October - November 2001
Behold the Vulva
Behold, the vulva, the most profound secret of our epoch,
known for eternity. Both men and women have been denied knolwedge
of the vulva, discouraged from looking, banned from seeing and
feeling, at times with great force, or force of persuasion, with
lies about filth, smell, disease and ugliness. All along the
truth has been known, but often forgotten.
What is the fuss? Is this some kind of national security issue?
It's humbling to gaze at the gateway to life, to view her
without shame, without daring to take or own: this window in
the universe through which the mighty kings and emperors, the
brilliant scientists, the french-fry servers, the artists, writers
and circus jugglers, the great tap dancers, my Uncle Lars and
his Uncle Lars, were born, the lips which embraced us while we
were being born. It's difficult to maintain the belief that some
of us are inherently superior to others, looking directly at
the vulva, our simple, delicate beginning.
The delicious, passionate, yearning, feeling, knowing, magnificent
cunt.
Compelling, disorienting, beautiful beyond words or the Sierra
Nevadas, ever-powerful, and possessed only by women, the secret
envy of many men who otherwise hold themselves far superior.
That's the fuss.