狂傲的風…瘋狂之島

search: “Vagina workshop”

http://www.gilliananderson.ws/transcripts/99_00/99vmono.shtml

My vagina is a shell, a round pink tender shell, opening and closing, closing and opening.

我的妹妹是貝殼，圓圓的粉紅色柔嫩貝殼，開了又闔，闔了又開。

My vagina is a flower, an eccentric tulip, the center acute and deep, the scent delicate, the petals gentle but sturdy.

我的妹妹是朵花，特別的鬱金香，中間敏感而深邃，氣味微妙，花瓣輕柔又強健。

I did not always know this. I learned this in the vagina workshop. I learned this from a woman who runs the vagina worship, a woman who believes in vaginas. Who really sees vaginas, who helps women see their own vaginas by seeing other women's vaginas.

我不是本來就知道這些的。我在陰道獨語工作坊學到的。
從一個經營工作坊，信仰妹妹的女人學到，她真實的看見妹妹，也藉由看到其他女人的妹妹來協助女人看到他們自己的妹妹。

In the first session the woman who runs the vagina workshop asked us to draw a picture of our own "unique, beautiful, fabulous vagina." That's what she called it. She wanted to know what our own unique, beautiful, fabulous vagina looked like to us.

在第一段活動，那經營陰道獨語工作坊的女人要我們為我們「獨特，美麗，絕佳的妹妹」畫一張圖。 她是這麼形容的。 她想知道我們獨特，美麗，絕佳的妹妹對我們而言看起來像什麼。

One woman who was pregnant drew a big red mouth screaming with coins spilling out. Another very skinny woman drew a big serving plate with a kind of Devonshire pattern on it. I drew a huge black dot with little squiggly lines around it. The black dot was equal to a black hole in space, and the squiggly lines were meant to be people or things or just your basic atoms that got lost there. I had always thought of my vagina as an anatomical vacuum randomly sucking up particles and objects from the surrounding environment.

有個懷孕的女人畫了一個血盆大嘴有硬幣從中灑出。 另一個削瘦的女人畫了一個有著德文郡(位於英格蘭西南方)圖像的大餐盤。我畫了一個大黑點環繞著稍稍彎曲的線條。 這個黑點跟太空中的黑洞一樣大，而彎曲的線條意味著在這裡迷路的人或是事物或是你基礎的原子。 我總想像我的妹妹是人體吸塵器隨機的從周遭環境吸進微粒與物體。

I had always perceived my vagina as an independent entity, spinning like a star in its own galaxy, eventually burning up on its own gaseous energy or exploding and splitting into thousands of other smaller vaginas, all of them then spinning in their own galaxies.

I did not think of my vagina in practical or biological terms. I did not, for example, see it as a part of my body, something between my legs, attached to me.

我一直感覺到我的妹妹是一個獨立的個體，像顆星班在它自己的銀河中旋轉，最終在他自己的氣態能量中燃盡，或爆炸分解成千記的小妹妹，各自在它們的銀河中旋轉。

我不覺得我的妹妹是實際或生物的詞彙。我不…比方說，把它當作我身體的一部份，在我雙腿之間，附在我身上。

In the workshop we were asked to look at our vaginas with hand mirrors. Then, after careful examination, we were to verbally report to the group what we saw. I must tell you that up until this point everything I knew about my vagina was based on hearsay or invention. I had never really seen the thing. It had never occurred to me to look at it.

在工作坊，我們被邀請透過手鏡看著我們的妹妹。 然後，在仔細的檢視後，我們口頭的向團體報告我們看到了什麼。 我必須告訴你，在那之前，我對我妹妹的認識是基於口耳相傳或是虛構捏造。我從來沒有看過這玩意。關注它這種事從來沒有在我身上發生過。

My vagina existed for me on some abstract plane. It seemed so reductive and awkward to look at it, getting down there the way we did in the workshop, on our shiny blue mats, with our hand mirrors. It reminded me of how the early astronomers must have felt with their primitive telescopes.

我的妹妹對我而言如同在某個虛擬平面上存在。要看著它看來是件傷腦筋的事情，低下頭到那就如同我們在工作坊裡一般，在我們閃亮的藍色墊子上，帶著我們的手鏡。這讓我想起早期天文學家跟他們的高級望遠鏡一定有過類似的經驗。

I found it quite unsettling at first, my vagina. Like the first time you see a fish cut open and you discover this other bloody complex world inside, right under the skin. It was so raw, so red, so fresh. And the thing that surprised me most was all the layers. Layers inside layers, opening into more layers. My vagina, like some mystical event that keeps unfolding another aspect of itself, which is really an event in itself, but you only know it after the event.

我發現一開始它相當的不安份，我的妹妹。像是你第一次看到一隻魚被切開，而你發現裡頭這另一個殘酷的複雜世界，在皮膚底下。它是多麼的活生生，多麼紅，多麼新鮮。 而最令我驚訝的是那些層次。 一層裡頭又一層，開往更多的層次。 層次裡頭的層次，開往更多的層次。 我的妹妹，像些神秘的事件展露它另外一面，那真是它自己裡頭的事件，但你只有在事件之後才會知道。

(…what ?)

