Herself and her internet ladyfriends had a very interesting discussion the other day regarding a paragraph from the diary of Anaïs Nin. The passage is complex and somewhat nebulous, and is written in Nin's usual, slightly flowery verbiage (which is, in my opinion, certainly preferable to a clinical description of sensual scenarios). Although the paragraph uses language relating to pregnancy and birth, it seems that the words are far more metaphorical than literal, particularly when viewed in the context of some of Nin's other writings (e.g., Delta of Venus, Little Birds) that focus on the sensual rather than on the biological.
The paragraph includes a hallmark theme that can be found in many of Nin's writings - that of a woman finding satisfaction in opening herself to a man. Among Herself and the ladies, there were clearly different opinions regarding the accuracy (veracity?) of such a theme. While the idea clearly didn't ring true for many, for others, it did: for some, to open oneself to a man could be a fulfillment itself.
Perhaps each woman's thoughts on the matter depend on how she views the juncture of intimacy and sexuality. Where does vulnerability lie -- in the beginning, or in the conclusion, of the act? Or both? Or neither - can sexuality and intimacy be separated? Yes, for some; no, for others.
Or perhaps a woman's viewpoint relies on whether she considers sex to encompass a type of surrender - a relinquishment of control to another. (Whether it is the man or the woman who surrenders, though, may depend on each individual experience.) Allowing another to take charge of a physical interlude can be a risk, or a delicious adventure. Where on the continuum of an encounter is control exchanged, and is it in that moment that delight is found?
It is complex -- a simultaneously delicate and physical dance of both psyche and body. Where does satisfaction reside?
Tell us what you think.
Man can never know the loneliness a woman knows. Man lies in the woman's womb only to gather strength, he nourishes himself from this fusion, and then he rises and goes into the world, into his work, into battle, into art. He is not lonely. He is busy. The memory of the swim in amniotic fluid gives him energy, completion. Woman may be busy too, but she feels empty. Sensuality for her is not only a wave of pleasure in which she is bathed, and a charge of electric joy at contact with another. When man lies in her womb, she is fulfilled, each act of love a taking of man within her, an act of birth and rebirth, of child rearing and man bearing. Man lies in her womb and is reborn each time anew with a desire to act, to be. But for woman, the climax is not in the birth, but in the moment man rests inside of her. ― Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934
Man can never know the loneliness a woman knows. Man lies in the woman's womb only to gather strength, he nourishes himself from this fusion, and then he rises and goes into the world, into his work, into battle, into art. He is not lonely. He is busy. The memory of the swim in amniotic fluid gives him energy, completion. Woman may be busy too, but she feels empty. Sensuality for her is not only a wave of pleasure in which she is bathed, and a charge of electric joy at contact with another. When man lies in her womb, she is fulfilled, each act of love a taking of man within her, an act of birth and rebirth, of child rearing and man bearing. Man lies in her womb and is reborn each time anew with a desire to act, to be. But for woman, the climax is not in the birth, but in the moment man rests inside of her. ― Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934
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