Ravishingly low

Is there a delicate way to put this?  I’ve tried a number of ways.  If you’ve talked to me in the past few weeks, you may have heard me say any of these things: I’ve been put back in my body.  My sex drive is in hyperdrive.  Just the motions of everyday life are ridiculously erotic.

The past week, I’ve been thinking about it as having my fire back.  In a lot of ways, sure — I’m re-discovering that honesty is nothing if not raw, and that my honesty —  stripped of the masked phrasings and subliminal dances that have long been second nature to me — is not as welcome as I’d expected, and how hungrily people leap to a potential wound, perhaps especially from loved ones.  It’s a double restraint: 1) from wounding, and then 2) from playing nurse to the wound that inevitably happens anyway.

But more than that, it’s more literally fire.  A low constant simmering heat I’ve never experienced before.  I mean it’s always there.

Is it ironic that I be back in my body at a time when I have to be alone, or a function of that solitude?

It’s true that life itself, just being in the world, is ridiculously erotic.  It doesn’t matter what it is.  The wind.  The scratch of this little bird’s claws as it circles its nest on the rain gutter.  The way the sunlight comes in my window over the course of the afternoon.  The way the old Chinese man laughed when he sold me cigarettes and I told him I’m 27.  “Hooo-hooo-hooooooo!”  We won’t even talk about things like food and art and Xena: Warrior Princess.  Hooo-hoooo-hooooo!  I cannot stop paying attention to who I am attracted to — which is a mutual thing, a surprise vibe — and kind of absently wondering why, teasing out the mechanics of why does this wavelength appeal to me, why do I want to do these things to this body, or sometimes just why the fuck why?

Sometimes I kind of float above it, but never for long.  It’s always there waiting for me, this fire that is both in me and in the world.  For instance: at Pacifica I did well in the group interview, and the professor who was meant to do my personal interview somehow forgot and went home, first time ever.  We did a phone interview that went very well, and he was apologetic and I was graceful.  The end.  Beneath that, and still real, there is a live melting level where these other things happen and are both “in my head” and external.  I was watching the professor very closely during the group interview, just gauging the room and the folks as I would for anything remotely competitive.  Also, I liked him immediately, and in just a general-representative-of-the-program way.  I noted how he responded to the other women talking, and I watched how he responded to me.  I watched how I projected myself, and how all the other people projected themselves.  I looked at the professor and suddenly thought, “He’s totally got the hots for me.”  I enjoyed the rest of the interview, and waited a few hours for my personal interview.  About twenty minutes beforehand, we saw each other as I was getting water and he walked across the other end of the huge entryroom.  I smiled a perfectly normal smile and he gave me a look I had, and have, no idea how to gauge.  Not a smile.  He didn’t show for the interview…perhaps he honestly did forget me, but for my phone interview he explicitly said he remembered me from the group interview.  He gushed all sorts of compliments, said he owed me one, and invited me to his office hours in the fall.


I don’t think it’s going away.  I worry sometimes about squashing this new fire, like I worry about filling up the emptiness.  We both know there’s no need to worry.  I tended — and still tend — the emptiness, and the fire was there inside it, all this time.  Now I tend the fire, and the emptiness it needs — I wonder what will be inside of it?  And I think it’s hard to be honest now…


1412, “a breaking into parts,” from L. resolutionem (nom. resolutio) “process of reducing things into simpler forms,” from pp. stem of resolvereresolve). Originally sense of “solving” (as of mathematical problems) first recorded 1548, that of “holding firmly” (in resolute) 1533, and that of “decision or expression of a meeting” is from 1604.
Any thing is not necessarily a thing.  You can break it and break it and break it down into its most basic insoluble parts, and then a thing is not a thing, but things.  This is a word that means both “loosen” and “hold fast” at the same time.  This is perhaps more than I can chew!  Resolution is plural, insoluble things in concert.  Melting.  The behind-the-scenes source of proclaimation.  Footing for intent.  Also, how many little packages of information can you consider when taking in an image?  Even more than a thing, an image is plural.  Resolution says, solve the equation. Resolution says don’t forget to act, remembering there’s more than meets the eye.

~ by Arrrow Marie on May 20, 2009.

One Response to “Ravishingly low”

  1. I am so glad for you, but Portland–a bucket of water thrown on a fire always–misses you. Have you read “The Erotic of the Everyday” by Audre Lorde? I have a new blog post too but it isn’t this cool.

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