My vagina amazed me. I couldn't speak when it came my turn in the workshop. I was speechless. I had awakened to what the woman who ran the workshop called "vaginal wonder." I just wanted to lie there on my mat, my legs spread, examining my vagina forever.
我的妹妹使我驚奇。在工作坊輪到我說話時我說不出話來。 我無法言語。我被喚醒到了經營工作坊的女人口中的「妹妹奇觀」。我只想要賴在墊子上張開雙腿，永遠檢視著我的妹妹。

It was better than the Grand Canyon, ancient and full of grace. It had the innocence and freshness of a proper English garden. It was funny, very funny. It made me laugh. It could hide and seek, open and close. It was a mouth. It was the morning. And then it momentarily occurred to me that it was ME, my vagina: it was who I was. It was not an entity. It was inside of me.

它比國王峽谷(註:位於澳洲愛麗絲泉)還棒，古老並充滿優雅。它有著一個英式花園的無害與清新。 它很好笑，非常好笑。 它使我發笑。它可以捉迷藏，開了又關。它是張嘴。它是早晨。然後在那剎那它向我浮現--他就是我，我的妹妹: 它就是我，它不是一個個體，它在我裡頭。

Then, the woman who ran the workshop asked how many women in the workshop had had orgasms. Two women tentatively raised their hands. I didn't raise my hand, but I had had orgasms. I didn't raise my hand because they were accidental orgasms. They happened TO me. They happened in my dreams, and I would wake in splendor. They happened a lot in water, mostly in the bath. Once in Cape Cod. They happened on horses, on bicycles, on the treadmill at the gym.

接著，那晶瑩工作坊的女人問說工作坊裡有多少女人有過高潮?  兩個女人試探性的舉了手。 我沒有舉手，但我有過高潮。我沒有舉手因為那是意外的高潮。 高潮發生在我身上。高潮發生在我的夢中，而我會神采奕奕的醒轉。 高潮在水中發生很多次，通常在洗澡時。 有一次在鱈角(註: 位於美國，麻省)。 高潮發生在馬背上，腳踏車上，健身房的跑步機上。

I did not raise my hand because although I had had orgasms, I did not know how to make one happen. I had never tired to make one happen. I thought it was a mystical, magical thing. I didn't want to interfere. It felt wrong, getting involved -- contrived, manipulative. It felt Hollywood. Orgasms by formula. The surprise would be gone, and the mystery.

The problem, of course, was that the surprise had been gone for two years. I hadn't had a magical accidental orgasm in a long time, and I was frantic. That's why I was in the workshop.

我沒有舉手，因為就算我曾有高潮，我不知道如何使他們再發生。我想那是一個奧秘，魔幻的玩意，我不想要干擾。它感到不對勁，被捲入 --被設計，被操弄。他感到好萊塢。 藉由公式達到高潮。那經洗會消失，以及那神秘。(..?!)

問題是，那驚喜已經離去兩年。我很久沒有這魔幻的意外高潮，而我為此感到驚惶。那是我身處這工作坊的原因。

to be continue…

And then the moment had arrived that I both dreaded and secretly longed for. The woman who ran the workshop asked us to take out our hand mirrors again and to see if we could locate our clitoris. We were there, the group of us women, on our backs, on our mats, finding our spots, our locus, our reason, and I don't know why, but I started crying.

Maybe it was sheer embarrassment. Maybe it was knowing that I had to give up the fantasy, the enormous life-consuming fantasy, that someone or something was going to do this for me -- the fantasy that someone was coming to lead my life, to choose direction, to give me orgasms. I was used to living off the record, in a magical, superstitious way. This clitoris finding, this wild workshop on shiny blue mats, was making the whole thing real, too real. I could feel that panic coming. The simultaneous terror and realization that I had avoided finding my clitoris, had rationalized it as mainstream and consumerist because I was, in fact, terrified that I did not HAVE a clitoris, terrified that I was one of those constitutionally incapable, one of those frigid, dead, shutdown, dry, apricot-tasting, bitter -- oh, my God. I lay there with my mirror looking for my spot, reaching with my fingers, and all I could think about was the time when I was ten and lost my gold ring with the emeralds in a lake. How I kept diving over and over to the bottom of the lake, running my hands over stones and fish and bottle caps and slimy stuff, but never my ring. The panic I felt. I knew I'd be punished. I shouldn't have worn it swimming.
The woman who ran the workshop saw my insane scrambling, sweating, and heavy breathing. She came over. I told her, "I've lost my clitoris. It's gone. I shouldn't have worn it swimming." The woman who ran the workshop laughed. She calmly stroked my forehead. She told me my clitoris was not something I could lose. It was me, the essence of me. It was both the doorbell to my house and the house itself. I didn't have to FIND it. I had to BE it. Be it. Be my vagina. Be my vagina. I lay back and closed my eyes. I put the mirror down. I watched myself float above myself. I watched as I slowly began to approach myself and reenter. I felt like an astronaut reentering the atmosphere of the earth. It was very quiet, this reentry: quiet and gentle. I bounced and landed, landed and bounced. I came into my own muscles and blood and cells and then I just slid into my vagina. It was suddenly easy and I fit. It was all warm and pulsing and ready and young and alive. And then, without looking, with my eyes still closed, I put my finger on what had suddenly become me. There was a little quivering at first, which urged me to stay. Then the quivering became a quake, an eruption, the layers dividing and subdividing. The quaking broke open into an ancient horizon of light and silence, which opened onto a plane of music and colors and innocence and longing, and I felt connection, calling connection as I lay there thrashing about on my little blue mat.
My vagina is a shell, a tulip, and a destiny. I am arriving as I am beginning to leave. My vagina, my vagina, me.