Orgasm, Intimacy, Self and Relatedness at Burning Man

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Photo by Eric Francis.

It is some months after these events; I’ve lost count.  Not so many, let’s see—this was in September, and now it is November—so just under one season ago. It seems so distant and it seems like last week at the same time.

I remember that night as Siobhan and I walked across the playa. It was a journey on the surface of a different planet than the one we had come from, and neither of us forgot the image of the city as a temple complex. I described it when I had settled down a little. My description resembled both a feeling and a visual she experienced at the same time.

Fun Sway, who said she would be back to try that thing, thanked us for sharing the experience, and she plunged into the night. I was one to one with Siobhan and aware of the warmest space of acceptance by another person, safe and embracing. She didn’t need to speak to me and I didn’t need her too. This encouraged me to hold my silence and let so much that I was feeling swim around and find its world within me.

After a long silence, she leaned toward me and whispered into my ear. I smiled and squeezed her close. We gathered our things and I tidied up after the evening’s experience. It felt good to have clothes on; like I was snug and protected in my teeshirt, shorts and dusty sandals that had followed my feet all the way from Paris.

We slipped silently into the bright world of darkness that was a Burning Man night. We knew intuitively where to walk, which was to the western edge of the city. As I placed my feet on the Earth, I felt the space between my hips; the space inside my pelvis. I felt full and strong inside, with my weight centered below my naval.

I glanced at Siobhan as she walked, at her face and her hair streaming back, and then at her hips as they swayed. Her dress embraced her and trailed behind her as well. I smiled at her incredible beauty, the feeling of love spilling through my heart like a cup in there that had tipped.

We emerged onto the vast plateau from an angle that neither of us had ever seen – the far corner, as if on the distant edge of a strange continent. The world seemed to tip a little bit. All the perspectives were different. The lights exploded along the plane of the desert. Vehicles draped with illumination ambled along the terrain, some of them blaring music.  Fiery exhibits lit the night with their dangerous orange flicker, splashed across the dust.  Everything converged at the center, in the direction of the absolutely friendly effigy of a man standing high in the night, lit from within by blue and yellow neon strips.

I took her hand and we stepped into the open lake bed at the center of the city and headed toward the Man, far in the distance and halfway to the other shore.

Walking Across Desire

Green Woman of the desert. Photo by Eric Francis.

The playa floor felt like a vast trampoline.  By that I mean that it sank a little bit as I took each step.  The landscape seemed to lean into me slightly, as if everything around me were sloped in my direction.  It was like feeling experience of awareness curved around my presence, with me as the center of my consciousness.

Siobhan’s hand felt steadying as I walked this way, and recognized that I was exploring an inner landscape.  My senses crossed over with memory as the background taste of plays dust in my mouth, mixed with my own fresh semen from half an hour ago, bore resemblance to the feeling of my own thoughts.  This came like a deja vu, obliquely into my awareness, happening before I knew it was happening.

I knew that I was walking in the world, and yet the emptiness that surrounded me, the spacious quality and he endless ceiling of sky, and the city beginning to fade away behind us, felt like stepping out across an unexplored plateau of my own thoughts.

One thing in particular felt different about my experience of life: I was sexually sated.  As my feet pressed into the ground with each step, they called into attention my hips moving, and between my hips felt like a ball of warmth, full but not brimming.  Each breath I drew reached deeper into the feeling, as if the energy was evaporating from my root area into my lungs and heart.  I breathed through a few steps, and again, and again.  I knew I was the author of my experience.

I wondered about Siobhan: what was she feeling?  My mind reached, or it projected, and seemed to surround her: curiosity.  Warm.  With the feeling of working its way free, like muscle letting go of bone. Burning.  With the unknown.  Elegant, vividly female lust.

We were polar opposites: I was sated male desire and she was feminine curiosity to enter the unknown.  I felt like I knew everything I needed to know about my own erotic response, and she rang with the thirst of mystery.

As I was wandering in these thoughts a green figure appeared on the horizon. Intuitively, we walked toward it.  I recognized her as the figure of a woman.  She did not appear to be aware of us, but I could barely imagine how she was not.  The closer we got, the stranger this was.  It was not merely that she didn’t respond with eye contact, inquiry or acknowledgment of any kind; it was that she seemed unable to sense us psychically.

She sat with her legs in a split, and was adjusting lights pointed toward her crotch.  She did this deliberately.  Delicately.  Then she pulled up her tunic and with fingers of her other hand, parted the lips of her vulva and gazed into herself.

(Posted at Book of Blue, here and here)

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