I'm busy working on my blog posts. Watch this space!
October 26, 2019
This one is a story about my heavy conditioned "intellectual" armouring (and) Bananaman meeting it with his own heavy conditioned banana-peel armouring.
The rain is pouring and I wait in cue to pay for tasteless bananas. I imagine myself giving birth. I don't want to push, I want to flow and I imagine a push happening by something greater than me. I see myself giving birth to a child in a same way as I see myself giving birth to my creative projects.
I still wait in a store. I don't wait for a Man anymore. My eyes are open but I don't enjoy looking at men at stores. Later this evening a friend tells me of a TV show where men search for a date by exposing their bananas. I'm glad I don't watch TV. I enjoy looking at men in my stories. He called himself a Bananaman; not the fictional character from the Cartoon of our childhood, but a Man I used to know (...)
He called himself 香蕉人 xiāngjiāorén, like many other Asian people who were imposed to become white inside while battling the yellow outside because of the forces of imperialism which were followed by collectivism which were followed by political reforms of Deng Xiaoping... ... ... I wasn't aware of the depth of the traumas of Westernized people of Asian appearances at the time. It would be delusional for me to expect him to simply shake off the shackles of social control in order to attain clarity in understanding the Daoist Classics he knew to recite by heart.
He craved to let go of I to find the self but he didn't know how to address this (re)formation. He wanted to have a home, a job and a car, but he didn't want me. He wanted to have me without wanting me. The problem lied in more than just him wanting me only because of me having all the above. This is why he accepted me as his "western" girlfriend and his disciple. I prefered to think he accepted me because my I was endlessly adressing his lost You.
This is a story of a Daoist Master I used to learn from. When I met him his Ego was a cloud in the sky above Huangshan (Yellow Mountain). His sexuality was without a base, without home. He saw that home in me, I represented peace 安 an (woman under the roof) for him. The problem lied in me seeing him as my Master and not seeing me as his equal Mistress. Years after, as I look at him from a Therapist's perspective I see what I only sensed at the time; His body could never been treated in conjunction with "traditional therapy setting" as his mother and father was a communist state, not his parents or the Earth and the Heaven as it is passed on in Daoist Scriptures. His body was inseparable from the body of the state.
My sin was not my sexuality, my sin was being openminded and overly romantic. With him in meditation, I was seen accepted as I am- deeply spiritual. With him in love, everything lost its meaning; He accepted this part of me, not my sexuality. He was afraid that because of it his penis would retract and disappear. At the same time the classics were describing this phenonema in solo-meditation practices which he was guiding us into. The problem wasn't in minnie me as I believed at the time. The problem was where it always is- in a banana split, which provokes the split between the man and the woman. I was dreaming of our lovemaking but he prefered to be pragmatic; no dreaming, he prefered to diffuse his eroticism toward the collective.
The only time I got the opportunity to see him in private was during our meditations. We meditated a lot. The meditations were vigorous. I've lost my connection to the roots- Slovenian traumas stayed; what I've lost was my moon cycle. Not only there was no menstruating in those months of my life, there was no dance, no music and no poetry. But there still was sexuality in the body- whose body? A body who uses stories as a fuel for creative expression. My body.
He never offered me any privacy where we could blend at least our wisdom if there was no vision, which led me to significantly eroticize the surfaces of our everyday life experiences; He used to sugarcane me. No, he didn't spank me with sugarcanes, he used to tell me how good my Chinese was and how talented I was. I knew he was saying the same to anyone who learnt to say Nihao (Hello in Chinese) which made me feel pathetic and ungrounded. I craved to be special to him. I never was; maybe that's where the roots to my sugar addiction lie. This are also the roots of my inner union which awakened in me to see the void that is not empty.
I still crave to be special to a Man that I like. I still suffer when I'm not. I put awareness to it and try not to override it. Neither the desire to be special to someone who is special to me, neither the slavic suffering that attaches to this desire. They are here to teach me. They are here to remind me I'm not into Barren sexuality, I'm not into creativeless connections.
I'm into You and this time I'm not saying I want you. I want US. I'm not saying I want to meet us without conditions and conditionings. I want to meet us with awareness of them, awareness of us and how they're affecting our relationship. I want us to continue exploring sources of knowledge that originate within the experience itself. I wish us to continue exploring together.
I'm busy working on my blog posts. Watch this space!