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.