Culture, Life, Nature, New York City, Personal Liberation, Sex, Sprituality

Down By the River: A Woman in Worship

I went down the lake in Prospect Park today. Whenever I see people sitting there on the benches watching the water, I think “people get ready, because you’re about to get a show.”

I had sex yesterday. It was skin to skin, it was natural, it was what many people call “raw.” And it was looong overdue. I knew there was some energy to be moved around because the energy in my womb felt stagnant. I was reminded of this when I decided that my goal for the day was to “just be” (couldn’t even figure this out until I laid down enough to get quiet with myself, which is what the result of healing brought me to do) and I ended up having to self heal a sharp pain in what felt like my left ovary.

I healed myself through the flow of music. I was moved to place my hand on that ovary and sing to her. And, the pain ceased.

But, because I started thinking about ALL of this stuff it came back.

I knew I needed to go visit my mom, that is, Mother Nature.

She grounds me, speaks to me in all her elements: the water of the lake, the air, the ground itself.

I began by swirling my hips to a few jazz songs. I felt like being in a misty mood. I wanted songs I knew. I wanted songs that would open me up to all the feelings of worship.

I, of course, got a man who tried to call me over to him from a bench when I began doing yoga poses to break up some of the stagnant chi in my womb, and I told him I wasn’t speaking to anybody right now.

I switched to gospel, and began to feel the words. All the songs had to do with depending solely on God for any and every thing I could ever need, material, or ethereal; God as my source.

I began to cry. I began to sob and scream. I was, like I had so many times in public whether in worship or in orgasm, having a transformative experience. I’m glad it was in nature.

I looked up and saw an entire group of Mexicans standing not too far a way looking at me. Two came over to speak. They asked me was I sad and told me they had saw me crying. I told them I was OK, and that I was worshiping.

One was quiet. The one who did most of the talking was telling me how beautiful I was and that he had a wife at home. She had recently choked and punched him and he ended up camping out, with some of the other men who don’t have homes, in the park.

I knew he was sincere yet premature in asking me to be his wife, then girlfriend, then wanting to see me later in the week, the next day, and then touching me with a caress on the arm, a head on the shoulder. I didn’t want to be mean, the man was clearly broken and looking to nature as a solace, as was I.

He was drunk though, and not in a good place to make the most sensible decisions, however he was very clear about wanting to see me again.

He seemed intelligent enough. I took his number because I did want to check on him again. As he walked me out of the park the other men who had laid out their palates to sleep under the stars that night were literally screaming “Please don’t  go! Please don’t go!”

I was their perceived panacea. They needed me around, even if they weren’t interacting with me. I could tell these men just needed a nurturing, feminine word, or touch.

They would get it from me, energetically, from afar, and nature, hopefully…if they chose to accept it.

I politely said “goodbye” to the men and allowed the drunk Mexican to walk me out of the park. He had told me secrets about the snake who only comes out every seven days to feed on the park rats, the giant turtle who stays in the middle of the lake and never comes to the shore, and the two ducklings, one sick, one well, who he had named after his brother who died in Mexico. He gave the ducklings nicknames they used to call him in Spanish, “repairman” and “lamb.”

I exchanged a hug with him after I took his number and told him I would check on him to see if he was doing better. I don’t know tantra that well, but I’m a healer, and I’m sure I gave that man hope. He couldn’t believe that “someone so beautiful” was single, let alone talking to him, but I was open, and I too was grateful for the loving and kind words he said to me in admiration.

When giving becomes receiving, it is a beautiful feeling, and I think my presence, filled with the presence of God, the Source, was a blessing to all those men sleeping there in the park. Never underestimate the power of a river and woman in worship.