Posts Tagged feminism
Exposed, the End or Beginning
Claire knocked on Charles’ door, curious, excited, and yet wondering if she had lost her mind. The door opened and she saw the same emotions mirrored in Charles’ eyes as he let her in. She smiled as she realized, “he wonders if he’s crazy, if I will think he is, yet he can’t wait to find out my reaction to…whatever it is he is so anxious to show me.”
He showed her where to hang her coat, and then said, “Shall we get right to it?” She nodded and he led the way down a softly lit corridor and stopped before a closed door. He turned, and said, “You go in by yourself for a few moments, it will take a little time to fully see and comprehend what is there.” She entered the room.
Large floor to ceiling windows overlooked the rocky shore and the ocean beyond. A large bed on the opposite wall was laid with pastel colored comforters and pillows. But it was the three walls with no windows that captured and held her attention.
One wall was an ocean scene, viewed from the shore – huge waves breaking, a stormy sky overhead. The second was of the open sea, the sea was calmer and there was a break in the clouds, with the sun’s rays illuminating a brightly colored ship and its sails just before it disappeared on the horizon, no land in sight. And the third was a seascape far beneath the surface of the waves, with coral and fish and more.
Claire studied each of these panels separately for a long time. The longer she gazed at them, the more she saw. In the huge waves crashing on the shore, she began to see pieces of human forms, an arm here, a face there, and she wondered if these were people who had been shipwrecked and drowned.
She didn’t detect fear or pain or panic in the faces, however. In fact, they were decidedly unemotional. She realized they were representing the elemental nature of the sea, all the life that is behind it.
In the panel with the illuminated ship sailing away, at first the water seemed dark and thick and dull…but the longer she looked, the more she thought she saw faces there as well. These faces were in agony, as if they were the faces of the dead who had been swept away by the storm, or perhaps the faces of mariners who had died at sea.
The third panel was of a coral reef, complete with colorful fish and all sorts of sea life. Here too a hidden seascape slowly emerged, and here was the sharpest thrill of them all. As she gazed at the painting, the water almost seemed to move, the fish gently breathing, fins faintly moving. As she stared in wonder, a shape slowly began emerging from the opalescent depths.
Claire squinted and stared; she saw what looked like hair and wondered if she was looking at a rendering of a mermaid; however this female creature seemed to be seated, and Claire slowly began discerning the folds of a gown or robe. And then the face became more apparent, and Claire found herself looking into her own face….
Startled, Claire turned and ran from the room, and found Charles in his study, reading and writing in a notebook. She sat down in a chair in front of his desk, visibly trembling. He looked up, put down his pen, and rose.
“Can I get you a drink? Some water, tea, wine, brandy?…”
“Brandy, please.”
After taking a couple sips, Claire put the glass down. Her trembling had stopped. She looked up at Charles in wonder. “What does it mean?”
“Tell me what you saw.” She told him, then waited while they looked at each other.
“You didn’t see all of it. Maybe we never will. But there is something else I want to show you.” They went back to the bedroom together.
Charles took her by the hand and led her back a ways from the undersea scene, then said, “Look behind her, behind the throne she is sitting on. You do see it as a throne, don’t you?” Claire nodded as she stared, then her eyes widened.
“There is a man behind her…and it looks like you!”
He looked at her face, as the wonder and amazement swept over her features. Then he took her by the hand and gazed into her eyes. “I can’t tell you what it means, but maybe we can agree that we should explore this together?” Claire nodded.
“And there is one other thing, that maybe I shouldn’t tell you, but I feel compelled. I never slept in this room, in this bed. When I discovered her in the painting, the attraction was unmistakable. When I am in this room, I cannot take my eyes off of her. It is as if I have known her for a very long time, and it felt as if this was her room, not mine.”
“When I first met you, I was shocked, amazed, and frankly, overwhelmed. I’m sorry if I appeared rude and abrupt at times, but I knew of no way to venture into this conversation, yet could not deny the sense of destiny that I have felt being around you.”
“When your performance was not up to par, I realized I had the opportunity to determine if you were ready for this room, this relationship with me. It doesn’t feel like romance, or that sort of attraction. It’s more like a door is opening and together we can explore where it leads…and it feels BIG.”
Claire looked at Charles directly, without flinching. “So that is what testing my resolve, my willingness to be open with you, was really all about?”
