. I knew the theme, I knew the plot. It is the only book or topic I never did anything for.
Because there was no space, so there was no erotic space either.

Everything that is dedicated (to anything other than “let’s just see what happens”); Everything that is planned, plotted, and intended does not have space, and is therefor not erotic space.

I will start inserting the disclaimer that this is a personal experience;
To me, those things are cramped, confided, forced, dead, or fake.
And therefor I can’t do it.

Or I could, but I would never get the same “out of it” as others seem to get (I presume), and I have a low tolerance towards those activities.
It would come with a high cost of energy and will-power and probably a lot of recovery time, mental processing time and so on.
For me, the benefits of doing those things rarely outweigh their cost.

I will give you an example.
A wedding is planned out, and the outcome is fixed. There is no room for anybody to not have a good day, to not be at their best, and so on.
There is no erotic space in a wedding.
A regular party is also still reasonably fixed, although far less than a wedding. Therefor there could be erotic space at a regular party.
I presume erotic parties would have a lot of space to fill in the way you like, so they have erotic space.
But quite unexpectedly, and certainly a lot cheaper, I would say the most erotic space can be found with parties or get togethers which are not planned, or planned at very short notice.
There are no expectations, and anything rolls, giving spontaneous parties or gatherings the most erotic space of all.

You can extend this analogy to relationships, but also to your work, or to making art. You can extend it to how you raise your children, to how you meet your friends, but also to how you relate to your family.
In all of those areas, the more outcomes that are fixed?
The more mental-states, feelings, impulses, ideas, and stories are beforehand excluded.
The more it is dead.

Erotic space is therefor first and foremost an awareness, appreciation, and a deliberate creation of space.
A choice for the unknown, for infinite possibilities, for mysticism, for the untold.
I have called it the world between worlds.

It is from here that everything, and I would say “by nature of its sheer right of being there”, is erotic.
There are no longer boundaries, to anything.
There is only the being in this space, where automatically creation begins.

Creation of feelings.
Creation of experiences.
Creation of visions.
Creation of what we could call the “fine arts”, except they re not the fine arts, because that would be defining and binding it.

Sometimes you can bring something from this space, outside of it.
A painting, a book, a memory.
But way more often, the moment you have left the bubble of where it was created, the very thing you thought of bringing with you, dies.

Just like the love between two people can be very alive in their first months together when they have ignored their agendas, their earthly duties, and live inside this bubble;
But when they bring it outside and come out as a couple it dies.
The only way to bring it back, is to create the bubble:
And not by repeating the things you did, when you were in the bubble.

Doing the things people do, or which you did, when you were in the bubble, does not create the bubble, the space, the erotic space.

Writing daily does not bring you where the Called Ones are writing automatically every day because they can’t not.

Having sex every day does not bring you where the lovers go automatically and spend every waking minute exploring each others bodies and mind, laughing, making up games, creating their own vocabulary and nourish their own fresh memories from how they met.

Planning a party every week does not bring you where people just naturally flock together and someone gets a six-pack of beer, and another suggests pizzas, and a meetup at 4 P.M. turns into a bonfire and singing Irish songs together.

But creating space can bring you there.

Whether the space is then occupied with people needing to share their thoughts, the heavy energy of grief, discontent, despair.
Of lover’s quarreling over who’s fault it is the relationship doesn’t work.

Or whether that space is filled with eroticism, creation, lights, laughter, or all those things we all want it to be?

That is beyond our control, because you cannot stop the first, the what-you-don’t-wants, to whip and kick the latter into existence into your bubble.
You can’t will the eroticism into your space.

So all you have to do, but also all you can do, to be as often as possible in the erotic space;
Is to create as much space as possible.
In your work, your agenda, your friendships, and in the relationship with your lover.
Leave AS MUCH as you can open, by deleting everything that has a contracted, limiting, or even dead energy around it.
Let go.
And go.
And go.

And then just see what happens.

An unexamined life is not worth living


the Book Club: Demons and Daemons

You just read part 1, my column.

Today’s chapter below, is the final chapter from my novella Demons and Daemons .
Bringing an end to our time together, and this series.

The Book Club and the novella Demons and Daemons, will be published together, as “A Map Into Unknown”
The best way to stay in touch, and be informed when it’s ready, is to subscribe to this blog.
The button is somewhere on this page, probably on the top right corner.


