At the sexual intimacy workshop this weekend, the women learned how to play with heavier emotional states through dance. We came up with character names for our dances. For example, shame might be danced as a subterranean seductress or sadness might be danced as a longing mermaid.
Although we had fun summoning our inner warrioresses and damsels, the sober pill we had to swallow as women is that it is ultimately up to us to create the emotional field that is conducive to love making. We just can’t count on our men to meet us sexually when we are feeling angry or depressed. They’re not as capable of trasnsmuting energy as we are. If they step up now and then, lucky us. But unless we want to cuddle for the rest of our sex lives, we better learn how to wield our emotions in the bedroom.
This doesn’t mean women can’t be authentic or that we have to mask what we are feeling. In fact, we are told at the workshop, to exaggerate our emotions and make them even bigger. Through breath and movement, we learn how to bring out the spiciness or juiciness of what we’ve judged to be somehow unsexy. And in witnessing each other, we realize that a woman’s beauty is always best expressed raw.
After such a powerful weekend, I am surprised this morning to be feeling a little stuck in my pleasure practice. My movements bore me. My mind judges everything from the music to the temperature in the room. I feel like a fake. I want my minimum thirty minute commitment to be over. Then I remember! Breathe into my stuckness, move my stuckness, make my stuckness bigger!
I imagine my entire body covered in thick, pink taffy-so thick I can hardly move. A contained intensity builds inside of me as I twist and writhe in slow motion, trying to break free. Feeling the erotic nuances in every micro-movement, feeling the pleasure of pushing up against my resistance.
Beneath my stuckness is a deep sadness. Beneath the sadness, a cry for faith. I breathe and move my faithlessness as an offering to God, though I don’t know for sure if such a Being exists. Praying with my hips, taking communion from my own body. Sucking the last of this moon’s wine off my finger and plunging it back inside. Moaning halleluahs for this sweet and tender home-cumming. Receiving love through penetrating light-the holy cock of the Beloved Himself.