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diaryland

we are getting to the point where each time is the best

24 September 2002 - 10:43

<<--unravel * reintegrate-->>

i know he loves me, not only because he says it but because i can feel it.

he is leading me blindfolded. he has a concept of where we're going, but he doesn't know. he'll never see. it's a place he's always been, and you can't know places like that because there's nothing else for you.

sexual development for me is largely a process of removing the blocks to that development: the leaps forward are natural, the most defined part of my (subjectively) shapeless identity. i learn to let go. of self consciousness. of perceived need ... all those little ideas in the back of my mind of what intimacy means, those assessments of whether we are there. i learn to be aware of my body, what it feels, what it wants to do. i learn to arch my back, release sounds.

release.

there are tunnels and caves--i mean emotionally, spiritually, meditatively. inner recesses. sex is a door or a vehicle. and i wonder how far most people go. how far *i* can go.

and i know he is only dimly aware of the awakening in me. he knows the general movement, not all the little steps, what they feel like, a sun underneath each opening petal. the swirling galaxies of emotion in a woman's heart.

i want to write a story about the disparity of our perspectives, our degrees of awareness. but people will think he is blindfolded because he doesn't care. people will read me as though i have very little self-esteem, sharing myself with someone with whom i can't truly share myself.

what i would want people to take away is wonder about the things someone can do to you without ever knowing. this is not a matter of unevenness but of unconscious grace.

<<--unravel * reintegrate-->>