I didn’t want to undress. I didn’t want to get naked. I couldn’t rationalize why I would.
I felt comfortable, warm, cocooned.
I don’t think clothing as ‘appropriate’ or not. I see no need for clothing other than comfort nowadays and yet I was reluctant.
I want to get the most of this experience. But is getting the most of something brought about by the ‘wisdom’ of the facilitator?
I wanted to yell but as always my body keeps holding me back. No. It isn’t my body: it’s always conditioning; all the experiences that have made the most of me. I try to bargain with my body. She knows what’s best but something presses together, conspiring to create static, lumpy, solid, stagnant. What is that.
I loved thinking about dominating a space. For all that my reasoning won over my body. I have no sense of insecurity, “I don’t know”, yet I’m rooted. I belong to myself and no other body can overpower that or control it. This lithe body of mine knows. I feel no threat. I can shout. I can shout louder than that.
I’ve had it drummed into me that physically I’m “scary”, “a threat”. I don’t subscribe to this making of my body in an attempt for you to control it. It simply isn’t true. I know that no other body can dominate my consciousness of it. But it can be looser. What’s keeping it uptight?
Concentrated breathing and giant epiphanies – breathing focuses and is an action to focus, really focus on. The dialogue can be disquieting oftentimes simply because of the reciprocity, a kindness that magnifies a shared approach, clarifies or concentrates the idea of breathing. A very basic action, just breathing, and yet everything hinges on it.
What happens in a naked state? You concentrate on the body; not necessarily vulnerability but the functioning of it. The way it holds itself and then, straightening, tautening the body as you acknowledge, noticeably how erect or not it is. So, holding up, balancing, positioning your head, poised, can emphasise vulnerability. By dignifying the body, by holding it up and out everything is exposed. No crossing the legs or arms, for that demonstrates a fragility or submissiveness that is ingrained rather than a natural state. It is imposed. I wasn’t born “undressed”, embarrassed or with any shame. The least I feel in a public space, naked, is shame. Typically, and very English, “lets pretend it’s not happening”, you pariah, you outcast, you spare human – clothe yourself and demonstrate your character as we’ve prescribed.
When there is an opportunity presented to you how do you take it? It’s an intuitive step. It cannot be premeditated, an opportunity in itself is ruthless, you know not when it will strike – how do you know when it’s an opportunity? You sense it? You touch it? You hear it? You feel it? You snatch it and it’s empty and it’s not an opportunity at all, it’s a bloody curse that you pushed too hard for or you let it escape. Deflated. How to seize it again. Where TO LOOK.I can strip in front of you. It’s not sexy. It’s taking off my clothes. But I suppose it depends who you are. What a privilege for you if it is sexy for that’s a rarity, or so I say. But my body unclothed, is. Just is.
I’m lucky. Its brown and even: I have everything and nothing un<>usual. I’ve hair here and there. There sometimes, often times depending on whether I’m gonna unclothe in front of “you”.
I could breathe and feel just my breathing, unfocused, my eyes blurred – I’ve taken my glasses off. My tummy rising and falling – abandoning heavy arms and straight, rigid leg movements – my eyes closed, swinging my limbs, jumping, pounding, breathing and guttural noises, roaring, bellowing, deep in my chest, pushed out through weightlessness and shredding consciousness and responsibility.