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May 10, 2006
Tiger balm and how I first found my voice
I'm still thinking about introducing myself
to my arm. "Arm, meet Alex. Alex, meet Arm." Is that nerdy? I
hope I NEVER repeat an affirmation, or if I do, if I do I hope
I won't call it an affirmation. I worry about being a stylized
version of a person. Is there a word for that?
Ben recently called me the shyest person he
ever knew when we were married. I'd worry about what to say,
especially in a group, and by the time I thought of something,
it was too late.
In the 80s, I started emailing. This was years
before anyone else, and I remember thinking, "Man, this email
stuff is really gonna catch on." Just like I know that soon everyone
will meditate from their bodies.
I met Russ, who lived near me, and wrote back
and forth online. Later some of Russ's friends from up north
joined us in writing, and one turned out to be Bill. I wrote
every day. In my real life, I was almost silent, but through
the keyboard, I could express myself. I told them everything,
and it was okay, because it wasn't like we'd ever meet. I felt
safe in the light of the cathode, and they accepted me.
In my real life, I felt vaguely illegitimate
with everyone - Ben, my family, his family and friends - because
I was so quiet and afraid to talk.I didn't have any friends,
but my email friends liked me. And they couldn't see my body.
So if they rejected me, at least it wouldn't be because of the
way I looked.
I was terrified when after all those years
of writing all those years of intimacies, I had a chance to meet
them. Bill answered with his heart completely open, so he and
I had gotten pretty close. When we finally met, he stared at
me all night, and I remember thinking, oh, no, he's in love with
me. But the thought was underground and barely noticed, because
I was married, and Bill had never gotten under my skin. That's
a strange phrase. I feel like dissociating again.
Under my skin. Into my breath. Iinside my cunt.
I've always hated the way my poet friend Deb uses that word. "Cunt." But
now I think I know why. Cunt makes me think of open, wet and
hot. It's a word with power. We doin't have too many of them.
I got out a mirror the other day and looked at my vagina. It
looked authoritative. Wise and lovely. I told Bill about it,
like it was the kinkiest thing ever, and he seemed amazed that
I'd never done it.
Maurie and I have been thinking about throwing
our vibrators away. It's cool to feel it with my fingers. I love
how my clit gets. Long and strong and firm.
You have to start feeling real if you want
to be real, but I'm afraid of what I am.
I have tiger balm up here from the other night,
when I had a masturbathon and put some on my clit. I dated a
guy once who liked to fuck with BenGay, and I didn't like the
idea on paper, but in practice every cell was on fire - cold
and hot at the same time. I'm listening to low bowls and chimes.
I sent it to Gretchen: Controlled breathing
can lead to more intense orgasms. "Imagine your entire
pelvic girdle is a bowl. Breathe into that bowl, but don't
let it spill. The sensations are intense if you can connect
to the shape, texture, spaciousness and curves of the bowl."
And to think we figured it out on our own.
I need some rituals. They'll be mine, they'll
add meaning and structure to my life and they'll help me define
myself.
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