Polynesian Love/Polynesian Sex/Slow Love/James N. Powell

Polynesian
Love
.com

home	about polynesian love	workshops	news	about the author	ポリネシアンセックス	experiences
forum	learn polynesian love	reviews	blog	newsletter	ask the author	books

James N. Powell

Although I earned an MA in English Literature and another MA in Religious Studies, I feel that my formal education exercised only a secondary influence on my development. There are a couple of major influences that were more fundamental than school learning and that shaped my life as a writer. First, I was raised on a ranch-farm in Colorado. In such an environment one learns about the magical fertility of the soil and the power and mystery of the sun, of water, of plants and animals. The ranch was miles from any town, and so the prevailing reality was one of a vast and undeniable silence. In that silence, which had no fence around it, visions and the imagination could stretch out forever.

I thus learned the immense power of solitude.

Second, on my mother's side of the family, we are largely Cherokee. So, from an early age I developed a curiosity about tribal peoples and other cultures, about the most archaic and mythic values on earth, especially if they had some teachings about inner silence.

Growing up far out in the countryside – miles from the nearest town, I found myself in the fading sunset of a still wild, bucolic, red-flanneled, jackleg America of fistfights, cussing and bragging, of home-made ice cream and pie, of quilting bees, of gutbucket bands, of sitting on a porch sipping sarsaparilla, an America nurturing a belief that in wildness and wilderness are lessons that cannot be got from book learning - a backwoods, homespun, boundless place where lanky schoolgirls walked to one-room schoolhouses wearing sunbonnets and calico dresses, where the woods were sweet with berries, where peaches cost half a buck a bushel, where on a hot day, after forking over two bits at a roadside stand you would hear the crack of an icy watermelon split open, echoed by the crash of distant thunder, and where, waiting just beyond a bend in the muddy river, every boy imagined Huck and Jim drifting lazily along on their raft, their toes and a fishing line dangling in the cool current . . .

home	about polynesian love	workshops	news	about the author	ポリネシアンセックス	experiences
forum	learn polynesian love	reviews	blog	newsletter	ask the author	books