Greeting the Feminine Within (Jim)
Meeting The Feminine 12/24/2005
I have a theory that the sex drive that draws you to another, that unfolds as relational, is like the spiritual oneness aspect, both of which are primarily feminine in nature. I’ve met the feminine in myself.
I remember a drastic climatic change, from North to South, in consciousness, as Ty entered me. Clenched, I could keep him out, indefinitely. He could not enter me unless I let him in. It was such a barrier breaking, to allow that which is outside of yourself within. Spit’s fine in your mouth, as is piss and bile within, but once outside of you, it’s no longer part of you, and thus vile.
To unclench required a change of consciousness, from separateness to oneness, where the two become one. I had literally to first transform him into a part of me, before I could assimilate him. If I tried to force it clenched, he’d tear me apart. I could want it, embrace it, relax my guard, let go, draw him in, surrendering and embracing all that was him, or endure it untransformed and vile. I transformed inside and outside into the same.
That climatic change from North to South, from masculine perspective to feminine, from warrior, rebel, pillaging and recklessly sowing seed or provider hunting, harvesting and staying, projecting strength from far afield, to nurturer of the nest, promoting a foundational strength from within, was like night and day, or even more like space and earth. I had always been a star, a fire, but earth and sea were utterly different than I. A sun is unapproachable, projecting great energy for life from afar, but the earth is literally with their offspring, their very ground. It was so different to be with other, in this, so revolutionary, of a way. I understood an inside out, womb’s perspective of the world and of life, that was so alien and yet oh so wondrous. Other wasn’t vile to be kept out but to be joined. I hadn’t stopped being a man though. It was still there, the old was right there alongside the new outlook, allowing me to appreciate both all the more. Drawing another physically within me, had opened a similar space in my awareness, that like a revelation, felt more like a remembering of a long forgotten, submerged truth, than a new discovery.
They say a baby does not know that what is outside of them is not part of them. That is why when the mother and child play peekaboo, at first the child cries each time she vanishes, for the baby has lost a part of themself. It’s a trust building game, that she will not ever go away, never to return. Maybe babies had it right though, maybe we are all a part of one another, not seperate. We’ve just forgotten what we knew instinctively from birth.
When I’d cum, I’d snap right back into the masculine separateness perspective, where it’s all about me and my pleasure in ejaculating, where it’s intolerable to have him within again. The few times I’ve entered him, he’s cum almost instantly. So I don’t think he’s grasped the parallel mind fuck, of a reality change. He’s never let go and then stayed around the nine months for the afterbirth and new life beyond, yet.
I had been the bottom in anal sex, only once before meeting Ty, during a one night stand. It happened, the only time it could of, at that time, before I came out. It happened in one of those terrible, black, black, periods of emptiness, I always had when I’d come back from home. Home was all love that I was outside of and couldn’t partake in. So I’d return to my home always, so abjectly alone, needing to be with someone, so desperately, that sometimes it’d force a window open, where moments before there had only been the Great Wall of China, stretching up and off endlessly into the horizon. Crawling through just such a window, on just such a night, I sat next to a guy at a gay bar, and not saying a word, I put my hand on his leg. He turned and looked at me, and I slid my hand up into his groin. In case he didn’t already have my number, after that, I gave it to him. He called.
The reality change was so gradual and subtle and elusive that time, that it barely registered consciously. Maybe it was because I wasn’t in love with him and it remained all about my pleasure. He took me though, where he’d been a thousand times before with others, I’m sure, transforming himself for me into something that was a part of me during the hours and hours of foreplay, where he made his world my world, his childhood, his brothers and sisters, his family, his room, his life, mine, and mine his. I belonged. I belonged. I belonged, in his space and he in mine. Never having had anal sex it was nothing I had anticipated, but it felt so natural. I certainly could have fallen in love with him, if he’d wanted to know all that we’d create as us, down the road, but he didn’t want that. So all we have is that wondrous, blessed, holy, magical, Brokeback Mountain summer, in a night, together.
In the movie, Brokeback Mountain, Alma (Ennis Del Mar’s wife) portrays the strong feminine perspective wondrously, as does Jack Twist. They are nest builders. Jack dreams of the cattle ranch together with Ennis, that Ennis equates as their demise, most assuredly their end. Alma and Ennis also contrast the two differing perspectives when Alma says, ‘Ennis please, no more damn lonely ranches for us.’ And Ennis replies, ‘You could make it beautiful and homey here too if only you wanted to.’ She replies, ‘You don’t want it so lonely for your girls, like it was for you, do you? You don’t want to be so all alone, do you?’ He concedes, slides his hand into her wet gap, till she shudders, then rolls her over, and does quickly what she hates.
