:::by benne:::

Laying on the bed looking up at the dirty ceiling rose, I am empty. The moment after he withdraws, the feeling that I have been full and complete is over, and I am left with an overwhelming sense of emptiness. Give that whatever Freudian interpretation you like, I still prefer Jung.

Men and women fit together, and so do men and men, and women and women. Yet there is something about the union of a man and a woman, when part of his body goes into and joins with the internal space of womanhood that is completely right for me. I am not a rib, to be re-inserted casually, to dangle from an arm at dinner parties. I am not a hole in the ground, in a watermelon, in a pie, that suffices for the moment of sensation. I am the other bit, the keyhole, the lock. When my lips are sealed I feel complete, when there is no penetration I do not seek to be fulfilled. But just after my jade gate has accepted the phoenix and the phoenix withdraws, that is when I feel the emptiness.

I practice feeling empty in other ways. My sensei advises regular practice, open mind meditation, being a vessel for the world to come into. In meditation thoughts flow in and out again like my mind is a bowl under a waterfall � always full, yet at the same time always empty because I am not clinging to the fullness. I empty myself of thought, of feeling, of attachment, and I become hollow within the solidity of my flesh and blood.

After a good cry, after a death, after a parting, after that last goodbye, I am empty. When all is released then I know I am empty and can be refuel my store of emotion second by second with my interaction with the world.

Sometimes I dream I am a bird, flying over cities, looking down on the lives of people below. Then I feel empty, with the air rushing through my feathers, my hollow bones allowing me the ability to fly. I swoop and dive, I catch and cry, but I am not integral to the scene, and I am alone in the sky in my head.

Younger, not so in need of space, I fought the emptiness. I would go to cafes, to movies, to people�s loungerooms to avoid feeling the emptiness. Now I seek it in moments of upheaval. I take a giant breath in to fill my lungs with air, with emptiness � but they�re not really empty, are they? They�re full of air, full of the thing that allows us to exist, full of microscopic particles of stars and cars and factories. But the semblance of emptiness is there.

I am not completely sure that true emptiness exists when you get down to the bones of it, maybe not even in a vacuum because to create a vacuum you need the container to have solidity, and even the container has particles. Hmmm, science question� have to find a text book.

I like empty. It reminds me of how it is to be full (aha! Keatsian referral!), and it makes me hungry, hungry to live. Even in the saddest days I have known emptiness has been my companion because it has allowed me to feel the desire to refill and replenish.

<< 2002-04-26 @ 1:58 p.m. >>

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