THE WILD WOMAN DIARY:
Experiments in the Feminine Reality
One million yoni egg contractions
nothing interesting at all
Got a little over-zealous today.
The rain let up for a few hours and I decided to go on a run with my yoni egg. This might have worked out swimmingly, except for one thing.
Instead of prudently choosing a smaller, lighter egg, I decided to run with the yoni egg affectionately dubbed “The Black Mamba”, named after Beatrix Kiddo, the protagonist in Kill Bill, my all-time favorite assassin.
It's largest black obsidian yoni egg.
Somehow, I forgot that running with Black Mamba is a lot trying to pole vault while squeezing a watermelon between your thighs.
Damn near impossible.
Between the time that I ran down the four flights of stairs, and was outside of my apartment building, the Black Mamba was on the loose. Thanks to my super-tight yoga pants, it didn’t plummet down onto the asphault between my feet, but just hung out between my labia like an uninvited testicle.
I know. Sexy.
I waddled back into the apartment building and ducked behind the giant cactus next to the cleaning closet, retrieved the fugitive egg, and replaced it with something more realistic: the tiny black obsidian yoni egg.
It was more difficult to feel and very difficult to manipulate, but also much easier to hold in.
I decided to run today because running is such a big part of who I am, and so it makes sense for root chakra work. At my roots, at my core, I am a runner. But this is also part of myself that I’ve tried to bury. I am just now starting to unearth it.
My relationship with running has been a volatile one, a dance with ecstasy and insanity. It's taken me to all sorts of edges. When I am running, I shed all of my skins, I lose my persona, I become a raw nerve. Everything is amplified. Who I am doesn’t matter, and who I want to be seems like the distant, untraceable memory of a very silly idea. At least, that's on a good day. On a bad day, running is like sucking poison from a rattlesnake bite, the bitter taste of venom haunting me for hours afterwards.
I got this feeling today on my run. Now that I’ve come down from that high, I can see how it’s very tied into the root chakra. Although I live a somewhat nomadic life, when I am centered and grounded, I remember the truth: the earth is my home.
Needless to say, despite practicing with a yoni egg two days in a row, I have yet to reach enlightenment.
Owner of Keggel, hopeless nomadic, performance artist, earthling.
The Wild Woman Diary is a multimedia art project on several platforms.
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