Serendipity

An artist painting a scene at Clissold Park, north London.

From Dad’s home on the northern fringe of Muswell Hill, I cycle the sunny morning up and down through Turnpike Lane and along to Clissold Park, stop for an energy shot guarana coffee. Slide down to Dalston, get lost on a wrong turn to Victoria Park, open Google maps, eventually find my bearings roundabout to Mile End; Limehouse, and the minutiae of back streets and alleys, bridges and footways that lead to my dentist in Canary Wharf. It’s my first time there – my usual dentist has referred me to a private specialist, since the NHS nor even she privately has the necessary equipment for the job. Apparently I am at my destination but I can’t see it – no sign. I began panicking a good half hour earlier when the map was messing me around, sending me on wild goose chases, unnecessary side routes when the main road would have been fine and so much more direct. I think, AI could do a better job and I welcome that. I felt my cortisol level rising as I shifted from calm pleasure on my ride, to anxious nervousness, noticing how that made it harder to read the map or any useful information around me. I wondered if that was because of how expensive the consultation was, and difficult to get a slot, or because I don’t like being late for anything. Both. I’d actually left plenty of time so it felt punishing and I actually shed a tear.

Still, it was fine when I arrived. After I parked the bike, I noticed a small sign for a dentist. No name of the company, just dentist; so I called there. It was them! I’d thought I was 15 minutes late to a half hour appointment but it turned out she was running late, and all was fine.

She was very thorough and clear in her explanation of the predicament of my root. She spoke fast and showed me diagrams. She had a kind manner and I trusted her, but the treatment would cost about double what I had expected, plus she recommended that I get something else done by my dentist. I knew I must follow what she says, but the cost was going to be considerable, and I would notice it.

Now I think, how apt to be nodded toward this event so anxiously, when it will in fact set me back noticeably. A nudge that this will force me to do things differently perhaps. When I try to choose a payment plan for the dental bill, the system won’t let me, because I don’t earn enough money. The injustice that the poorest who need it, can’t access it. It must be a single big chunk or not at all. I wonder if I should ask my ex, or Dad to help, but neither seem like good options. It’s probably time I just bit it. It makes me want to cry. Self pity? Maybe. It’ll pass and I know it’s also good because it urges me to work harder, make more money, be more mindful. Understand the value of things.

Why have I been so blind to this coming? The bill is teaching me about money; to value it; to create it. And about following my guides. Sometimes I wait too long and they spend years trying to push a message across. I could become much swifter in my response.

Cycling back I decided to drop into my dentist on the other side of the water, so for the first time, I took the ferry. Funnily enough I remembered at the beginning of the year hearing a message from my guides telling me to imagine I was very rich. I knew why – because that would help attract more resources, but I perhaps hadn’t followed the advice enough. They knew I was going to need more money than usual this year, and I wouldn’t have a partner who could help. A few weeks later I bought flights, transport and accommodation for a long trip to America. Now this. I have already increased the amount I am working, and that must continue!

The view after crossing the Thames, looking back at Canary Wharf.

Later in the day at a private view I don’t know who I’m going to see – random people, some artists I know… on a warm evening in Primrose Hill. The surprising thing is I spend most of the time speaking with two people I didn’t know previously. An American guy who wonders about going back to spend time with elderly parents. But the unexpected encounter which colours the rest of my evening is with an artist’s wife, who is an academic. First she speaks about a recent visit to the US, and then I ask if she is South African because of her accent, I mean I know she is. I say my family were; I ask when she moved here, and say mine did in 1963 as they were political (anti-apartheid). A light goes on in her and she asks my surname. I say Bunting and she says she knew Brian and Sonia personally – my great uncle and aunt. Like them, she was a member of the ANC movement and her aunt was their neighbour in Highgate. She attended meetings in their house and knew how dedicated they were. She even knew of my great grandfather, who very few people have heard of now! This was a rare happenstance meeting, sitting on the garden wall outside a gallery.

What strikes me most of all, is that I feel she understands me in a unique way; like a beam shining through me, I feel seen in a way very few people can. She has a deep insight into the way South African exiles in particular processed their situation and has studied it. The way the women often turned to writing, and how well they did this. She has written about this phenomenon and may send me a chapter of one of her books. Not that I am an exile, but it is a latent part of my heritage, and for some reason I connect with it while not all descendants do.

She understands how some of us are intrinsically compelled by our ancestors – their stories ignite us, give us more meaning in our own lives somehow. We need to look back because we see the traces in our lives of why we are where we are, and the trails are curious. When our family before us chose difficult lives – or rather couldn’t help but follow their calling to do what seemed right – because they had powerful beliefs, not just about how they lived but about the whole world or economic social system; they send ripples for generations after. They are often not the best parents because they are so caught up in their beliefs and must live with the consequences like spending time in prison; however they make great ancestors.