Chapter 12, Untitled Notes from Lauren #11

COMMITTED (a happy ending)

day 20, Saturday August 1

I have a sign in the bathroom of my yoga studio.
Yes- I still have my yoga space.
Even though I ve retired as a yoga teacher and am no longer teaching friends either, because of Covid.
For the time being I m keeping it on as a space for my own private practice, and who knows I will really start connecting to it again, and feel that it is a part of me.
A place of power.
A place of history.
But right now, in summer (there were some issues with the heating, which makes it hard to look into the future and know if I ll keep it) I ll keep it.
It’s a nice and cool place to practice, so it’s ideal.
Today, the first of August, I studied the sign at the door of the toilet.
It has about 30+ meme like sentences.
And I decided to pick one every day, so it will be my private yoga theme for August.
The first one was:
“Find a passion and pursue it”
And I immediately thought about something I had read this morning, in a book on Vincent van Gogh.
That Vincent had struggled finding his place in life, and he would continue to do so (his brother supported him) BUT!
The moment he ceased his search to earn a living and become successful with another profession and commit to his art instead, a weight was lifted from his shoulders.
He started developing himself really quickly and his work would never have reached the height it did, if he had stayed stuck in trying to be something he wasn’t.
I have been less deliberate in choosing the path of a writer, and certainly not at age 27, because I wasn’t a writer then.
Although the professor who had supervised my thesis, had saved my emails and had printed them and gave them back to me when I got my diploma.
He had really enjoyed reading them, and wanted me to reread them some time.
Aside from diary writing and correspondence, I didn’t start writing until the year we broke up our long-term relationship.
We had been together for 14 years, and in 2006 it would strand and I would also start writing.
Just like my relationship had lasted 14 years, the existence or this work under my pen name LS Harteveld, also became difficult after 14 years.
This summer I have made some drastic changes one of them is that I write here under my real name Suzanne,
and that LS Harteveld (Lauren) is living in 1995 and writing offline.
This means (among other things) that I will never write online about my life, in particular my love life.
Online diary writing or erotic story writing has ended –
and with that LS Harteveld is now far less active/ current than it used to be.
In the end that was really all there was to it;
A shift from online writing to offline writing for LS Harteveld.
But I didn’t know that beforehand!
There have also been times when I thought this summer was the moment to stop writing for this account LS Harteveld entirely, and delete all the blogs.
It all worked out differently.
I m curating the blog, and I m also – almost automatically – writing for this account daily.
It costs me hours and hours, but it are stories that I really want to tell.
And I also write for my other account under my real name.
So I read this first sentence on the sign on my door:
Find a passion and pursue it.
I read how much good choosing for his art did for Vincent.
I have a daily practice of writing for two different accounts.
I am looking for a part-time job in manufacturing, or cleaning;
Something that has me up and walking, instead of sitting.
Something that doesn’t require any mental bandwidth.
But most of all;
Something that saves me from myself.
So that for like 24 hours or so a week, I DO NOT write.
I DO NOT think.
I do not drive myself mad, I do not “sit behind my typewriter and bleed” as Ernest Hemingway called it.
So this summer, for the very first time, I had consciously put all those building blocks in place, accepting the inevitable:
That I am a writer.
And yet; I had not committed.
And yet: I had not pursued.
I had treated Writing as some unwanted force in my life.
Like a life event or an all-consuming job that you didn’t voluntarily choose.
And for the first time I had designed my life around it.
My life was now crafted around the inevitable fact that I was a writer.
My PASSION, the thing I had automatically started doing when my partner and me split up, the thing that had taken the place of my partner immediately –
and even before we had decided to split, oh how symbolic-
that passion, Writing, had become:
The inevitable.
An all consuming and unwanted force.
An all-consuming job that I didn’t voluntarily choose.
The combination of the choice from Vincent van Gogh for his art, and the first sentence on that sign (Find your passion and pursue it) made me realize I wanted more for my writing, my purpose, my faithful companion since 2006, than to grudgingly be allowed to exist.
So from this day forward, till death do us part:
I CHOOSE you writing.
Muse that has come under different names and different shapes.
Muse that has always given me more ideas than I can possibly process or execute in this lifetime.
You are the bringer of plenty, that much is certain.
I choose you for better, for worse,
for richer or for poorer,
in sickness and in health,
to love and to cherish,
’til death do us part.
I do.

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About The Book Club

In The Book Club you can find:
– a post
– and one Chapter of my novella Demons and Daemons.

These Book Club posts will form a new book, “A Map Into Unknown”
Covering a journey of three weeks into darkness (Demons and Daemons)
and the rest of 2020, finding my way back to the light!


Books LS Harteveld/ Lauren

Lauren’s books are available at LULU
New books will also be added to Lulu, as sites are being curated.

Nederlands blog: