Wild Heart

Written By - Tessa Cash

Dangerous. Capable of destroying myself. Over and over and over again.

Love flows from a gentle grounding of not being able to do much. Of weakness. I marvel at the strength I once had. The tenacity. All the whilst being in situations which procured an anxiety level of a low voltage electrocution.

Why are we so afraid of release? Of letting go? Of crying? Tension stops us from relaxing. From erection. It induces vaginismus. Is it the fear of being unravelled? Of experiencing an absence of control? Of becoming vulnerable? The shame of indulging in a pleasurable experience that was perhaps warned against or otherwise? Is it political or religious or patriarchal?

Orgasm can bring on the most tremendous build up of explosive euphoria but it has been moulded into a sweep-staking performance procured by movie made Mills and Boon dramatics. It’s viewed as an essential part of the completion of the act sex for males but remains an unfocused, unexplored and inessential part of a woman’s sexual experience. It is a release, like a sneeze, like tears, like any bodily expulsion of hormones.

Recently I was involved in a sexual experience whereby I was told the other counterpart simply could not return home with “blue balls.” It was so interesting and quite stunning that I, a relative stranger, had all of a sudden become responsible for his ejaculation.

Mildly taking a left turn into the lane way of masturbation, why do we view touching ourselves as shameful? Why is pleasure not viewed as a normative, healthy part of the human experience? Why are we encouraged to stop crying? It’s interesting to think about the first thing someone will say if you begin to cry…”don’t cry.” It’s uncomfortable for most, holding space when someone else is in pain. The swell of throat constriction and uncontrollable emotion when we experience the art of crying ourselves can also be a confronting and uncomfortable feeling. But to feel is to live, in the wonderful spectrum of emotions that we are privileged to have the capacity to feel. To sympathise and empathise brings us closer and creates an omnipresent understanding that we are not alone in our joy, pain, heartache, struggle. It creates a thread in which we hold hands and support each other across the universe. I do realise how Sesame Street-esq that sounds, as well as being utterly idealistic but when thought about it simplistically, we create problems when we are selfish and greedy, when we give too much or not enough. When our intentions are of mal or ulterior motive. When we push too hard and too far and create a situation that is so broken and shattered that walking to the corner shop for bottled water seems a mountainous task.

I made it to the corner shop today. I made it up and down the four flights of stairs twice today, a week before with my twenty five kilo suitcase. A week before that the thought of tumbling onto the ferry with that suitcase was so daunting that it kept me awake at night. The kindness of someone going through similar but different struggles looked me in the eye, pointing to himself and said without batting an eye, “I’ll carry your suitcase.” I could have cried in 50Kalo where we’d waited an hour at 2200 for the one of best god damn pizzas I’ve ever eaten.

I thought my cognition to write would never return as the notes app of my phone was used solely to create list upon list of how to safeguard against not being without house and home before the month of July was over, all the whilst knowing income flow would be zilch if low.

I didn’t realise how strong I was until I had to be this past month. Two weeks ago when my therapist asked, as a duty of care routine if she needed to be worried about me being of risk to myself, I replied by way of saying that if I had a gun I’d point it at the right temple of my head to end all this unbearable angst. Peace was only present as I dissolved myself into a sweet remedy of sleep each night wherein I would repeat to myself over and over again, “I love this moment, I love this moment.”

If these last four weeks have taught me anything it has been that everything is impermanent. The severe grounding has taught me to protect myself against energy that doesn’t serve my values of kindness, soft strength and gentleness. That I need to trust and listen to my body. To be in her. To love her in all her phases and capabilities. As sweet euphoria flowed through her for the first time in quite sometime, she reminded me that hibernation from all host of activities, movements and rituals will resume when she’s ready.

This post wouldn’t be complete without intensive gratitude to all those who have been there on all the different levels and swings they have been during the tumultuous peaks and troughs since the end of love, the end of London, the end of life as I know it. I endeavour to love as much as I have been, if not more, when my roots are firmly planted once again.

With all my love, many tears and eternal gratitude as faces, cities, experiences and lessons slide show through my mind.