by Barrie C. Apr 8, 2014
A is for all of it, the whole strange, enchanting thing of it, the Alpha, the Omega, all of it. It is mega. It is magnificent and succulent. How strange to find myself one of the ambassadors for it. I never could have imagined that! Here’s what I’m doing as much as possible: I’m making my orgasm into a kind of alter and as a result, everything is being altered, and by everything I mean life itself. I mean I have entered a real life Alice in Wonderland multi-dimensional situation and the result is that I am more alive and you are too, to me, I mean. The ness in aliveness is a neon ness for me now. And the amazing thing is, all of this happened through the tiny miracle of paying attention.
B is for it is blowing my mind and I feel reborn, re bat-mitzvahed, and I have always wanted a bat-mitzvah redo because it felt like an empty spectacle and now through Om, I get to have one again and again in 15 minute segments and it is truly growing me up for real this time. How is it that this is happening? I bet it has something to do with my pussy. That must be what the bet is all about in alphabet.
C is for my clit. She is very concrete. She is much more concrete than the rest of me. She’s almost a clitoracle and she’s a clear communicator. She is not neurotic at all. She’s cliterotic. She seems to worship the thrum of life and she direct me like a compass. She brought me to California from Chicago just a few months ago and now, here I am again. I said to myself, “I wonder what I will do to celebrate the new year? Maybe I will stay home.” My clit said, “Absolutely not. You’re taking me to California. I have thousands of nerve endings and I would like them stroked at once, preferably in the woods. I would like someone to build me a nest like birds do please, only with pillows and blankets, not with twigs and leaves. I would like to lay some symbolic eggs of awareness and then I’d like to sit upon them to see what hatches. I would like the kind of container orgasmic meditation offers and I know, you know I don’t mean Tupperware containers.”
D is for deciding to do it, to try it, to not dismiss it as so many do with desires. Dismissing and dismissing until one day you are dead as a kind of final dismissal. Done. I told my friend D. what I was doing and where I was going and she was deeply disturbed. And she kept pronouncing Nicole’s last name incorrectly while leafing through the book I’d handed her. Who is this Nicole Daedone she kept asking? And what has she done to my friend? This sounds dangerous.”
E is for I must admit, I entertained the notion that this experiment might not be for me; so, I had a back-up plan. I brought seventeen journals along with two kindles with hundreds of books on each of them. I thought well, worse comes to worse I will just read and write while I am there and while other people are having their Om Winter retreat, I will be having my own retreat of reading and writing and I thought I could also, if the mood struck me, punctuate this reading and writing retreat with some crying sessions over my latest breakup to really enjoy the full negative pleasure glory of feeling like a victim. However, as soon as I got there, my pussy (Am I really writing the P word again and again? Yes, I really am) began to rev up like an engine. She was eager, exuberant, engorged. She said, “Please let me be in charge, just for now, just as a research project.” She was persistent so I consented. Also, I was lucky enough to carpool with some Om coaches in training and they organized a committee with all the parts of me in the car and that was quite enlightening and productive. It felt a like a new kind of party. And once my parts reached consensus, I was good to go.
F is for following my pussy to this practice has turned out to be a fantastic idea because who knew, who knew that I would be initiated over and over into a gallery of feelings, a cutting edge fabric store of sorts, a texture museum of sensation: Silk, leather, sparkly, soft, fuzzy, fizzy and then deeper still into hybrids of feelings that were difficult to frame or even fathom at times: They were so…nuanced. Fear-joy, hot-happy, sad-weird, prickly-sweaty, famished-friendly and instead of being exhausted by these sensations they were filling me and fulfilling me and finding more and more in me to feel even the unpleasant ones. It felt like I’d suddenly inherited a fortune and it would always available to me, always replenished, like a well of liquid gold.
G is for the gold is great news, especially because there is a ghettoization of sorts in our culture, a ghettoization of mothers and I know this because I am a mother, but even if you are not one, you can easily see this and feel it around you. And what is strange about this is that babies are conceived through sex and brought into the world through pussies and fed with breasts, but once they are here and even after they are grown up women are told subtly or not so subtly that we are supposed to forget our sex forever. We are supposed to hang out together and complain at length about how tired we are, how expensive everything is, and how worried we are about everything. For fun we can order a new stroller or switch from rice to quinoa. We should not be gorgeous or greedy or sexy. We should not have desires unless they have to do with ensuring everyone around us is happy. We should be more or less invisible. We should not get divorced. We should not let our homes get messy or play the drums or start a revolution. We should definitely not fuck each other. God forbid. We most certainly should not let people we hardly know stroke our pussies while we moan or cry out, while we ask for a firmer stroke, a lighter stroke, a longer stroke. We’re not even supposed to take our pants off, once the babies are out of us. We’re mothers now and that’s our main job. If we’re lucky maybe someone will get us earrings or a gift certificate to Target. Fun, fun.
