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| (Before) |
Yes, hysteria.
Sure, maybe it was hormones, maybe it was a chemical imbalance, maybe I needed more Vitamin B or something, but I really do think it was/is hysteria. Something related to my body and my passion and my heart.
“Your pussy is your pilot light. It is your central life force energy,” says Pamela Madsen, a woman who says "pussy" a lot and someone I interviewed for an AlterNet article. “If our pilot light is lit and we're turned on--that's were we write our books from, that's where we bake from, that's where we decide to be farmers or artists. We can learn to use that power and put it out into the world."
And as Naomi Wolf writes in my well-fingered Vagina (haha, yes, I know, I am a child) "Female sexual pleasure, rightly understood, is not just about
sexuality or just about pleasure. It serves also, as a medium of
female knowledge, and hopefulness; female creativity and courage;
female focus and initiative; female bliss and transcendence; and as
medium of a sensibility that feels very much like freedom. To
understand the vagina properly is to realize that it is not only
coexistence with the female brain, but is also, essentially, a part
of the female soul.”
It feels like they're on to something big here (as are Anais Nin, Erica Jong, etc...)--something primal and true. In my own life, I've discovered this amazing passion which is, for better or worse, wholly connected with sex, my creativity, my body and my heart. When my passion is engaged, it is beautiful, sublime and yeah, scary as fuck. When it's not, all is meh, or worse (see above: hysteria.)
It feels like they're on to something big here (as are Anais Nin, Erica Jong, etc...)--something primal and true. In my own life, I've discovered this amazing passion which is, for better or worse, wholly connected with sex, my creativity, my body and my heart. When my passion is engaged, it is beautiful, sublime and yeah, scary as fuck. When it's not, all is meh, or worse (see above: hysteria.)
And while it pleasingly tragic to haunt your own life like a specter, or as Billy Bragg puts it "a little black cloud in a dress," after a while weeping in the car to Joni Mitchell's "All I Want" grows tiresome. So I did stuff to heal* and my humours, or whatever, seem more balanced now.
And yet.
In Madsen's fascinating book Shameless: How I Ditched the Diet, Got Naked, Found True Pleasure...and Somehow Got Home in Time to Cook Dinner, she talks about seeking sensual touch--something similar to a "happy ending," but for women. She ends up with a gay male bodyworker named Tiger who, despite his semi-repellent name, sounds quite amazing. He tends to her body and psyche and, like a human Pandora, knows what she wants before she does. He's like the best lover ever, but also not a lover. He's somewhere in between lover, therapist, massage therapist, and magic fairy godmother.
Sexological bodyworkers give whole body massages to help you get....wherever you need to get. And I mean that in the prurient way--if you want/need to cum, you are certainly welcome to and will be aided in that way--but it's mainly about exploring issues in your life, your sexuality or general spirit. In a way, it's a more loving and aware descendant of Ye Olde hysteria treatment.
I put out the call on the IBWMW Facebook page (Now 97% less tawdry since I purged it of weirdos!) and Matthew told me he did Tantric Bodywork. I'd met Matthew years ago on my blog, which is probably a horrible place to meet anyone--not as bad as the Facebook page, but still... I knew him, but didn't know him, which seemed just about right for this kind of thing.
He gave me the password to his secret web page (email him and I'm sure he will be happy to do the same for you). Writes Matthew:
Tantric bodywork is a beautiful and brave act of care and self-care. If and when you decide to receive this type of touch and attention it is an acknowledgment of yourself as a sexual person regardless of your sexual preferences or the level of sexual activity in your life. This choice shows an openness to be present with yourself and your body in a space it may not always have a chance to inhabit. I think that's pretty fearless choice, and it's a pleasure and privilege for me to be a guide, facilitator and space holder for you or you and your partner.
I love doing this work and am moved to do it because I adore the deep humanity of it. A chance to deeply see people and be seen at their most raw and most tender and to show up the same way. I am moved by the power of sexual energy in all of its forms and wild expressions. I am captivated by the mysterious and sacred power of sexual energy to shift what longs to be moved inside us and in so doing heals and connects us.
Um...yes. When women go to spas, shop, drink too much, inject fillers into their face, etc...this is what they actually want.
So, I am going to meet with Matthew and for two hours he is going to talk to me and touch me in a present, sensual way.** I have no idea what's gonna happen. I think I will probably cry or come or maybe just be in my head and be anxious. Female desire can be scary. When you tap into it, it's such a huge overwhelming life force—intense, emotionally overpowering and not something you can manage. You're not in halfway. And the only way to work with it is to ride it and see where it takes you, accepting that it may take you places you didn't think you wanted to go.
I don't know what the fuck will happen and that's part of what's so good about it. I want to be in that space and see where it takes me. I feel completely confident that whatever does come up, Matthew can handle it.
So yeah, I'm meeting a virtual stranger, alone, and I will be completely naked. In all kinds of ways. It may be the smartest thing I've ever done or the dumbest.
And I can't fucking wait.
xoxo
jill
*Stuff I did to heal: Ate well, swam, started seeing a therapist (a delightfully masturbatory activity--I highly recommend!), took long walks with my daughters, talked to my husband, read good books (next up: Erica Jong's new book Fear of Dying!) and got down with my new toy thing (we are now going steady. If it had a varsity jacket, I'd be wearing it.) I've started looking for connection and depth in my encounters with whoever I come across in my day and I got the best fucking kitten in the world.
**The amazing thing about being a writer--you get to do whatever the fuck you want under the pretense of it being a story! It's total racket!
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| Jack the kitten, consulting the Oracle |
episode where Louis CK ends up in a sex toy store, yeah, Kimmy was fine. (In my defense, I kept thinking the Louie ep was somehow gonna become more appropriate, like, any second. This, despite the fact that the characters were talking about vibrators and it was Louis CK, for fuck's sake. #MagicalThinking)
in which 1977-era cartoon grown ups offer mildly helpful/icky information such as "The man pushes his penis up and down in the woman's vagina, so that both the tickly parts are being rubbed against each other. It's like scratching an itch but a lot nicer."
by "J" (at the time her advice on giving proper head and the like was apparently so scandalous she couldn't even use her whole name.)
How strange to realize I'd gotten a ton of my sexual information from a hooker. A happy one, but still.
My favorite of these is Bjúgnakrækir, the Sausage Thief, who "hides in the rafters of your house to steal smoked meats." 
(eh, on this one.)
