This piece is about someone I met very recently. It is about friction turning into passion, turning into love. As a side note, I don’t live in Amsterdam anymore. I’ve lived in a community for 4 months now, in southern France. It is a place of freedom, self expression, exploration and openness. Something I experienced first hand actually with someone living in this community, but that is a piece for another time.
This piece is about someone who came barging into the community, guns blazing with a fire behind his tail. He let it be known, he had arrived. And I was triggered. Immediately. By his masculinity, by his voice, the space he took. The feminist in me was awakened and was ready to come for this personification of the patriarchy. And I raised my voice, and I took the space. And we met in friction. In conflict. In this moment I really could not have predicted what would unfold.
A few days passed and we went to a lake.Our naked bodies drifting in cold water. Cooled from the heatwave that passed through France. There was a playfulness in the air. A gentleness, a coming together in joy. I went up to meet him, I swam across the lake and saw him sitting on a rock. As he jumped into the water from the rock I suddenly saw – in the reflection of the water – he was just like me. He was a reflection, he was a mirror. And my triggers evaporated in the hot summer sun. And slowly, we started drifting towards each other.
Slowly, eyes meet.
Slowly, a smile.
Slowly, finding each other in a group.
Slowly wanting to be close.
Slowly touching in the late night hours.
And from slowly we suddenly fell into it all. Unsure of it first, but both so willing to dive in. Intimately. Deeply. Eyes locked. Time frozen. Stand still.
And, in all this deliciousness I found more and more that I could be myself. Be my wild sensual playful self. Be encouraged to be that. To fully be that. Be empowered and claim back my space, the space we as women are allowed to hold. Powerful. Honored. Seen.
Being with him reminds me of the water.
Washing us clean of what does not serve us. Of our ideas or rather societal ideas of love. Easy, flowing from source to sea, effortlessly.