H is well, I’m here now and I don’t mean here although I am here but what I mean is all of me is here, all the parts of me. I am present. My clitoris told me I should make her my higher power. “Welcome to my hood,” she said. “Thanks,” I said. So, yes, although I moved out of the mom ghetto quite some time ago, I live here now which means I live everywhere and I can go anywhere as me and I am at home. I’m not hiding. My heart is here too, of course it is and wow, look, there is an om in home, right in the center between the “h” and the “e,” Between the he. Look at that. There is an om in Mom too, and in women. There’s even an om in dot com. Om is like the red ruby slippers. Our hot power shoes are under the house, under the hood. Who knows, Hades himself might be a highly skilled passionate lover? Perhaps we were fed some misinformation. Let’s go down there and see what’s up. Let’s give ourselves some permission. If you like, you can think of permission like a persimmon, a delicious little orange fruit of possibility. And don’t worry you’ll be safe-ported and you can still be a great mom.
I for infinity. I always wanted to find it, to get there even though my first grade teacher said it was impossible. “You can’t get there,” she said, “it keeps going.” After school one day, I went straight to my room. (Ah, room, look at that another om, right after the r and the o.) I took out paper and pen and begin to write to infinity. 1, 2, 3. 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11. I think I got to about 600 before I gave up; never realizing that decades later I would get there and stay there, that infinity is life force itself and you can just climb on top of it and ride it into forever. You just adhere yourself to the fin of it it, you can just plug in, and ride. Moments are just segments of infinity, just little petals on the majestic flower of its expanse.
J is for juice, like when the battery on your car dies and you plug into another car with those cables and you give it some juice, Yes, that is the gas inside orgasm. It is natural. It is organic. Speaking of organs my brilliant biologist friend Stephanie told me that the clitoris is the only human organ that does not age. It is ageless. The clit you have at age 9 is the same one you’ll have at 109. Talk about infinite. What a diamond.
K is for kaleidoscopic in the scope of it. I don’t even really know how to deal with how cosmic it is yet, so I don’t. I just say thank you. Thank you for this kaleidoscope of sensations. All I can do is kiss the landscape of it. Essentially, most of the time, these days, I mostly just want to make out with everything.
L is for laughter. Earlier this month, my children and I drove to Massachusetts to study a practice called laughter yoga. And I must say I was more than a little thrilled to experience laughter and orgasm as twins sprung from the same divine bliss pussy. I am also thrilled to report that I have that this March of 2014 has been a very interesting march, a parade actually featuring the floating spectacles of laughter and orgasm. Helium is so healing. I really, for the life of me cannot recall a more buoyant spring. What things to languish in and what luck to live in a place where it is possible to have such a March. It is not every place in the world where a woman is permitted to laugh for no reason and quake in her sex and talk about it all quite openly without repercussions.
M is for mmm, the sound of the consonant after the vowel in om and also for the middle. Here we are. Here we are at mmmm. It is too bad middle school was not more like mmm for most of us. Sometimes I dedicate moments of deep satisfaction to children in middle schools. I send my mmm to hospitals and overseas to war torn places. I send it to people having mid-life crises. I send it to animals in zoos and out into the atmosphere. Mmmm Mmmm. I am an orgasm bank.
N is for noticing. Noticing is magic. It like an instant notarization of whatever is being gazed upon. No notary public necessary. It makes what is being noticed matter as matter. Noticing is the antidote to numbness, neglect, and is one way to alchemize a no that secretly desires to be a yes. The act of noticing makes whatever is gazed upon into art almost instantaneously, it wakes it up, and begins to change it. Once noticing begins you begin to see and seeing is so far beyond looking. Really seeing and really being seen that is the ticket and to start with a woman’s pussy? What a brilliant place to begin. If you really mean it and are not just going through some motions, if you play it deep, her pussy will begin to glisten and throb before any stroking even begins, because seeing is a kind of stroking. “Hold on,” her pussy will shyly announce? Are you talking about me? Wow. What color did you say I was: A deep coral pink? A milky coffee rose color? Oh please, say more. Ah, I feel quite supple suddenly. Would you like to see me naturally lubricate myself? Oh, wow little contractions. I’m dancing.”
