My husband does energy work – which he’d call a misnomer because what he does doesn’t fit into quite that clear a category. It’s kind of a shamanic, James Hillman-esque, soul, mythic energy dialog.
He has a highly developed, and very sensitive feminine side. Plus he’s schooled in the energetic and erotic nuances of whores – he’s had to be to, married to me. Add to that, I was a lesbian for 5 years before and during the time I was a prostitute, which is a whole ‘nother level of complexity. So he easily navigates what could be a baffling flow of ‘sexual essence’ energetic polarity flip/flop without his own essential masculinity feeling threatened.
So anyway – a while back he did ‘healing’ work with a young lesbian prostitute, who, almost by definition would have to have a very complex energetic field. The kind most men don’t know how to enter into with enough awareness to be allowed in.
During the healing, he started where he usually starts with women (and many men), patiently acknowledging and honoring her boundaries. Just brushing tenderly at the outside edges of her energy body attentively, ‘listening’ for the response, reassuring her through his ‘touch’ that his energy would penetrate no further than invited, no faster than invited, and that he could be trusted to sense that invitation appropriately – that’s all fundamental to him, he learned that dance with me and never ever takes the slightest opening for granted. He earns his trust anew each and every moment. That’s his way.
So – he does his delicate ‘touching’ with this young woman, whose overt persona has a complex hard-delicate, cold aloofness similar to Lisbeth Salander in the ‘Dragon Tattoo’ trilogy – and he can feel her energy testing him – lesbian prostitutes are generally very sophisticated in this realm and highly selective about their opening. Which he appreciates and can surrender to.
What transpired was very different from what usually happens with women he works with. Instead of letting him in, she entered into him (energetically). In an astonishingly beautiful way.
He described it later as like a very gentle mist – a fine, fine mist that ever-so-gently and lovingly penetrated his energy-body, like a very gentle rain seeping delicately into parched earth. Slow enough to cause no run-off, perfectly calibrated to what could be gradually absorbed. Then it gently and sweetly seeped into his most profound depths, where, again – ever-so-gradually, it began to condense, like an underground pool. She condensed into his core a pool of the most pure, sweet love. She was healing him, not vice versa.
Now, sometimes in a healing, the person on the table has a very clear sense of what happened, and sometimes they don’t. So when it was over, he said ‘Do you have a sense of what just happened?’.
“Yes,” she said “I touched you [energetically] the same way I always try to touch my customers,” (meaning, how she tried to touch Johns, working as a whore).
When he told me that story, and what he learned from that experience (which I’ll talk about more in another post), I immediately wanted to wrap that young woman up in my arms and seep my own healing love into her. A long-un-stirred love for my sisters from the Chthonios, whom my life has brought me into too little contact with.
That’s exactly how I tried to touch men when I was a whore. It’s how I learned to touch women as a lesbian & I had once thought it could be transferred. It’s the way I touched the lunch-guy at the end of hand-holding, which he also recognized as the touch of the Sacred Whore.
That she was so capable of that touch that she could even do it intentionally, without skin, and was so clear about what she was doing confirmed for me that I’d been on the right track 30+ years ago. Clearly she’d mastered something I merely got good at, but even that much affirmation was gratifying. And I was grateful that she’d touched my husband that way, because I’m still trying to regain that ability, after having Johns and others judgements traumatize it away.
My husband didn’t have a chance to ask her if ‘trying’ meant her touch usually wasn’t received, but in my own prostitution experience, it was almost never opened up to or appreciated. Either most men were not permeable enough, or I was just not as capable. Though he didn’t ask, his sense was that she didn’t find men generally receptive to that kind of touch either. It seemed meaningful for her that he could recognize it, describe it back to her, and gratefully honor it as a very refined and beautiful gift.
A gift that some few of us have an intuition about and try to learn to manifest – in spite of a world that denies the possibility at every turn – and for which we are almost universally ostracized and shamed – pitied at best, conflated with trafficking victims, which is a whole different thing. A gift which, even if we don’t have the skills for fighting back, we stubbornly struggle to protect for as long as we can, a gift we’d die for.
I’ll say more about this in later posts – but that, right there – that touch (whether literally tactile, or purely energetic) is the essence of what I’ve spent all these years since, trying to understand what it means on an archetypal level, on a communal level – how that touch is a metaphor for a different way of engaging, or better – what that literal, tactile touch teaches us about the potential for engagement and communion at the broader levels, how that touch could heal our rifts. And how to help us all open to it when it’s offered – because it’s out there (and ‘in here’), and it wants to touch us and to flow through us into one another. That – I’ve always had faith in. That’s the higher power I surrender to and serve – but it’s immanent, not transcendent – which, I think, is where all the confusion arises.