Tuesday, February 14, 2012
I had two things happen in the last 24 hours that had me contemplating sex. No, nothing like that. And if that kind of stuff happened, I don't talk about that here.
The first trigger was I met a guy over the weekend, a friend of a friend, one of those very lucky people who has sexual charisma just glowing from him. I had met him briefly before, in a sort of hi, who are you, how are you, nice to meet you sort of way. And in that first drive by I had seen what my friend had told me about him, saw how he could very well be the kind of guy who could get any girl he chose to. He's cute, but he's not like, super model boy. It's never super models who have this power anyway, it wouldn't work if they looked perfect. This time I got to observe him at a party, and actually talk to him, and the way he did it came through clearly. He made eye contact. He paid attention. He gave everyone attention, he touched your hands, shoulders, back. He stood close to people. He asked them things sincerely. He was quite wonderful, and it was pleasant even to watch him flirting with a girl, because it was so seamless and smooth, it was just how he treated all people around him. I told my friend this guy was the Incarnation of Flirt, a real witch. I meant it in jest, but it's true nonetheless.
I've met a few people who have this Glow, the ones who ARE sexual in every aspect of their being, so that there is no strain or falsity to their interactions. I've dated two of them. I think a long time ago, I had that power myself for a minute, but I let it fall apart during a long relationship, and it's gone for now, I just don't have enough attention to give to others like that, I no longer care enough. I find I only have it with people I've already known for a while. Now I just appreciate watching others practice it. I was going to write you a list of the sexiest people I knew in real life, the people who when you look at them it's impossible to not think of things that are illegal in Missouri, who make you feel that you would be immediately comfortable with them in bed and with anything they did. But I hate the word sexy so much, I couldn't get past it. If you call it mojo, I will stop talking to you immediately, don't do it. Charisma sounds like a word boys came up with to call it when they meant it about another boy but didn't want to seem gay. It's just, this thing, you know when you see it, or when it stands close next to you. It's beautiful, the Pure Flirt.
Anyone who thinks being sexual has anything to do with your actual plain straight of the box attractiveness is an idiot, and you should never sleep with someone who thinks that, they are terrible in bed. Pretend we are all dolls, deactivated and lying still in a showcase. In that scenario, then sure there are the pretty people and ugly people. But once you put in the batteries in, well then it depends on who keeps themselves charged up best.
The second trigger was that I went to go see Pina, a film which is a collection of dance pieces by this choreographer I had never heard of, because I'm not the sort of person who knows choreographers. The film had faults, but the dances were amazing, and I had a revelation about the experience of watching modern dance. I think when I had seen performances prior to this, I was looking at the dancers' bodies as moving sculptures, visual art. But sitting in the theater with my silly 3D glasses on and wrapped up winter clothes, I finally understood that modern dance is supposed to be about physical empathy. That when the dancer stretches their legs, or writhes on the stage, flips and flies and stomps, you are supposed to feel that motion in your own bones. As if it is your own skin against skin, your own muscles pulling and chest heaving with breath, your own toes on that cold floor. I could feel the water splashing, and the smell of the studio's glass and concrete, how that wisp of transparent cloth would feel on my torso. I don't know, maybe this choreographer in particular was just that good, maybe the dance company was that good, but it worked. I get it.
If you're looking for something to do on Valentine's night, I suggest this movie. Because it makes you want to be physical, to really use your body, and you'll come out of that theater into the dark February ice feeling keenly every movement you now make and the textures of your own clothes will feel heavy and burdensome. What could be a better feeling for the end of a date? Certainly not an expensive dinner, or a box of chocolates, or even some half thought out promises. Real romance is this, the connection between bodies, this transcending of judgement and perfection. When you can just be yourSelf, not the self you catalogue in dating profiles or even private diaries. A Self that is your body and mind working together, unaware of fear or expectation. We call it raw, but it isn't some newborn scar of red and pink, it's a whisp of clear elemental, air or water or dirt depending on who you are. I hesitate to call it familiarity, though that would be the easiest way to say it. Maybe familiarity with everything in the universe, yourself, others, things, feelings, that strong comfortable familiarity with the entirety of creation. Imagine how you were in bed with your longest term lover, in the mornings, on your best days, when you stayed in bed for hours just moving your limbs around each other. Now imagine if you felt that way all the time, about everybody. You would be the most powerful person on the planet.
It would figure I would be my most spiritual only when talking about sex.
Other Valentine's Day posts:
Cleveland is my Valentine
Happy Valentine's Day, St. Valentine!
Posted by Bridget Callahan at 1:00 AM