Illustration: Mother of Worlds By Sandro Kopp

Did Your Mom Come Too?

By The Planet Waves Staff


I imagine my father came like Ixion,
in a cloud of sensation.
proudly seduced by tendrils of need.

My mother came too,
through the illusion of her body.
seeding her soul,
crying with lightening fire her will for life.

I am their sacred creation,
fallen from the sky at sunset.
their double-spiraled legacy whispers in my blood,
a secret rain of dark proteins and alleles.

I am their cosmic child,
an ephemeral daughter.
smoldering fire and lost waters,
a necessary madness.

Denice Taylor


I THINK IT'S imperative that we break the taboo of talking about sex with our parents. It is part of why we, as a culture, have such a fucked-up relationship with sex (pardon the pun). Prudish sexual behavior is a dis-function of the wealthy. Do you think there was any privacy in the hovels, huts, tents and other one-room living situations of yore? Hell no! Kids were conceived within hearing range of not just their kids, but the whole village! I would imagine as a parent of older kids (wouldn't know right now, mine's only five) that it would be very hard to have a relationship with someone when a whole piece of you (that is the Woman, as opposed to the Mother) is forced to be sanitized or omitted. My family (for all its pious Catholicism) is very open about its sexuality. Probably partially because we are very matriarchal and all the women in our family have a pretty strong sex drive. And as a woman, to think that your desire is hereditary instead of weird is a great gift.



hi, i'm writing in a fog state, but these past two weeks, i've been feeling a child inside of me, i keep rubbing my belly and feel this warmth, i dreamt of her the other night ('in a great ring of pure and endless light') and i was in new york city, in a fenced in playground/park somewhere in manhattan, there was an obstacle course of logs, some were burning with flames high up around me and i walked along the ones that weren't burning, i was good at it, confident in my balance, and i passed around the flames, balancing with ease.

at the end of this path there was a baby, she wasn't mine, but like a niece, i picked her up and we held each other so close, she held me back tight, light skin, blond curls, and there was warmth and comfort and i just wanted someone to hold me for so long

giovanna coppola


I remember, when I was nine or ten, asking my mother, as she took a bath what "fuck" meant. She described the act in total simplicity without any romanticism and remarked matter-of-factly that it felt really good. She and my father were married about four years before I was born. I suspect she came. I'm sure I came when I had sex to make my sons but I don't think any of these orgasms occurred during conception. And although I at times feel I'm "all that" as my students would say, I can state without any doubt that orgasms in these situations didn't give me a happy childhood or help my parents understand how to love me. My own children are loved but they are children of divorce now (it's been three years) and I don't know how much attention they've missed because the hurt and change and upheaval we've all gone through. Conception is the start, it's the seed getting planted, there are no promises made about the weather, etc.

Sex is such a powerful force--I think most people are conceived in something resembling a type of love or desire. The Kabbalah has lots of thoughts on this--and on the mother's emotions during pregnancy. My marriage became more clearly unloving during my second pregnancy. My younger son, as an infant, was very clingy and even now has difficulty calming himself. My ex and I both still adore him--he is a wonderful kid. He's incredibly perceptive--but kids really are, their understanding is colored by their limited experience though. He's also passionate and lively. I don't know if that's from the intention behind his birth, my sexual response or just him.

Even though I was able to ask my mom what fucking was she wasn't able to explain to me how sexual attraction--which is wonderful and leads to that great feeling (alone or with the right partner)--works its way out in relationships. (I think it creates a stress in male-female relationships--but I have this idealized wish for a really profound friendship with a man.) Last year, when I worked at Venice High School I used to listen to a particular group of male teachers talk about relationships and power--they wanted to make sure they had the power--O.K. PWVision males, perhaps you can enlighten me or explain if what I understand is correct. It was a revelation to me, last year when I realized that it must be very frustrating for a man to see a woman and get a hard-on. It doesn't seem to me to be something that is controllable (now consider that I made this realization while working at a high school and imagine a large portion of the girls dressed like Brittany Spears--this being LA and all. It's my understanding that the suggestive dress isn't even necessary for the boner reaction--but that's how it was in that environment.) I think sexual response puts men at a disadvantage and that's why they rule the world! My old therapist (wise old Kabbalist) put it this way: a good woman can turn a bad man good and a bad woman can make a good man bad and that's what makes women so scary. I wish I knew how to deal with this. I think men and women becoming friends would make the world more peaceful (make love not war!)



