Another blue world

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This is part of a continuing series describing experiences of sex, self, identity and intimacy of many kinds at Burning Man 2009.

Photo by Eric Francis.

Previously filled with the moans of Julia and Mike, and the raw emotion of Lucille’s masturbation, suddenly was silent as if time had stopped.  I gazed at Lucille through the mirror.  We seemed to float facing one another; upright all the time, but unburdened by gravity.

I was not sure she could see me; a moment earlier, it seemed as if she could only see her reflection, though anyone could gaze into her private world.  I looked through the glass toward her, and imagined she seeing herself.  Every word she spoke to me, she was saying to herself.  Yet her eye contact penetrated me.

Guide your desire toward liberation.

I considered that; the idea seemed wise and intuitive.

That is the idea, and she smiled so slightly.  Her eye contact seemed to impart another aspect of that idea.  Water filled up my senses: light water, moistening my concepts.  She nodded slightly, and continued to fill me with this quality or substance, though sacrificing none of her own.  Her presence expanded as mine softened. I relaxed and let go of some pain I didn’t know I was carrying.

You will miss your shame when you have left it behind, though not for long.

I turned one eye toward her.  As my desire to understand flashed for a moment, she imparted another idea.

Retain enough body memory, and emotional memory, to resonate with others. In particular, the attachment aspect of shame; the desire to have it.  This is a pleasure bond.  Remember the pleasure, and the deep familiarity.  Being without it is disorienting.

Remember the pleasure of shame.  So that I don’t forget.  What an interesting notion; yet one that would unravel so much, about why I returned so many times to a place where I attacked myself, where I committed psychic suicide by refusing to admit my own existence, much less witness my beauty.  I perceived it, with whatever fragility, assisted by her own unwavering perception of herself.  I thought: she witnesses herself and I am free to be myself.

Her face melted into the deep serenity of her pleasure.  Somehow she seemed to quickly reach the emotional edge before deep orgasm, and step off the edge, yet somehow not fall.

It’s like we’ll go through the crack at the edge of the horizon.

We disappeared from where we had been and seemed to be no-where; and no-where was a blue space.  The mirror was still between us, but now it felt like transparent glass in both directions.  Yet somehow I could see myself, and I knew that she could see me.  Then I shifted my attention and she could not see me.  Then I listened to her, even though she had not said anything.  Even though when she spoke, her lips did not move.  The sound seemed to come directly from her throat and reach my third eye.

Consciousness is like this glass.  It exists between any two people, even when they are touching.  A layer which can be transparent or reflective in any combination.  At times it is both clear and reflective at the same time.  Others all you are aware of is yourself, even in the presence of another.  You have the choice in every moment to take any posture.  Your experience of existence changes when you are aware what posture you are holding.  When you are aware of what you show or conceal.  When you are aware if you are looking at yourself or the other.  When you are aware of what they see.  That is why it is called consciousness.

(Posted at Book of Blue)

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