Ich befinde mich immer noch in der wunderschönsten Krise meines Lebens. Jeder Tag ist ein neues Abenteuer, in dem ich verborgene Schätze hebe und wie Odysseus von einer Insel zur nächsten schippere um mich stetig anderen Fabelwesen zu stellen. Nie zuvor durfte ich in so beglückender Weise erfahren, dass alles – wirklich alles -, was ich zur Heilung meiner größten Ängste und Wunden benötige, in mir angelegt ist. Und dass das Einzige, was zur Heilung notwendig ist, bedingungslose Ehrlichkeit ist. Die Bereitschaft, voll und ganz hinzusehen und dem, was so weh tut, meine ganze Anteilnahme zu schenken. Plötzlich taucht Hoffnung auf am Horizont, plötzlich schlägt Weinen in Freude um, Verzweiflung in Frieden. Danke.
Was ich mir so lang nicht eingestehen konnte – dass im Kern meiner Blockade eine sexuelle Problematik liegt – ist jetzt endlich am Tisch. Ich kann es mir endlich eingestehen und plötzlich schmilzt auch das Dilemma in mir dahin. Die Zwiegespaltenheit, ob meine plötzliche körperliche Totalverweigerung denn bedeuten müsse, dass ich meinen Lebkuchenmann verlassen muss, obwohl ich ihn von Herzen liebe? Ob ich mich wieder auf die Suche nach irgendeinem Neuen begeben muss, obwohl doch jede Faser in mir sich danach sehnt, mit dem „Alten“ weiter in die Mysterien einzutauchen, die die leibhaftige Liebe bereithält?
Mit der Aufrichtigkeit mir und meiner Situation gegenüber kommt auch endlich die Klarsicht, dass das alles nichts weiter zu bedeuten hat, als das etwas in mir jetzt geheilt werden kann und möchte. Mit der Aufrichtigkeit mir gegenüber muss ich mein „Problem“ nicht mehr verbergen. Ich muss mich nicht entscheiden, ich muss überhaupt nichts außer der Liebe Raum zu geben – und die Wunder folgen auf dem Fuße.
Schlussendlich bringt die Ehrlichkeit zu mir selber auch tausend Möglichkeiten, mit dem Lebkuchenmann zu teilen, was mich bewegt, gemeinsam zu forschen und zu entdecken. Hand in Hand durch das scheinbare Jammertal zu gehen und es wieder fruchtbar zu machen. Mit dieser Aufrichtigkeit kann die Liebe wachsen, die bedingungslose Liebe für all unsere Narben und Bedürftigkeiten, für unsere Ängste und Irrwege, aber auch die Liebe die Kraft schenkt, immer nach Wegen zu suchen, die heilen und befreien. Nichts verändert die Welt so sehr, wie das Auge der Liebe, das den Prinzen, die Prinzessin, im Kern unseres Frosch-Seins zu erkennen vermag.
Zur Zeit „beschränkt“ sich unser (irdischer) Kontakt vor allem auf E-Mails, weil wir halb Europa zwischen uns haben. Keine Beschränkung für zwei, die gerne schreiben und lesen. Ich möchte euch einen Aussschnitt einer E-Mail, die ich ihm vor einigen Tagen geschickt habe, nicht vorenthalten – ist halt auf Englisch, aber wer lesen will, der schafft das :) Wenn ich im Folgenden von „Yoni“ spreche, so meine ich nicht nur die Vulva/Scheide, sondern den Kern einer Frau, das seelisch-körperliche Zentrum, in dem sich ihre ganze (göttliche) Weiblichkeit entfaltet. Beim Mann heißt dieses Zentrum „Lingam“.
Some days ago I started to open up to the process of healing for my femininity and sexuality. I have to say I don’t really know yet where to begin and what it is exactly that needs to be looked at, so I simply worked for the process to start in a manner I can follow consciously and understand step by step. I found a picture of myself when I was 11 or 12 and I remembered how incredibly vulnerable I was at that time. I was dreaming of being recognized as a woman by the other sex. I felt terribly uncomfortable in my body. I felt ugly. I felt so weak. When I looked at that picture I could see how soft and beautiful I was at that point, although my hair were short and some thought I was an effeminate boy, dreamy, lost in an ocean of feelings, insecurity, arising sexuality. I had no real friends, no outside guidance. I was a very gentle soul.
This morning I prayed again and what came was to clean my body very well and to establish better contact and information exchange in the cells, in the metabolism, in the blood, in my skin, in the organs. I cleaned my heart, my mind. Then I turned to my Yoni and established a safe and blessed contact between her and my heart and mind. So they would listen to what she has to say. When I started praying for my Yoni, my voice got coarse. I didn’t feel anything inside, but my voice got really strange. I simply opened the canal so that my Yoni would be able to communicate to my consciousness. And then I started crying. I wasn’t sad really, it seemed only as if my Yoni cried through my eyes. Still, I didn’t feel anything extraordinary inside of her.