Ennis as a worker with livestock, gets too that his and Alma’s bedroom full of the smell of old blood, milk and baby shit, and of the sounds of squalling, sucking and groans, are all reassuring of fecundity and life’s continuance. He gets that but not Jack’s need to be together, until his death, when he opens the closet, and hugging his shirt inside Jack’s, cries ‘Jack, I swear...’. What’s he promising here? I think he’s made a space and took Jack within, assimilating him for always, never to be seperate again. Love conquered death, it’s eternal connection outlasts it. Ennis gets this, death is not their end, Jack continues within, and it transforms Ennis. He no longer had to be alone, no longer had to go on the roundup, and miss his girls wedding. He’s not so different, he belongs. I’ve taken my deceased father and my grandparents within me, to stay.
My father’s reality change came radically upon him, like Scrooge after the third angel, when he first was diagnosed with cancer 13 years ago. The Trust department was not for profits and investments, after that, but the caretaker of the community and staff. It was a friend of the widow, an advocate of the sick, and of the downcast, needing a last chance. It was the guardian of the town’s, counties, countries future, of their dreams, hopes, plans. His children and wife weren’t like so many other possessions outside him, any longer, that he took such good care of, that shoes from college looked new. He brought us within, as beloved parts of himself, then.
So it’s just a theory, take it for what it’s worth to you, but that I very much believe in, that all that binds us, gay or straight, sexual or spiritual, are all derivatives and blessed expressions of the one and same energy of oneness.
I have a theory that the sex drive that draws you to another, that unfolds as relational, is like the spiritual oneness aspect, both of which are primarily feminine in nature. I’ve met the feminine in myself.
I remember a drastic climatic change, from North to South, in consciousness, as Ty entered me. Clenched, I could keep him out, indefinitely. He could not enter me unless I let him in. It was such a barrier breaking, to allow that which is outside of yourself within. Spit’s fine in your mouth, as is piss and bile within, but once outside of you, it’s no longer part of you, and thus vile.
To unclench required a change of consciousness, from separateness to oneness, where the two become one. I had literally to first transform him into a part of me, before I could assimilate him. If I tried to force it clenched, he’d tear me apart. I could want it, embrace it, relax my guard, let go, draw him in, surrendering and embracing all that was him, or endure it untransformed and vile. I transformed inside and outside into the same.
That climatic change from North to South, from masculine perspective to feminine, from warrior, rebel, pillaging and recklessly sowing seed or provider hunting, harvesting and staying, projecting strength from far afield, to nurturer of the nest, promoting a foundational strength from within, was like night and day, or even more like space and earth. I had always been a star, a fire, but earth and sea were utterly different than I. A sun is unapproachable, projecting great energy for life from afar, but the earth is literally with their offspring, their very ground. It was so different to be with other, in this, so revolutionary, of a way. I understood an inside out, womb’s perspective of the world and of life, that was so alien and yet oh so wondrous. Other wasn’t vile to be kept out but to be joined. I hadn’t stopped being a man though. It was still there, the old was right there alongside the new outlook, allowing me to appreciate both all the more. Drawing another physically within me, had opened a similar space in my awareness, that like a revelation, felt more like a remembering of a long forgotten, submerged truth, than a new discovery.
They say a baby does not know that what is outside of them is not part of them. That is why when the mother and child play peekaboo, at first the child cries each time she vanishes, for the baby has lost a part of themself. It’s a trust building game, that she will not ever go away, never to return. Maybe babies had it right though, maybe we are all a part of one another, not seperate. We’ve just forgotten what we knew instinctively from birth.
When I’d cum, I’d snap right back into the masculine separateness perspective, where it’s all about me and my pleasure in ejaculating, where it’s intolerable to have him within again. The few times I’ve entered him, he’s cum almost instantly. So I don’t think he’s grasped the parallel mind fuck, of a reality change. He’s never let go and then stayed around the nine months for the afterbirth and new life beyond, yet.
I had been the bottom in anal sex, only once before meeting Ty, during a one night stand. It happened, the only time it could of, at that time, before I came out. It happened in one of those terrible, black, black, periods of emptiness, I always had when I’d come back from home. Home was all love that I was outside of and couldn’t partake in. So I’d return to my home always, so abjectly alone, needing to be with someone, so desperately, that sometimes it’d force a window open, where moments before there had only been the Great Wall of China, stretching up and off endlessly into the horizon. Crawling through just such a window, on just such a night, I sat next to a guy at a gay bar, and not saying a word, I put my hand on his leg. He turned and looked at me, and I slid my hand up into his groin. In case he didn’t already have my number, after that, I gave it to him. He called.