Charles nodded, taking both her hands now. “I was tested as well. I had to do this in such a way that I would not chase you away. I had to trust my intuition that you were ready. I had to risk losing you. Through it all, I had to reaffirm that I am ready to go somewhere I’ve never been before, cast aside all that I believe in – rationality, that this life has to make sense, there have to be reasons – and step into an entirely different life, one of opening and listening and feeling. And I had to believe that you were ready too.”
Claire dropped his hands, slowly turning and looking at all three panels, letting them simply sink into her consciousness.
“I’m ready.”
Exposed, Part 3
Claire had decided to film everything she did, and this took more courage than she’d ever had before. She’d thought it through and decided that complete honesty was more important than her pride or her dignity.
But it was more than than. She sensed that Charles would understand, and she trusted that he had no questionable motives in demanding this of her. Claire believed he had her best interests at heart.
Still, she sat on the edge of her chair next to Charles and hesitated, then pushed the Play button on the remote and they watched the video together.
What mattered most, Claire had realized, was the purity of her intentions. She needed to clear all needless thoughts out of her mind. She also had decided to narrate her experience on camera.
The tape began. She was sitting on the edge of her bed. Staring at her hands folded in her lap, she began to speak. “Inanna, Sophia, Santa Maria, please be with me now. I ask you for your grace, your wisdom, your guidance, your strength.”
She closed her eyes. “I wish to bring your love, compassion, and understanding into the world. I am an empty vessel, big enough to hold your love. It is time.”
Reaching into the drawer in the nightstand beside the bed, she pulled out her vibrator and lay down on her bed. She closed her eyes and continued her prayer.
“For too long now your presence has been absent in this world, I invoke the power of the ocean, the power of your name. Be within me and guide me throughout my days and my nights. Let me be your emissary, your avatar, your presence on Earth.”
Claire closed her eyes, opened her robe, and held the vibrator to her clitoris. She knew that the carefully positioned camera would only capture the expressions on her face. She pleasured herself, repeatedly, for half an hour, each orgasm a little less intense. When done, she rolled over on her side and closed her eyes for a few minutes. Then, sitting up, she spoke for the camera, describing and explaining her experience.
“The first time is always more than I can bear, I feel the need to moan or scream even, yet over time I am able to relax into the waves of physical sensation a little more, a little more each time. With practice, I have become able to control my experience.”
“While yes, an orgasm is at first primarily a physical sensation, I have become able to transform or elevate it into an out of body experience. I don’t disconnect from my body, it’s more like a parallel experience, one of being pure energy. This is when I feel connected to the goddess…”
She paused and then looked directly into the camera. “I’ve found that many of my distractions, from my work and from all aspects of my life, are grounded in not caring for myself. I need to learn to bring love to myself through a spiritual connection.”
“It is only when I can fill myself up with the Source of Love that I have love to share. When I am not taking responsibility for developing my spiritual connection and learning to fill myself up with love, then I become needy.”
“When I am needy, I am restless, uncentered, and unable to focus on my work or on any one thought, feeling, or task. I then look to others to fill my needs, and they experience our relationship as draining and unproductive rather than energizing, stimulating, and mutually creative.”
“I have other ways to achieve the same ends, this is one I have found to be simple, direct, and quick enough to fit into the middle of a busy day. Now I am energized, connected, and inspired. Time to get back to work.”
Claire turned off the monitor and the video machine and turned to Charles. Blushing, she still looked directly into his eyes and said, “I trust that you understand my intentions and what I am able to accomplish in this way.”
Charles returned her gaze, and said, “Yes, I do…but you’re fired. Let me explain though.”
Stifling her emotions, Claire forced herself to remain seated. She felt so angry…and betrayed.
Charles continued. “I have something I must show you, it is at my home, and once I do, I think everything will change, forever. Something tells me you will know exactly what it means. Even simply inviting you to my home privately changes things, and I think it would be totally inappropriate for you to remain in my employment.”
“However, I’ve arranged an appointment for you somewhere where I think you will be quite happy, with my sister’s firm. I think you will not only like her but will be quite honored with the step up as vice-president.”
“But first, can we make a date when you can visit my home? It’s the paintings on the walls…murals, not framed paintings…that I think will interest you immensely. They were there when I bought the home, they are the reason I bought it…I want to surprise you, but trust me, you will be amazed, as am I…”
(to be continued)
Freedom in Striving
“I act like shit don’t phase me, inside it drives me crazy, my insecurities could eat me alive.” – Eminem
Another Mike’s Hard Black Cherry Lemonade later and Effie was contemplating the meaning of life…well, her life as a woman. Why is it that when a woman wants to undertake ‘male’ activities such as voting (pushing a ballot through a slot), she is flying in the face of what God and Nature had created for her. Why?
