Back to anatori, p.16
Back to Anatori, page 16
Still fully dressed, too tired to feel or think any more, she sank onto her bed and slipped into the welcome oblivion of sleep just a few hours before the arrival of a crisp new dawn.
Long after the soft morning light penetrated her room through a crack in the velvet curtains, she awoke, pulled out of some pretty powerful dreams. Bridget remembered her dreams, often with amazing visual and auditory clarity, sometimes with the clear memory of smell, colour and sound, including spoken words, and always with the intense feeling that came with the imagery. This night her dreams had been continuous, blending into one another with fluidity and speed. She saw Lilac hold a burning piece of paper in her hand, as Bridget lunged at her, trying desperately to stop her. She saw Joe, bent over the gate, fixing the latch, then catching his finger in it and watching with alarm as the dark-red blood trickled down onto the concrete path. Joe subtly changed into Dorian, treading water in a cold dark sea, clinging to his three children slipping away into the depths, pleading to Bridget to pull him out of the water. She reached out to him as he changed into her son, first as a babe, then as a grown man, torn out of her arms, thick tears falling between them. She saw a police woman in uniform, laughing at her: “Ha ha ha! You thought you could get away with it!” and lastly, she was lying on an operating table, an Indian surgeon leaning over and peering into her abdomen and saying “she’ll be lucky to survive this!”
Bridget smelled the burning paper, the blood, the salty sea water, the tears and the antiseptic and heard the police woman’s laugh as it pierced her ears. She was glad to throw back the duvet and open the curtains to let in the morning sun and listen to the blackbirds and tui. She knew that her dreams generally were only an ephemeral and scrambled reflection of her recent experiences, fears and hopes. She did not find it hard to brush off the images and feelings that came with them and get on with the day. She had a new client arriving later in the morning and from three o’clock she was going to be busy at the café. She also resolved to make a decision by the end of the day about whether to ever see Dorian again, trusting that an answer to that question would present itself before then. And she was going to do some online research into the phenomenon of déjà vu. She decided to do that first, straight after breakfast.
From what Bridget read, the experience seemed to be described by most theorists as that of ‘perceiving a new situation as if it had occurred before’. Apparently, around seventy per cent of people reported experiencing déjà vu and there were four basic theories about it. The first and least acceptable to her was that it was a memory of something from a past life. Well, that seemed a bit too ‘new-agey’ for her. Lilac would probably adhere to that theory. Anyway, highly unlikely that the Collingwood Tavern was around in one of her past lives, should she have actually had any.
The second explanation linked the experience to epileptic seizures or ‘certain types of mental disorders’. Hmm, she thought. She’d never had any seizures and certainly did not want to think that she was about to start having them. Mental illness? Well, she had experienced post-natal depression a long time ago. Was it possible she was, unbeknown to her, experiencing this again? It did not bear thinking about and anyway, she knew how that felt and thought she would know when she was going down that road again.
The third theory was that it was ‘a mismatching in the brain that causes the brain to mistake the present for the past’ - a ‘slight malfunctioning between the long and short-term memory circuits of the brain, in which specific information shortcuts from short to long-term memory storage’. Bridget quite liked this one. It was simple and logical and totally unalarming. But if this was the case, why was this happening? She supposed it might be a similar thing to a word coming out wrong, or a small memory loss - a neurological misfiring - which happened to many people quite often and was nothing to be alarmed about.
The fourth theory and the one that got her thinking the most, was a modern theory of physics and mentioned the possibility of ‘particles that can travel backwards in time’. They went by the interesting name of ‘tachyons’ and could cause ‘time loops’ and ‘multiple universes’, these possibly giving cause for more non-traditional ways of seeing causality and for the possibility of neurological ‘time travel’. Bridget felt that, as someone who at high school was completely phobic about, and a total failure in, science and especially physics, she could not begin to try to understand that. But it was kind of reassuring, she thought, to think that there were scientific, rational people out there who claimed to be able to explain the phenomenon scientifically, even though it sounded like science fiction.
This was a bit for Bridget to think about and she did her best thinking whilst gardening. So she got her trowel and wheelbarrow, put on her gardening gloves and set to work pulling the weeds that were threatening to take over her flowering plants and which had suddenly thrived after the warm spring rains. Getting on with ‘a task at hand’ such as this was part of a threefold strategy she always used when life seemed a bit much, when feelings of sadness or pain, uncertainty and hopelessness threatened to get the better of her: “Love unconditionally; have no fear of the future; get on with the task at hand.”
It had rescued her from despair a few times in her life, maybe even saved her from slowly dropping into another clinical depression. As she weeded, she asked herself if she could maybe love Dorian without conditions, without asking him to leave his wife and children who loved and needed him, without any expectations of the future and without the fear of his wife intervening in the expression of their love. It should all be possible, she thought, if she would but put her mind to it. Daniel, Theo and Gabrielle seemed to be achieving a degree of success in doing this.
44.
