I was in a coffee shop today. A woman walked in wearing a dress and boots and greeted another woman dressed in a skirt and boots. They proceeded to talk about what they were wearing. I could hear my mind “sneering” and I looked at myself. I was insecure and started to look over these woman, at their legs, at their faces, at their hair. They actually stood side by side and looked out towards the floor of the shop busy with people and smiled.
We call this “voguing”, like the magazine Vogue, where one stands and poses, purposefully placing oneself in view of many people.
Even in this small town ( 3000 in Winter) there are a group of men who gather in the small local grocery ( actually the group has grown because there is not a lot of construction work at the moment ) and all the women I know in the town are uncomfortable with going to this grocery because of all the “voguing” men.
They even have descriptions of the kinds of sexual relationships that transpire in each town. IN the neighboring town, men wait in line to marry the woman they desire, in my town, men wait in line. Evidently, the woman in my town do not marry.
So, my point is that voguing is the manner of a MCS robot that is present in both men and woman.
And today, I noticed my own, extensive, insecurity as I encountered the female role in all her glory and I reacted to this within my own role of the female watching the act of voguing and feeling as though I was losing because I was not the one in the opportunity of voguing. I was the balance of energy, I was the envy, the insecurity, the woman not being noticed. There are many ways to say what it was that I was, but I was not me, I was the opposing role. I played my part well.
But I am glad for this because i seriously did not realize how extensively insecure I was, how little I feel, how much I believe I can’t even compete with this kind of woman. I don’t want to be this, but I still react to it as though it is what I want. I was really disgusted with these woman. And for all I know they might at that moment simply been enjoying themselves.
But the very fact that I noticed and thought and judged what they were doing, how they were dressed means that I compared and categorized their dress and behavior as woman. My own reactions as disgust were vindication and spite. These words describe defensive behavior.
Though, I have chosen not to be magazine “doll” I use the criteria of this game and judge myself as less, as insignificant, as being less because I will not play, because maybe a long time ago I decided the game was too overwhelming.
When I was in high school I went to a lot of model parties. I was in New York during the disco period. My sisters could get into any disco free because they were models, so I tagged along. I was always being told to dress a certain way. Sometimes I did. I learned not to dress this”certain” way because I was so aggressively approached by men it was scary. And they would get mad if I did not respond. The later part of high school I spent a lot of time alone. I would go to the movies alone and I started reading books.
I read so much that when I was reading my sisters would have to stand next to me and yell to get my attention out of the book.
For a long time I thought there was something missing in me.
Then in my early twenties I had a problem of my muscles tensing up in my uterus. I went to the doctor it was so painful. After checking me, he said that there was nothing wrong and proscribed some lithium pills. I was to take the pills over a certain number of days. After two days the pain did not stop, so I took them all in one day, the pain stopped and never came back. That was the beginning of me no longer listening to doctors completely.
The doctor also asked me about my sex life. I said I was not having sex. he said that that was the problem, that I needed to go out and have sex. So, I called an old boyfriend and asked him to have sex with me. Terrible sex, but it was better than looking for a boy friend. It was better than some “aggressor” being around.
I see men as, the male role, as a dominator, I am like a deer in headlights when this male thing is directed towards me. It takes me a while to stand and say no, but I eventually do. But by then I am usually explosive.
So, in this, why am I even reacting to the female voguing, why am I even bothering to play the role of the envious woman, who, for whatever reason, is not in the “light” shining on the bling of the voguer? It does not make any sense. But then does all this make any sense. The MCS shows us how senseless of life, of equality we are, in our separation into wanting to be more. Wanting to be more is pure spite, pure jealousy. So unproductive, so lacking in variety, so fearful. Fearful of what? What the fuck is there to fear? We have replaced the awe of life with an awe of “bling”.
We are all deers in headlights, the headlights of bling. Probably, what happened to me as I encountered the “bling” projecting from these voguing woman, and my longing for the bling is what happens to everyone. Some join in and participate in the bling and some, like me shiver on the side ( not wanting to join but having forgot for the moment why they don’t want to join) and become insecure and spiteful. It is pretty black and white. Not much room for shades of grey between the edge of the light of “bling” and the blackness. Bling blocks sound.
Why do I repeat myself here? I am strengthening the sound of my self, I am strengthening the sound of what is outside the bling until the day I remain outside the bling with no reaction to the bling, to the MCS headlights ( and they are literally headlights!), until I remain in the darkness, until I remain in breath, until I am constant, until the bling is miniscule. If all I find is nothing, Elizabeth, that is just fine, it is better than this slime, this dirt, this sickly feeling of up and down, this vertigo of instability. The physical is the ground, the mind is the illusion that is vertigo. Vert-I-go
vertere=to turn. from the height of the mind I whirl, I go on a turn and lose my self.
Vertigo; to be turning in ones mind, to lose the physical.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to judge my self as less than in the act of comparing my self to a female role. I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to judge my self as less than another because they are voguing in a coffee shop. I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to become the emotion of spite and disgust and jealousy towards other women who are dressed in feminine dresses and boots. I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to have thoughts of envy when I encounter stylish woman in a coffee shop. I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to be angry that there are woman dressing attractively because I feel that I am supposed to be doing this too. I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to believe that I m less than these woman because I am not participating in the role of the female in dressing the part. I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to have a thought that I cannot compete, even thought this thought is not what I am. I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to exist as jealousy towards the way other woman look. I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my own sense of insecurity and uncertainty to be attached to a belief that perhaps I am not worthy because I am not acting as the role of the female by dressing and voguing in public places. I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to be angry that I have to play the role of the female. I forgive my self for allowing and accepting my self to be disgusted that there are woman playing the role of the female which means that I then have to as well to survive because it is the only way to compete. I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to want a man and feel that the only way to have a man for those moments where the man is kind and gentle is to play the role of the female. I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to believe that I am worthless because I am not participating in the female imagery. I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to react to the female drama with disgust. I forgive myself for allowing and accepting myself to participate in the role of the female through reaction.
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