Well, at the age of 3 or 4, Effie had discovered the Difference. She deduced that she had been castrated. This was particularly traumatic since her brothers were favored, a common family pattern since the days of Queen Victoria. In the normal course of her development, per Freud, she resolved the resulting turmoil by accepting her punishment, her mutilation, with total resignation, and adopted the passive feminine role as designated by male society.
But somewhere along the way she changed. Now she strove for physical and intellectual competence, but not because these are a good in themselves – she resents discrimination in education, the arts and employment and is frustrated rather than fulfilled by male domination; but rather, because she perceives these male activities as a symbolic substitution for the penis of which she was robbed in infancy. (You’d think they were hard to come by.)
Effie, in her infancy, misinterpreted the differences between the sexes and spoke lovingly but firmly to the child that still existed in her mind for years, “Little girls are like little boys turned inside out, so they can fit together.”
But with that behind her, she is still far from ready to consider what it means, not to be a woman, but to be a free human being. Effie is climbing out of the social and psychological box of the role definitions she has accepted without examination all her life. Until she sees this conditioning and understands it consciously, she won’t be able to evaluate the female role and choose to accept or reject the dictates of its components. It must be intellectualized before she attempts freedom of choice.
The articles in girls’ and women’s magazines are relatively easy to counteract compared to those forms of indoctrination which infiltrate Effie’s personality on a less conscious level – the animal instinct to imitate her mother, jokes, cartoons, movies, comics, fiction, and above all, advertising, where some of our culture’s better intellects are assigned the task of identifying certain patterns of behavior involving profits for their clients with grace, beauty, sexual felicity, power and love.
Women should undergo this process of self-examination with each other, but away from men. Effie is fortifying herself against the punishment of the male chauvinist and the paternalism of the male liberal.
Effie can’t do this alone; she feels the need to share this with all women – the process of self-discovery and the experience of independent decision-making. Only then will they all be ready for the real struggle.
Women cannot be free until men are free. A less facetious look at her husband Frank is no less discouraging. He still needs to feel resourceful, competent and useful in a world which denies him a social context for his work that will fulfill these needs. He needs work that is honorable, significant and challenging. He needs schools that do not smother his brain. He needs training and opportunity for his creative talents.
At seven in the morning Frank sallies forth from his humble castle to bring home the bacon. All day he contends with the forces of the Real World, which weary and batter him. He’s under the pressure of important, ulcer-making decisions. Or he sells his personality to clients. Or he smothers his resistance to the arrogance of his boss.
His ego is submerged. He is a cog in the corporate machine of technological society. He is one more sardine in the subway; one more ant on the freeway; one more rat in the race.
At five he staggers home, a beaten and belittled man. And there is Effie. She’s got 16 hours to get him on his feet again. To make him feel important, necessary, competent, and resourceful.
No matter how Effie’s day went, she must greet him at the door with fresh lipstick, a cheery smile, and a “how did it go?” Listen to his troubles; fetch him a beer or martini; shoo the kids out so that he can relax.
She mustn’t encumber him with all the petty irritations of running the house; he’s had enough of those at the office. But do ask his advice. Make him feel that he is still the Captain of his little ship.
Build him up.
“Frank, can you get the top off the peanut butter? I’ve been struggling with it all day!”
Effie must be smart enough so that he can be proud of her; stupid enough that he can feel smart by comparison. Make sure he knows she would be lost without him – confer on him the glow of paternalism, and on herself the dwarf-life of eternal childhood. Convince herself that propping up a collapsing male ego is a true vocation and, if he is not too tired, Vaginal Orgasm shall be hers.
He needs a veritable Martha Stewart; but Effie can be Martha no more.
Effie wonders how the young are cared for in a society that offers no alternative to female indentureship. Where do women work in an economy with high unemployment and frequent recessions?
The problems of women are problems of the whole society; the solutions for women lie in solving far-ranging social problems. But this involves nothing short of a revolutionary restructuring of the most basic institutions in society – the tax structures that can give us parks and nursery schools, the economy that can give us jobs, the schools and the arts. The task is almost too great to be contemplated. Effie shrinks from it.
Except for this. There is freedom in the striving.