Several wheel-barrows full of weeds later, it was time to clean up, take a break with a cup of tea and prepare for her new life-coaching client, who turned out to be the young, tall, voluptuous woman at the grocery shop. She had a smooth, tanned complexion, clear, large, blue eyes accentuated by thick make-up and well-manicured eyebrows. Her straight hair was pulled back tightly over her head into a short pony tail. In spite of her size, she wore close-fitting, fashionable clothes and displayed a large bosom with a considerable amount of cleavage which Bridget had some difficulty diverting her eyes from.
She somehow managed to squeeze herself into the armchair opposite Bridget by the window in the yellow room and rested her hands, adorned with brightly-painted, long fingernails, onto her ample lap. Bridget looked at her and thought how well her name, Bella, suited her. Bella oozed jolliness, fun, confidence, energy and intelligence in every way, except for one thing: a deep frown between her eyebrows which was in danger of engraving a permanent double line on an otherwise smooth forehead. In the grocery store, she was always friendly, chatty and quick to laugh and joke. But there was obviously something that was bothering Bella.
There was some small talk about the weather, the shop, her clothes, but Bella did not take long to come to the point.
“This life-coaching you do, it’s completely confidential, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely,” answered Bridget. “I wouldn’t have any clients, if this was not so,” she added.
“Yes, I suppose so. You see, my problem ... it’s rather personal.”
“That’s true for most of my clients.”
“Yes, I imagine so. Anyway, here we go. You see, my problem is, I enjoy sex.”
Bridget waited, resisting the urge to reply and making a deliberate effort not to show any reaction.
“I enjoy sex enormously. I need it desperately. I like having sex frequently.”
“And how is this a problem?” asked Bridget.
“Well, it isn’t,” Bella answered, “except when you can’t seem to find anyone to share that desire and need with.”
“That’s surprising,” commented Bridget.
“Well, I didn’t have any trouble getting a boyfriend in my teens. But they never lasted long. They simply couldn’t keep up with my appetite. In the end, I ran out of available men who took my fancy. Now, when a new guy comes into the district, I don’t even bother to try to attract his attention, as I’ve given up hope of ever finding someone who wants it as much as I do, and there aren’t any guys that I know of who would be happy to share me with other lovers.”
Bridget was, frankly, rather blown away by Bella’s honesty, frankness and courage in coming to talk to her. Helping this person to find a solution to her problem would not be difficult, she felt.
“I thought,” resumed Bella, “that I could use a non-judgmental, confidential person to discuss this issue with. I’ve heard a few good things about you … thought I’d give you a go.”
“That’s great, Bella,” said Bridget. “You’ll find a way of getting your needs met, I’m sure. Glad to be able to help you find it.”
And Bella was brilliant, Bridget thought, as she, with her help, explored all sorts of ways of getting her need met. Together they quickly came up with several possible scenarios. Bella’s ideal was to find and marry one partner who had a similar appetite as her, of course, but she was not averse, she said, to other solutions until she’d found that ‘Mr. Right’. Bridget had asked her to ‘brain storm’ ideas as they came to mind and wrote them down immediately as they surfaced, avoiding evaluation and censorship by the mind. The list grew as they laughed and thought about all the possibilities: moving to a large city where there were plenty of suitable potential lovers who might be happy to share her with others; joining up on internet dating sites to solicit lovers from all around the country, or the world for that matter, who would be happy to share her with others and come whenever they could, all the way to little old Collingwood; giving up on men and enjoying sex by herself; taking some form of hormonal treatment to reduce her libido; joining an Indian spiritual retreat to study the sublimation of the sex drive (and achieve enlightenment in the process); exploring tantric sex; staying in Collingwood and being content to wait patiently for that suitable partner to turn up one day; roam the world to look for him; set herself up as a ‘call girl’ here in Collingwood or somewhere in another, larger town or city ... the possibilities seemed never-ending. There was a lull at this point. Bella seemed to be cogitating. After a while, Bridget asked her “What are you thinking?”
“There’s something else ...” Bella ventured. Bridget waited.
“I sometimes wonder if ...” her voice trailed away and she looked far away through the window. Bridget waited patiently.
“I sometimes wonder if my being overweight may have something to do with my boyfriends not being as keen as I am. What do you think?”
Bridget hated the answer she knew she had to give: “I can’t answer that question. What do you think?”
“I don’t know either. I am, myself, not bothered by my weight. It’s never stopped me enjoying life, you know, or finding a boyfriend. But I must acknowledge that it could be a factor in them not hanging in there. But, personally, I suspect that wanting sex at least twice a day may be a bit much for most men. It’s hard to know, isn’t it? They won’t say when I ask them.”
“I guess,” said Bridget, you could do some research in that area. There could be some surveys on the internet. Would you like to do some research together?”
“Yes, that would be good,” answered Bella. “My web-surfing skills aren’t great.”