I can't ask my mother if she came when my father fucked her, probably his first time, one lonely June night 1963 Vermont at the edge of many trees and I was conceived. But I can imagine. I imagine the sex was cold and mechanical, fumbling scared unfree, interminable, I imagine she got brave and did the one thing she wanted to do, pull back her knees she pulls back her knees in a terrifying gesture of admitting to wanting to be fucked, not just willing, she longs for one deep thrust her first deep thrust yearns with all her heart and my father does it unwilling afraid now surrendering there is one conscious thought of free yielding and loses control of himself so fast he has no idea what is happening this is his first orgasm he is 23 my mother crys out her sweet dark jealous throat and is fucked in one stroke, penetrated, pierced pulled wide the vulva lips tight and she so so so lives the tension and throbs forth her climax like a violent stunning clap of sky within herself fucked fucked fucked in her breath sobbing out no words. semen rushes in her and overflows she tips her pelvis up like a pitcher to keep herself full



Well, it's sort of one of those "words fail" moments. It was July 4, 1996, about three months after we started dating long distance. I met Kevin and my best friend and her boyfriend for a camping/canoe trip that weekend. It was also the weekend that I decided not to go back to my second job because they refused to give me any full weekends off. Possibly one of the very first adult limits I ever set for myself.

The inside of our tent was getting very warm in the morning sun and we were still at the very beginning of our long-distance relationship, which means that being in physical presence of each other meant we were both ravenous for each other. I was just finishing my period, so I had declared myself "safe". It was that lovely sort of you're-really-here-and-I-have-so-much-pent-up-hormones sort of very fun and present sex. We were looking in each other's eyes for most of it. I just remember the feeling when we came that it was sort of like another dimension opened up and it was like being dropped into the center of an energetic tornado. I remember we laughed. And I knew then. We floated down the river all day and later watched the fireworks from a nearby town over the treetops in silence. A wonderful conception, if rather inopportune timing.



The day my parents came, maybe even together, they lived in an apartment near the Tar Pits (the the Tar Tar Pits when you translate the Spanish correctly). They lived in an apartment on land once roamed by wooly mammoths, giant sloths and saber-toothed tigers; they lived on land once covered by ocean; they lived on land full of gas and tar! I imagine that night they came together that there was an open window and out of it danced and flowed Beethoven's 7th.

Perhaps my grandfather had visited them earlier that day and played violin. It is not cliche violin-strings-tug-heartstrings. I imagine I -- an ephemeral spirit exploring a city of angels--I heard that song, that joy and love from inside that room where music was cherished. And I returned that evening? Afternoon? Night? To be with the people who let the music of such a great soul out their window and onto the streets and around the corners. I must have known there was something special there. But for all their love of music, my parents, like Beethoven, were troubled. And my parents, who I suspect were quite physically passionate at one time, made music that didn't last. But I have!

Kathy -- all history is story


Your daddy and I were sharing an old two-story Iowa farmhouse south of Oskaloosa with your aunt and uncle. The three of them would paint houses during the day and I would provide childcare for your cousins.

I was tired. We were all tired. Yet that night was mystical in every way. The moon was full as can be. Like the whole house, the room we slept in had tall ceilings and tall windows to match. We had sheer curtains and a night breeze gently disturbed them now and then. It was too beautiful to sleep as your dad and I snuggled in for the night in the flood of moonlight.

The mood was romantic, way too lovely to break with anything so disruptive as a diaphragm and jelly. I did the math in my head to estimate my fertility and, well, the math skills must have been a bit stunted by biochemistry and the moon and my delirious adoration of your dad. Then, as we sunk into each other, I recall actually having a conversation with a benign and lithe spirit who persistently tapped on my consciousness as I gazed out at the moon.

"Hello," you whispered, "mind if I join you?"

"Wait a minute. Join us? Who or what are YOU?" I wondered.

"I want to live with you. I need a Mom and Dad. I have a lot to do. I know you'd be great. Pleeeeze?" came the reply.

That "pleeeeze" of yours was one I learned I would have trouble refusing for, well, forever!

"Whoever you are, or want to be, do you have any idea how poor we are? If you are born to us, I promise you will have the very best love ever known; but I doubt you will have many things to enjoy as a child. Wouldn't you rather wait until we have more to offer you, or go to some couple who will give you both love and security right away?"

"Not at all!" Your answer disturbed me a little, but your longing to be born was too strong for me to refuse.

"As long as you know what you are facing, then do what you must. I know that we will love you always," I thought to you.

It's funny. I don't remember telling your dad about it, but I might have. I didn't expect to conceive that night, but I soon learned that I did. Looking back at your childhood, life was even harder than I could have predicted. I know there were so many times throughout those years when I remembered that night when you asked to enter the world through me. But in spite of all of my mistakes, in spite of the burdens you carried so bravely, you were always more than an unknowing little child. Your spirit was, and still is, as big as the wind and as bright as the fullest moon over a daisy field in June.

And always, always, I believe you have known that you are loved.

And you are.
Maya's Mom++

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