The orgasmic blindfold

My friend called, lower than a college quarterback after losing the big game. We talked. I asked a lot of questions- I think that’s why people call me (and avoid calling me) is so I’ll ask the tough questions. Towards the end, my friend said, “You’ve fought for so long, and I’ve heard so many other people say it to, to get me to see what you see in me. Everyone else sees what I can’t see.”

Ah, yes. The blindfold.

We don’t know what’s coming, so we can’t act. It’s alluring, exciting, erotic. We give total control over when we wear it. It keeps us safe because we can’t act on what we can’t see and  that keeps us stuck.

I wonder what would happen if there was some amazing cosmic shift and we all suddenly saw our greatness. I mean ALL of it?

Or maybe we do already. Maybe playing blind is part of our greatness.

Perhaps we put on that blindfold to allow others to experience the shadow aspects of power. Maybe it’s an elaborately spiritual game of servant and master. If so, what happens as in the Police song “Wrapped Around Your Finger”, the tables are turned?

I will turn your face to alabaster

When you find your servant is your master.

Oooh. Now isn’t that interesting?

What I know is that there is an appeal to wearing that blindfold, otherwise we wouldn’t do it. And no matter how much shame you bathe yourself in, that part of you who wants to play in the limitation will win out again and again until the limitation becomes obsolete, the payoff nil. Until that moment, the blindfold remains nearby, ready to tie on as soon as the lover in our illusion appears to trigger those ever so deliciously juicy buttons of unworthiness, not enoughness, and fear. In the shadows, that’s orgasmic.

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