The reality change was so gradual and subtle and elusive that time, that it barely registered consciously. Maybe it was because I wasn’t in love with him and it remained all about my pleasure. He took me though, where he’d been a thousand times before with others, I’m sure, transforming himself for me into something that was a part of me during the hours and hours of foreplay, where he made his world my world, his childhood, his brothers and sisters, his family, his room, his life, mine, and mine his. I belonged. I belonged. I belonged, in his space and he in mine. Never having had anal sex it was nothing I had anticipated, but it felt so natural. I certainly could have fallen in love with him, if he’d wanted to know all that we’d create as us, down the road, but he didn’t want that. So all we have is that wondrous, blessed, holy, magical, Brokeback Mountain summer, in a night, together.
In the movie, Brokeback Mountain, Alma (Ennis Del Mar’s wife) portrays the strong feminine perspective wondrously, as does Jack Twist. They are nest builders. Jack dreams of the cattle ranch together with Ennis, that Ennis equates as their demise, most assuredly their end. Alma and Ennis also contrast the two differing perspectives when Alma says, ‘Ennis please, no more damn lonely ranches for us.’ And Ennis replies, ‘You could make it beautiful and homey here too if only you wanted to.’ She replies, ‘You don’t want it so lonely for your girls, like it was for you, do you? You don’t want to be so all alone, do you?’ He concedes, slides his hand into her wet gap, till she shudders, then rolls her over, and does quickly what she hates.
Ennis as a worker with livestock, gets too that his and Alma’s bedroom full of the smell of old blood, milk and baby shit, and of the sounds of squalling, sucking and groans, are all reassuring of fecundity and life’s continuance. He gets that but not Jack’s need to be together, until his death, when he opens the closet, and hugging his shirt inside Jack’s, cries ‘Jack, I swear...’. What’s he promising here? I think he’s made a space and took Jack within, assimilating him for always, never to be seperate again. Love conquered death, it’s eternal connection outlasts it. Ennis gets this, death is not their end, Jack continues within, and it transforms Ennis. He no longer had to be alone, no longer had to go on the roundup, and miss his girls wedding. He’s not so different, he belongs. I’ve taken my deceased father and my grandparents within me, to stay.
My father’s reality change came radically upon him, like Scrooge after the third angel, when he first was diagnosed with cancer 13 years ago. The Trust department was not for profits and investments, after that, but the caretaker of the community and staff. It was a friend of the widow, an advocate of the sick, and of the downcast, needing a last chance. It was the guardian of the town’s, counties, countries future, of their dreams, hopes, plans. His children and wife weren’t like so many other possessions outside him, any longer, that he took such good care of, that shoes from college looked new. He brought us within, as beloved parts of himself, then.
So it’s just a theory, take it for what it’s worth to you, but that I very much believe in, that all that binds us, gay or straight, sexual or spiritual, are all derivatives and blessed expressions of the one and same energy of oneness.
posted by LifeWriter at 2:07 PM
1 Comments:
(From Peg)
Jim, your stuff just gets richer and richer for me. First of all, the way you intermingle the sensual and spiritual is not only fascinating, nakedly honest, and evocative of universal human truth, it evidences an amazing journey taken by a specific man (friend?) I met a year and a half ago. That man, then, could not--would not--have allowed himself to get within a ten-foot psychic pole of the kind of synthesis you're attempting (and I would say succeeding at, more often than not). I find that astounding, and it speaks to me of the Jim I always sensed but never before saw, the fierce warrior-philosopher who would grant himself neither easy ways out nor easy ways around, the one who knew the only way is through, and that the way through is never easy.
Sorry for the puerile pomposity of my Vesuvian verbosity.
Changing the subject but maybe not really, I am fascinated by "Greeting the Feminine." So much of what you write about surrendering to the beloved in all ways & etc. & etc. is common to both sexes and therefore resonant with me, yet, I'm sure, also completely different, emotionally and physically, from your experience as a gay man. I find the concept of being both the lovingly yielding penetrated "feminine" and the weaponed and penetrating "masculine" at the same time utterly fascinating. I don't think it is anything I will ever experience, with a man, a woman, or a ripe pumpkin, and I'm a little envious and very intrigued by what that must be like.
That all sounds very intellectual and removed. What I really mean is that the immediacy of that experience must be incredible, and I regret that I will never experience it.
Later in the piece you write some stuff that's very "Hedwig"-like:
"They say a baby does not know that what is outside of them is not part of them. That is why when the mother and child play peekaboo, at first the child cries each time she vanishes, for the baby has lost a part of themself. It’s a trust building game, that she will not ever go away, never to return. Maybe babies had it right though, maybe we are all a part of one another, not separate. We’ve just forgotten what we knew instinctively from birth."
But what I like much better, in your conclusion, is:
"So it’s just a theory, take it for what it’s worth to you, but that I very much believe in, that all that binds us, gay or straight, sexual or spiritual, are all derivatives and blessed expressions of the one and same energy of oneness."
We are not looking for The One, or even for the Other One, but for the Oneness--in whatever guise and however briefly we are blessed to see it. That’s my interpretation and pretty much how I try, emphasis on TRY, to live.
Post a Comment
<< Home