I’m like that little girl on the picture all over again. Maybe I never outgrew her, actually. I’ve kept waiting for the boys to come and pluck me. I’ve kept my Yoni a safe place, a nice place for them, where they could feel they’re needed and wanted, where they could feel held and accepted as they are. I went with an ugly guy to prove to myself my Yoni was strong enough to look beyond the surface. My Yoni was some sort of Mother Teresa, taking those who felt in need. My Yoni’s reason to exist was to take the boys higher, to make them feel good by showing them how good they made me feel, to be that soulful and deep and passionate woman that their previous girlfriends and affairs had never been. When I was without a man, I was wild and free and seductive, my Yoni felt so alive because there were men to catch out there, a job to do: making their heads spin, making them remember me, a goal to pursue. Making them say: she’s a great woman. When a boy left me, I was always ashamed, but I never worried: was I too much? was I too outspoken? was I too …? What I worried about was: Was I bad in bed?
When I was with a man for a longer period of time, the access to that aliveness diminished. Naturally, the input he gave to my Yoni grew less. I didn’t know, or I didn’t dare, to turn on the machine first, and on my own. Mostly because I didn’t fully know how! How to really feel it without outside stimuli. [I’m not surprised by that, it took me years to really become aware of certain joints or muscles in my body.] I have never, actually turned on the machine fully when I was with a boyfriend I cared for. I’ve let it fall asleep gradually. Afraid that it might overpower my will. Afraid that it might wash me away into an entirely forbidden direction – another man’s arms, a fantasy, unfaithfulness. What I hated so much in my first boyfriend, that the mere touch of a stranger (whom he so often didn’t even find attractive) made him lose his mind so he cheated on me all the time – I have had inside of me all this time. We weren’t so different after all, and what I saw as evil in him, I have in me. So, I turned my Yoni off, or at least to a low „working mode“, but always receptive to my boyfriend’s needs. Putting on blinders so I wouldn’t see the sweet fruits hanging on the trees, to be the good one, to not hurt anyone. To not feel the pain of wanting something I couldn’t have. Praying that no man would come close enough to touch me or make a move on me and unleash a lusty beast that I would not be able to control. Desperately hoping to be spared by temptation, because OMG it would shatter me to pieces. Terrified that my incapability to hold the Yoni back would make me lose a relationship I cared for. Feeling trapped inside my self and dead at the same time. I’ve had countless dreams where I was through some circumstances forced to sleep with other men but feeling so guilty for enjoying it, even wanting it, and knowing that everyone would desert me – my boyfriend because I cheated and the lover because I was just an affair.
Is there maybe another way?, I ask my Yoni. Maybe you’re not a thing, and maybe you don’t have to function. Maybe you’re still full when no one comes to visit, and maybe you don’t need to be fixed when you close the doors. Maybe you’re still whole and holy even if you’re not „turned on“ for any sexual purpose. Maybe I’ve lost you though, maybe I’ve never even really had you yet, maybe somewhere on the way I have pushed you away, afraid of your powers and confused by your messages. I’ve only let you do that: be turned on, respond to someones input. I’ve never let you be just for me. I’ve never let you open up to me without immediately looking for someone to direct your energies towards. I didn’t know that this was possible. I don’t know how to let you be alive, I’m afraid of you. I’m afraid you want to drag me into some fling, just to feel alive again. Is it flings you want? Haven’t we met enough Lingams to know they’re all pretty much the same?
I’m in pain because you don’t let me express the deep love I feel for my man, and you’re in pain because of that too. It makes me want to run away and lie under a tree and sleep forever like a princess. It makes me so nervous, I don’t know what to do. I’m so scared you will stay like this eternally, I’m so worried I will be only half a woman forever, like those mermaids I used to draw everywhere when I was a child. I want to feel alive, I want to be like I used to be when I was giggling, and flirting, and pouring wine over my breasts and feeling beautiful, but something won’t let me. Maybe was it THAT you were after? – the dancing, the singing, the childlike games, the frivolity, the adventure? Only, it always came in pairs with strangers and affairs – you’ve actually never ever known it any other way, even though it was tremendous fun.
Why is it that I can let you express yourself fully only when I feel as safe as a bird high up on a tree? Why is it that I felt comfortable and playful only when I knew I wouldn’t be caught – was it exactly because I knew the boys would throw me away, they wouldn’t commit? Why is it that you feel responsible for any unhappy and handsome Lingam that might come your way? Why are you so apathetic deep down inside, and at the same time so open for those needy guys, that I feel like I have to put brick walls around my eyes so as to keep us in safety? How can I reanimate you without going to hunt for men? Where did I starve your passion, your vitality, your freedom of speech? How come I’ve never seen your face unveiled, only glimpses and reflections in someone else’s touch?
Right now, she’s very quiet, she only cries, but it’s all more than fine. Maybe it is the first step in our/my enterprise of re-learning sex. It starts – at least for me – by losing my sexuality, or what I believed it to be all those years.
It’s awesome. Awesome what a girl will find when she digs. :)