#MeToo, Too

The first time I had sex was in 9th grade. I was lying flat on my back, my legs suspended in medical stirrups with a urologist talking dirty. I had my eyes clenched shut as he asked questions. “Did I know what masturbation was? What did I like to think about? Did I enjoy cumming? How far do I shoot?” While he continued to masturbate me, I focused on “don’t give in. don’t get hard” but eventually I did both. The only way I can describe the feeling was like having one foot flooring the accelerator, the other pushing as hard as possible on the brakes. I was horrified and exhilarated at the same time when I came. After a big hug and hearty congratulations, the doctor and I looked at my sperm together underneath the microscope. He promised me that one day we’d practice together — I wanted to be a doctor — and he’d fund me through medical school, just like his older urology practice partner had done with him.

The shame I felt at the same time as super-excited was confusing. I was already feeling overwhelmed with shame. I can’t believe I’m going to admit this but here goes. It took almost three years to learn how to masturbate. I didn’t want to touch myself and all the sex-ed book said was “The male inserts his erect penis into the vagina of the woman, then six minutes later he’d ejaculate.” I’d insert my erect penis into anything vagina-like (I had to imagine that) and wait six minutes. I’d even have a stop watch. Once, through great muscular exertion, I managed to pee a splash while erect. I was exhausted from the attempt but satisfied. Sex didn’t seem all that great. I discovered “touching myself” accidentally while wiping a bm — I seemed to have a constant erection as a teenager, even in class — and I was off and running. Experimental, budding young scientist me, was into exploration and as gross as it sounds, I tried sticking a coat hanger down my urethra. That led to a painful infection, then some sort of blockage leading eventually to hospitalization in Salt Lake City — the big city — and during the first post-surgery followup, my legs in the stirrups, I had “sex”. I lied about what had caused the problems to the doctor, of course, but only “of course” because I was used to lying about anything forbidden, like sex and like fantasizing about men.

The doctor’s good-bye left me feeling dirty: a big, overly friendly body hug with a whisper into my ear about “Our little secret” before releasing me back to the care of Mom.

Two Opposites, One Truth

I mentioned this story to Mom today as I knew I was going to write a blurb on it. She had said something yesterday that triggered an “ah-hah” moment. Today, she recounted how when he talked to her after that followup visit, she was a bit confused and taken slightly aback not understanding what he meant by “Your son is advanced for his age,” but feeling that that didn’t sound right. It wasn’t right. My emotions today are bouncing between anger and resignation. Can we ever recover from crap like this?

Mom mentioned she was glued to the TV again, watching the Supreme Court nomination proceedings for a second day and getting nothing done. Yesterday, she and a brother spent the whole day watching.

When I first checked in yesterday, she had just heard the accuser’s testimony. I asked her opinion and she said The Professor was believable and struck her as being sincere and telling the truth. When I checked in later that day, she had just heard the accused’s testimony. She said The Judge was believable and struck her as being sincere and telling the truth. My Mom hit the nail on the head. I experienced, “ah-hah! of course!”

One story. Two perspectives. Two people being honest. One truth that falls far beyond a simple perspective. Perhaps there was a terrified woman fearing for sex and rape. Perhaps there was a horny and drunk man thinking and perceiving something very different. I already know one of my most early channels discusses how if two opposites are simultaneously true, we are in the presence of a higher dimensional truth. I remember one equation specifically:

Pro-Love = Pro-Choice * Pro-Life

Here I am forty years later trying to reconcile two equal and opposites. Wistful longing for that older, successful boyfriend, sexy lover and at the same time full-on disgust and self-loathing at myself and anger at him.

I really wanna be done with the anger, the shame and the self-loathing. Can we change the past? If we change our perspective, can that actually change things? My first blog about Z0219 stated only the present exists — that there is only the here-moment of now — and that past and future exist as potentials. Are we trapped animals in an invisible zoo of our mind? A past inviolate and a future pre-ordained? How can we grow beyond this? And all day long kept coming a barely-remembered passage from Z0135, which we’re currently studying. Why this passage? Something about a moon-chair view of earth (and I just fixed the tense of “perceiving” as it seemed weird):

We accept with the greatest deal of acceptance possible the outside world as its acceptable impingement, freeing ourselves from our judgments. For now, we sense and perceive, noting the connections, expanding the possibilities, and just assuming that the outside world has a larger universe of which it must fit into, and in fact the ugliness is quite local, that there is a perspective from another place that would seem quite different. We imagine our lawnchairs setup on our bubblemoon home, safely enjoying the view on a new moon night, the bright earth floating beneath us, its gravity securing our orbit. We see the beautiful blue of the planet, the wisps of the clouds, the browns and greens of the continents and in spite of some local wars going on, the planet appears quite miraculously beautiful, which it is. We realize that a greater perspective reveals the strifes and tribulations of the tribe to be quite local, quite contained and really nothing compared to the overall beauty.

My head spins with confusion; I still feel conflicted. But let’s think about it. A physical object being pushed and pulled at the same time has only a few motional outcomes. Lots of friction or heat (anger?) or lots of spinning. Both!

If I am but a physical object and too invested in an idea that I’m more, I might not appreciate that my adult life has become a simple exercise in mechanics. The doctor got me heated up and spinning. That energy needs to go somewhere. To work, to play, to new life.

If a perspective from our bubble-moon home, lawnchairs setup, staring at a beautiful blue planet below can help, I’ll do it. There is a perspective of my life where I’m probably not a drug-addict, good-for-nothing, loser. What crappy view of myself. I don’t want to be the victim crushed below, or the drunken brute crushing above. Rather each of those are precious human beings, doing wrong, being wrong, being wronged, doing wronged and I’d like to think they can right themselves and we can right ourselves.

Perhaps the new movement should become #WeToo. We are all in this together. We’ve all been hurt and we’ve all hurt. I feel a twang of compassion for myself and buried in that compassion, compassion for other living beings. The new golden rule suddenly makes deeper sense. That we need love ourselves and each other with all our hearts if we are to have any chance at all.

XOXOX,

(s)Papa

PS, the other blog, the other #MeToo the other day? The only hint I see in there as to what was really going on was this:

One day ago, last night at 7:15pm, I went to bed so depressed and hopeless feeling I just wanted to give up. Part of me did. I feel like a really lousy example of recovery. But another part of me felt some sort of angry defiance. I can’t be the only miserable 60ish-year-old trying to start over can I? Two Channels, Z0219 and this one (in progress) that I’ve read and I’m supposed to be cured, right? …

My blog never needs to be read, believed, learned or used by anyone other than myself. But if you, too, have been abused, struggled with self-acceptance, been self-destructive, and still find yourself going to bed at 7:15pm feeling depressed and hopeless, I feel you. My heart goes out to you and to we. #WeToo! indeed…

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