Standing in my kitchen in Saskatoon cooking dinner, I’m lost in thought. As happy as I am to be home, it’s hard to come back to real life after the the intimacy of a Bodysex circle. I miss the connection, sharing of stories, touch, laughter and pleasure that I felt in the Quebec circle only one day before….
“Mama look at what I learned to do in fiddle class!” says my youngest daughter as she runs into the kitchen carrying her fiddle and bow. Turning around and looking down at her sweet face, our eyes connect and I smile.
My mind drifts to an image of a woman in the circle looking into my eyes while sharing in french her stories of physical and sexual shame. I don’t understand what she’s saying — until Marika translates her words for me — but I do understand her arms crossed over her chest, her tears, and her pain. Our eyes stay connected and I breathe deeper, encouraging her to also do so, and we hold our gaze.
My attention comes back to the kitchen at the sound of feet running up the stairs. “Thanks for the money for my hair cut mom. Do you think I should get dreads?” asks my teenage son as he slips past us to get an apple. Looking up at him I see my boy, as tall and handsome as a man, with broad shoulders and strong hands that almost cover the entire apple he’s now eating. He came from my body and yet he’s his own unique person with stories and dreams of his own. I see him, and I see me.
Just like that I’m once again back in the circle, touching the women during the group massage. In their bodies, I recognize parts of my own body and I touch with curiosity at how it must feel to touch me. Their softness feels so nice and I’m drawn to the scars and lines on their skin and wonder about the stories that created them. I touch in admiration of their journey — the parts I know and parts I don’t — and in love and respect for their willingness to let me see them. I feel the shiny, smooth texture of their stretch marks and the pleasure in my finger tips as I weave them in and out of the pattern the marks create on their bodies. smooth, plush, smooth, plush, smooth, plush….
The bubbling of the water in a pot of corn on the stove catches my attention and I move to lift the lid off. As I’m standing there, my teenage daughter comes up from behind and puts her arms around me. She’s the quietist of my children but the one who’s the most cuddly, and I’m always grateful for her gentle and loving presence. Feeling her arms around my stomach I let go of the pot lid and put my own arms over hers. l feel seen, held and loved and it reminds me of a moment in the circle when one of the women asked for a group hug.
We went to her immediately and — wrapping our naked bodies around her — we held each other. Heads touching, our bodies formed a circle so small that looking down I could only see feet and stomachs below us. “How could anyone ever tell us, that we’re anything less than beautiful” we sang….
I’m brought back once again to the kitchen as my ears perk up to my younger son telling a “knock knock” joke from the other room. It’s awful as usual and we all groan and laugh while he laughs too — pleased with our response.
Smiling I drift once again to memories of us laughing as we wandered around the retreat house naked — reluctant to put our clothes back on — left our legs open when we sat down, orgasmed, posed for photos ass up and sprawled across a dining room table, told sexy and not so sexy stories and teased the male caterer.
Dinner ready I set it on the table and call my children to come join me. I missed them while I was gone and I’m excited to hear how their weekend was. We sit around the table and I realize then that, while the eyes looking back at me are different, the Bodysex circle is still with me. The circle is there as long as I’m willing to authentically connect, see myself in other people, share stories, touch, laugh and enjoy pleasure.
Thank you to my dear sisters…..
Ananda, Corazon, Water Lili, Dauphine, Aroha, Heavan, Mango of Liberty, Oceane and Delicia.