They started with research done by the famous American Kinsey Institute. It reported that, in one study of American people, only 12.8% of partnered women had intercourse more than three times per week and only 2% of married women did. Bella laughed when she read that. “Guess it’s better for me to stay unmarried ... more likely to get a bit more, then!”
“And it indicates,” stated Bridget, “that women who have intercourse more than three times per week with a partner are in the minority.”
“But,” replied Bella, “I wonder if it means that there are plenty of women out there who would like to have sex more than three times per week but aren’t getting it,” said Bella. “There does not appear to be any data on this website that can tell us whether that is so, which is interesting in itself. One would think that this would be the next burning question to answer. So I still don’t know what sort of a freak I am, do I?” Bridget agreed.
They discovered another study of American undergraduate students which showed that men reported masturbating an average of 12 times per month, while women reported an average of 4.7 times per month.
“So that would mean that in my age group, masturbation is pretty common, but that men do it a lot more. Do you think that necessarily means that men want more sex than women?” commented Bella.
“Possibly,” said Bridget. “But there could be other reasons why young women masturbate less, such as being able to deal better with sexual frustration, or it being seen as less socially acceptable, or being less prepared to admit they are doing it.”
“Mm,” said Bella. “Or they’re more inhibited and less ‘in touch’ with their own sexuality! Look at this!” Bella pointed to the computer screen. “One study showed that nearly 85% of men and 45% of women who had a partner reported masturbating in the past year. So even if you have a partner, people still masturbate.”
“Yes,” said Bridget, “but most people who have a sexual partner would spend some time away from them during any one year, so that may be why they masturbate. Not necessarily because they’re ‘not getting enough’ with their partner.”
After about twenty minutes Both Bridget and Bella tired of looking at figures on a screen and all the facts and figures didn’t seem to make Bella’s situation any clearer, so Bridget shut the computer down.
“None of this has answered my question of how often most men my age would like to have sex with a woman,” stated Bella, looking frustrated.
“No,” said Bridget. “I’ll do a bit more research for you some time, if you like. But, in the end, it’s not about how you compare to other women, or other couples, or how many men there are out there who could be compatible with you, is it? It’s more about knowing what kind of partner would make you happy and how you can go about the task of finding that person, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I suppose you are right,” answered Bella. “And believe that such a person exists.”
“We could spend some more time thinking about how you could do that,” Bridget continued. “We’ve managed to identify a number of ways earlier. Do you want to come back and let me help you pick a path and embark on it?”
“Yes, I would,” said Bella.
When Bella had gone, Bridget made herself a strong cup of tea, drank it fast and then donned her jacket to stride off along the beach for some reflection. This case needed some serious ‘processing’. She had to admit that she was somewhat floored and a little uncertain as to how she could help someone like Bella. But in the end, she reminded herself that her role was only to help the young woman come to her own insights and decisions about action and to assist her in making a decision that was as benign and harmless as possible to herself or others, whilst at the same time bringing her own dream into reality and getting her needs met.
The whole subject of human sexuality in the modern, western world and its manifold expressions and complications was something that had always bewildered and, at times, even frightened Bridget. She felt confident that her own sexuality was, thankfully, straightforward and uncomplicated. Her recent experience of abstinence had felt comfortable enough for her, especially as she, just having turned fifty, had been going through that uncomfortable transition into menopause. But the reawakening that had occurred after meeting Dorian, made her wonder if there was not a lot more to be experienced. And that scared her a little. She knew that a sexual relationship always came with complications and often became a minefield of drama. But she also knew that it was laced with intense pleasure and happiness. But she was not one of those people, she mused, who believed that the whole of life revolved around it.
There had been times in her life when the idea of running away to an ‘ashram’ in India to learn how to sublimate this energy had seemed very attractive to Bridget. Hindu philosophy pronounced sex to be very much a part of ‘maya’, or illusion … something that needed to be uplifted, transformed and transcended. Catholics saw it at best as a sacred gift to be used only for procreation and at worst, as a base instinct that was ‘bad’, ‘carnal’, even ‘evil’, which clearly resulted in sexual frustration and an accompanying explosion of sexual abuse of children by Catholic priests, and numerous frustrated, catholic married men and women who tried to avoid conceiving children by abstaining. Other Christian philosophies espoused the concept of it only being ‘right’ and ‘sacred’ if it occurred within marriage between a man and a woman, and certainly no person with any aspirations of holiness would indulge in it.
Amongst the world’s large population of Moslems, a huge number of women had their capacity for sexual pleasure brutally removed with a knife through the act of circumcision - the removal of that prime organ of sexual pleasure in women: the clitoris. Bridget shuddered as she recalled reading a World Health Organisation study which found that an estimated 140 million girls and women in the world had been subjected to this physiological and psychological cruelty. Elsewhere she had read that over half of all spending on the internet is estimated to be related to the pursuit of sexual stimulation, a fact that, in her opinion, was clear evidence that vast numbers of men and women around the computerized, modern world at least, failed to get their needs and desires met in real life, with real partners.