Somewhere down the line comes a descendant whose parents were not able to be more present, and she reaches back keenly to feel for messages from the past. It’s like filling in a parenting gap in my sense of purpose. It makes me feel special and it’s part of my identity. It’s not a whimsy; when I read the words they wrote, or were written about them, I feel a bolt of electricity running through me. I feel connected to them, and sense how they knew they were writing or making history not just for their own era, but for a bigger time frame. Writers reach across time, speaking to each other and their readers. When I learnt of how some of my ancestors had such powerful beliefs that it changed their lives as well as contributing to movements towards eradicating racism, undoing colonialism, and lessening the extreme effects of capitalism; it blew my mind!

I’m also deeply concerned with the present; the now; and meditate habitually; try to live in that place. As for the future, I am excited about evolution and spiritual development of humans, and moving beyond physical form. Timelessness intoxicates me. So there are these simultaneous fascinations.

We had begun our discussion about my American communist Grandpa, so she knows I have this extremity from both sides. She looks at me so acutely, and after that I can’t speak to anyone else. I can’t do small talk. I have to leave. I message Brian’s daughter, my Dad’s cousin, on my way home. It’s good to reconnect.

Wolf got in trouble for revealing too much of herself in her latest book entitled ‘Vagina’. Controversy, talking about her own vagina. She says that word a lot, as well as describing its different quadrants, outer and inner labia, clitoris, G-spot and perineum. She learnt a lot about vaginas since she had a spinal injury which cost her sensation in that area, and also layers of consciousness she says. She felt sad and didn’t know why till the injury was diagnosed, then corrected and sensation returned. This made her aware of what she missed when normal use of her vagina was restricted. The incredible euphoria accompanying orgasm that added meaning, direction to her life. She got to researching vaginas and found some hidden material, which explained something of our sexist culture which loves to mock the vagina. About how there is a brain to vagina connection or relationship, and that the range of euphoria and energy that the vagina may release is immense. The clitoris and G-spot are opposite poles of an axis simultaneously capable of reaching each other. The suppression of this research speaks volumes.

It is well known and addressed that erectile dysfunction affects or is related to many areas of a man’s life, altering his performance. Naturally there is a similar relationship for women and their vaginas, but that is less discussed.

When a woman seeks out sexual pleasure and is supported by her culture in doing that, dopamine is released in her, she becomes more confident and her oxytocin levels rise. Creative hormones move her forward with positive energy. Dopamine makes a person less easy to push around, to subjugate. We have internalised the idea that women’s sexuality is ridiculous. In her book ‘Fire with Fire’ Wolf asserts that women are on the route to equality, and to achieve it they must stop being victims. During the ‘sexual revolution’ in the ’70s, a survey in which women self-reported, showed that 30% of women did not reach orgasm when they want to. It seems there has been a sort of plateau reached as this statistic has hardly changed in the last 40 years.

So the bottom line is female sexual pleasure makes a woman powerful, so information about how to maximise this is not popular with patriarchal systems like religion. Hence sexuality and also Love can be very subversive.

In the rape culture of war people are dehumanised, and women’s bodies respond negatively to rape reducing their chances of enjoying sex. The autonomic nervous system which leads to activation of good orgasms, is inhibited by anti-erotic impulses such as fear, stress and anger.

Wolf grew up in San Francisco around her lesbian Mum in the ’70s. She observed how her Mum’s friends became shining and integrated in a culture that supported their sexuality; she’d seen the same people previously more withdrawn, before they found their place. This was an environment which emphasized women’s fulfillment as an entitlement. It ought to be on the national curriculum!

What else did I take from Naomi Wolf’s talk at Women of the World festival on Saturday evening? That western feminists have a lot to learn from our sisters in developing countries because she reckons they are at the vanguard of feminism today, really pushing boundaries. That we ought to be kinder to each other – it’s not about judging others because they have had surgery or don’t wish to call themselves feminists. That women hold emotional trauma in at least one quadrant of the vagina and this can be released through sexual healing. None of us are heterosexual, we all respond to a variety of stimuli despite what we say (well I knew that anyway!) And finally women generally need to learn how to receive pleasure better, as this has been suppressed in favour of male sexuality for too long. I resonate strongly with this, finding it hard to really let go most of the time. On the few occasions when I have been least inhibited, either alcohol, drugs or sometimes the euphoria of love have facilitated it. But to reach that high on a more regular basis, I am still working on that.

Going to put up some recent pictures from classes I have modelled in. There is a lot more to say about the WOW festival Lucy and I were at last weekend, like how many celebrities Lucy failed to realise she was chatting up because we’d reached that point in the weekend where she could no longer recognise faces. And how everything worked out for the best despite several drop-outs, because we had so many Spirited Bodies models present to help at our stall so some were able to step in and model too. That when the plan to film the event collapsed this was a blessing because our models gave the most precious and powerful testimonials we could have imagined which might easily have been inhibited with the presence of a camera. Similarly when I asked the audience how many would like to try doing a pose there and then, about half of them put up their hands, no doubt encouraged by the models’ words. The artwork will be up soon.

I went to a workshop about body image by the ‘Endangered Bodies’ group which I also want to report on, and the last event – Alice Walker introducing her film – was the perfect finale, so moving and inspiring. We will be following up our WOW contacts for some time and learning from some of the advice suggested. Becoming a charity may be a good choice for us, but so too might a business which is a social enterprise. The atmosphere at WOW is electric with so many women on fire!