Friday, June 23, 2017

The Womb in "Giovanni's Room"

Not having it right in front of me, but for starters:

  The title is "Giovanni's Room," but, it isn't Giovanni's at all..it's some woman's, a maid, whom we never meet. This may explain, partially, the presence of the romantic painting—a man and woman dancing or walking together, roses all around, I think. Eventually, Giovanni begins to "renovate" the room, but he only manages to bring in dirt, detritus, and disarray. But what if the room, belonging to a woman, is representative of the womb belonging to a woman? It's not just that the painting taunts Giovanni because of its own symbolic horror, and so he wants to erase it, but also that he is literally destroying, scraping out, the womb signifying the "abortive relationship" he has with David, and the dead infant in his past. 

  For David, the threat of the inescapable, disfigured womb— the all-seeing dead mother, whose influence dominated his childhood home even through absence—doubled with the image of the life he pretends, sometimes wants, but ultimately cannot have, becomes too terrible, and he must run to a living woman, any woman, to prove himself capable of rejuvenating life, in his loins, in her, in his future. 




Thursday, June 1, 2017

Excerpt from the Sacred Prostitute

  "Differentiation is not a limiting factor; on the contrary, it is necessary for full psychological development. In the second half of life, the psychic process is predisposed toward reuniting the opposites, only now on a conscious level where the feminine principle of Eros and the masculine principle of Logos function congruently. Alchemists from the time of the Dark Ages describe this process in the poetic image of Sol and Luna, as gold ans silver, being melted into a unity purified of all opposition, and therefore incorruptible. But the sacred marriage can only occur after there has been a differentiation of the masculine and the feminine principles. As Ulanov writes:

          'Without wrestling with this task of differentiation, we fall into formlessness and a cheap         imitation of current persona roles. We miss our chance to become unique persons. Furthermore, we miss the spiritual significance of physical sexuality. If we deny sexual differences then we deny the fact of otherness that is so strikingly conveyed to all of us through sexual experience.'"

 


Wednesday, May 31, 2017

This could be the end...

I see you in the evening
Sitting on your throne
You're playing with a fireball
And post it up against wall


(so say the Kings)

and everywhere you go 
there is darkness 
and there is light


Monday, May 8, 2017

A well timed joke, 
a well earned smoke, 
as I muse and meander through what is
and was
and may be...
where, on earth, am I?
a blue hall with faint blue doors?
a roiling saturation of blood-fresh red?
a cut down tree, glowing violet at the heart?
     

All for one

Pitting one against the other
never turns out right—
the surest way to kill joy is through comparison—

"I've loved Him longer...been there, been through..."

"Yes, but I love him newly, with new perspective..."

"Oh, but I love Him, unfulfilled, afar..."

"But I am His home."

"I am his desire."

"I am His frivolity."

"I am his fantasy."

"This I know..."

"But this, I know."

"Me...look here...see how I know?"

"I will spend..."

"I will make..."

"I will send..."


All of us trying to know more, show more, be more...
  for You, to You. To prove that we are capable of what no other could do for You, or with You, or through You...all to be chosen...all for One, one memory, one moment, one man.





Tuesday, April 4, 2017

Fool

  So, here I am again...reaching and reaching, knowing everything is pulling away, slowly, but with ever more efficiency. And so I try not to reach too much, or too fast, or for too long, trying to grab the snippets of affection you still show, hoping, hoping, hoping that they will stir in you renewed desire for me, however small, believing that small things grow. I do not expect the immediate return of your desire, as I know there are still old hurts and ideas that must be purged from the system, and so I try to keep my own system clear... I try to appreciate that you ask after me, taking it as a small sign of care, concern. comfort, but my response earns no response, and I cannot say whether it is a matter of business, or avoidance. I am not asking for much, just encouraging words, and an encouraging heart. I am seeking my courage, my personal power, but I need a boost to help me feel empowered—you ask me still, to admire you, look here, smell there, and again, I take it as reason for hope, that for you to ask me to come closer and observe, and feel for myself the pleasure of knowing you, means that for that moment you want me near, are inviting me in to the sensual...but, then, when my responses to your questions are met with silence, I am drawn back into a position of doubt. And some times I think that because I am having trouble keeping myself entirely lifted through these ins and outs and ups and downs and overs and unders and backs and forths that we are experiencing, that because I do still get depressed, in spite of my best efforts, that because you're mood and receptivity do, in fact, impact me greatly, that somehow you see me as not doing what needs to be done. I do not believe that I deserve "full credit", because I know that in many ways I am still ignorant about myself, about how to find the me that's me, the me that's best for me, and best for us, even best for the world; but I know also that my position has shifted, and I know that, even though, on some days, I fail at doing more, I am doing more. I don't know how long it takes to learn discipline, to be disciplined...I think discipline is what I need, mostly from myself (but, yes, I do want discipline from others, as well, because, let's face it, spankings are fun—as your bumper sticker may soon attest!) but I don't think I could ever be severe about it... I think you know what I mean. But then, maybe that in itself is a problem...like, I'm asking for it, but not too rough, not too hard...just enough to get me there, but not enough to sap the pleasure out of it... I have been trying to infuse my will with the will, not just the desire, to change into what I always wanted to be: a woman with subtle secrets, a woman who is desired and has desires, a woman who is and has accomplished, a woman who feels the universe moving, a woman who sees the best in people and brings it out, a woman who is respected, a woman who is intelligent, a woman who is sexually satisfied, liberated, and free, a woman who is witty and charming, a woman who is fulfilled...and sometimes I worry that is too much to ask for, when it has not been given me as birthright, because I, who wished so desperately to change her station and position in this world, still secretly believe that I don't deserve to be all those things, because those who deserve have already received their blessings, and that whatever it would take to sculpt me into such a woman would be far too costly, well beyond my reach. Is it worth the dying to try..? Is it worth the living to not? There are so many examples of people, men and women from all lands, that have risen beyond their circumstances, and I hope to discover the skill to do so too. And so, while I understand that there is no way, no logical, practical, way, for us to be everything and all to each other, even as Romance still appeals to a naive little girl in me, I also truly need from you acceptance, moral support, and the same understanding you always asked from me (especially as it pertains to the argument that you are not my father, so too, I am not your mother)as I seek out what else will satisfy. (I look out the window, and see that googly eyes and branches that signify your presence, and remember that this time it is not so) Whatever I will be, I will be different, and I want, most of all, to come through all of this, all of the things that hold me away from myself, all of the things I am afraid of, all of the things I held for so long that did not serve me, with an ego sufficiently stroked, a mind enlivened, a heart empowered, and a body that moves with it all, no longer, uncertain, no longer afraid, no longer waiting to be, no longer a fool too afraid to take herself seriously.  

Wednesday, March 22, 2017

The First Day of Spring

I nearly gave up on myself, 
  I wanted only to sink into that 
  Dark, Torturous room—slick grinding, and muffled, warbled, garbled screams—
  and lie on the floor weeping, weeping, 
  weeping... Heart sick

(She Dove
    Came back)

But then, with a measure of hope in magic
  I went instead into the 
  gloaming Present Peace room—water singing lightly, stones set, and a guiding voice—
  and lay on the floor breathing, breathing, 
  breathing... Heart lift.

She drove
    Came home

And when I came home, 
  I walked across worn wood in that
  humble house that is a room—wind whisping, chimes swinging, and your keyed thoughts— 
  and we lay on the bed talking, sharing, 
  touching... Heart felt.