O is for Orgasm. I don’t think it’s a mistake that the word starts with “or” because it’s important to have choices and really the word itself is offering the choice of itself right there in the last two syllables: The word is a kind of menu: Boredom or gasm? Binge eating or gasm? Crabby constantly or gasm? Shut down or gasm? I’ll have orgasm. I will take the offer. Thank you.
P is for the pussy and her opus, her prismatic pandemonium. Prisms really are so much better than prisons. Yes, all the colors, the whole rainbow, new patterns, new neural pathways, new ways to access power, new ways for light to play; little campfires everywhere, lights in all the windows of the skyscrapers.
Q is for the quest inside of every question and
R is for re/quests, to quest again, to seek and to find and practice asking again. The re tells you you’re going to get more chances, that you get as many do-overs as you want. Personally, I find requests challenging. I am new at the instrument of it. I barely know how to hold the bow of them much less make anything that sounds remotely like music, but even the idea of requests excites me. Listen, I will practice: Hello, would you like to Om? Thank you. Would you stroke a bit more to the left. Thank you. Would you try a meatier stroke? Thank you. Would you try a featherier stroke? Thank you. Is featherier a real word? Thank you. You don’t have to answer that. Thank you. Will you have a make out with me? Thank you. Will you make out with me after I make out with her? Thank you. Will you listen to my idea? Thank you? I know avocado doesn’t come on the salad, but could I please have avocado on it anyway? Thank you. Requests are raffle tickets for a raffle with excellent odds. You almost can’t not win the prize even if the person you’re asking says no. You win because you are on your quest no matter. You are in the game.
S is for savoring. I have discovered that savoring makes time slow down, makes even the coldest winters in Chicago’s bearable. Savoring is an invisible chamber in which life itself becomes a ceremony.
T is for I always thought of technology as something that had only to do with machines, but now I see that that technology is also what happens in our minds and hearts and brains, in our systems and in the way we connect with each other through the use of new applications. Orgasmic meditation is an advanced technology. To engage with it is to engage something countercultural and radical, courageous and intimate, something human and bright. We all know how to use computers and smart phones, but very few know how to, or even that is possible to shoot energy back and forth between a fingertip and a clit.
U is for um. Um is not knowing what you want, not being able to say what you need to say, not having the inner permission to be clear and direct. Om is the way out of um. Om is freedom. Um is just um. Um is mostly just a wishy-washy bummer. It’s a crumb and a crumb is so not a cake. Specificity is sexy. It’s a great city. It’s right near luminosity and electricity. There are very nice men there they are very relieved that they finally understand what it is women really want from them and what it they can do to make us smile.
V is for voice and vision and losing my om virginity, my omginity. The truth is virginities abound in so many spheres of living. Contrary to popular belief there is more than just one. So if losing the one that everyone thinks is the only one was not all you hoped it could, be just know there are so many more. Really, each moment is another virginity to lose.
W is for Walt Whitman who wrote, “I have perceived that to be with those I like is enough. To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough. To be surrounded by beautiful, curious breathing, laughing flesh is enough. To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly round his or her neck for a moment, what is this then? I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it as in a sea. There is something in staying close to men and woman and looking on them, and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well. All things please the soul, but these please the soul well.”
X is for OM X. I always like to think of X in the algebraic way as standing for the unknown, the mysterious. We can let X equal anything. We can let it equal love or desire. We can let X mark the spot and I know you know what spot I mean. The X is marked there so perhaps you will not stray too from it and if you do, you can find your way back. And it’s okay if you make a lot of mistakes along the way. Mistakes are the juiciest kinds of steaks there are. You can eat as many as you want and still be a vegetarian.
Y is for yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. It certainly does feel good to say. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. And backwards yes almost spells say. So if I were to say yes backwards and forward I’d be saying say yes, say yes say yes. And if I had pom-poms I’d almost be cheering and there are multiple oms in pom-poms. We should probably get some.
Z is for itself. It has a pretty, zigzag stroke, like a signature. It has an ecstatic lively sound too like buzzing bees, like honeybees in an exuberant hive, like the buzz of electricity, like everything and everyone turning on all at once.