Dance of Innocence

Looking back, she couldn't figure how the shift in her happened—what brought it about. Its meaning to her was momentous, as auspicious as the crumbling of the Berlin Wall. Why had miles and miles of stone wall come down? Who was responsible for the recognition that it was not necessary as protection anymore? Likewise a stony armor, a wall of self-protecting prejudice had crumbled, disintegrated in her. From where or from whom had this healing been given? She didn't know. She just knew that she was freer, more herself, and that she trusted implicitly the voice of her innocence. Her art danced through the veils of the travesty of power revealing her truer form.

It began quietly in a time that lulled the compassion of conscience, the early nineties. The preparations were dreamed years in advance. She was a star living the usual virtuous self-promoting lifestyle of the infamous. She had just finished a worldwide tour and a movie that she was now promoting on many talk shows. Her schedule was one interview after another where she smiled—seemingly endlessly— through sessions of explaining her latest creative venture, and trying to bypass the bark and bite of self-analysis which all the interviewers wanted to give her. She couldn't reveal that her life was an art form, that she lived it as she felt it, explored it and—to their shock—flaunted it in front of millions. She used the medium of song and dance to delve into the subconscious icons of desire.

It was through the last interview (perhaps they are more like therapy to me, she thought) that an understanding began to speak of itself. Her own voice came forth, but the counsellor/interviewer never registered the difference. She herself did not feel it completely, the voice of recognition spoke. She did not know where it would lead her. The Interview: Question: Is your sex life pretty wild? What are you looking for in a man? Response: Actually, babe, I'm pretty tame in my personal life. I do all that wild stuff on stage. Take away the singing and dancing and what do you got?—just the humping and the hormones—that could get monotonous after awhile. Don't you think its overrated? Question: What do you mean overrated? You mean all the attention the media and everyone gives it? Response: Yeah, that . . . but that's not all of it—it's overrated as pleasure. Question: What is the greatest pleasure to you then? Response: Hmm, right now I would say the power I feel from examining the fears and taboos around sex—through song and dance. Question: How does your work do that? It appears to be just shocking—a form of rebellion. Response: Yes, you could say it has that intention. But, you know, sex is something everyone is doing from the moment when you are quite young and you discover the buzzing sensation between your legs and you learn how to heighten it by stroking yourself. What I do on stage shocks people . . . why? Everyone is doing it—every creature. Why are our body parts such a secret? Sex is common, everyday stuff. So why is what I'm doing on stage immoral or shocking in any way? Why isn't it as normal as watching somebody eat? Question: I suppose it offends people's sense of morality. Response: How is acting out an act that everyone does, that everyone hopes to do often . . . why is that immoral? Question: Perhaps people object because they consider it a private act between two people, a means of expressing love. Response: From what I've seen it's hard to call it an expression of love . . . maybe power. My experience is that men don't have a clue how to love, to express feelings. They never—rarely—open up. They say it's macho not to talk about any feelings besides anger. I think they're scared to even have a feeling—so you get all sweaty with someone and he pushes his thing inside of you—is that supposed to express his feeling about you? Try interrupting a guy just before he's ready to orgasm . . . his concerns aren't on you. Most likely if he didn't respect or like you before the act, huffing and sweating won't manufacture it. Question: Yes, but everyone needs to be touched. Isn't that an expression of loving? Response: Could be, yeah, but everyone gets hungry, needs to eat . . . but some people can really abuse themselves by stuffing themselves with junk food when all they need is a small amount of healthy food. Question: Then, what is a healthy sex life? Response: I can tell you what I think will produce one. Two people of any sex who have such a desire—these two people must also have in common a physical independence and an emotional independence. Question: You feel homosexuality is okay? Response: Hey, why not? The equipment is already familiar—you don't have to be in awe or frightened of it. Are you attracted to someone because of what their crotch looks like? You don't even get to see it. Question: Do you think homosexuality is natural? Response: Yeah, why not. Nature is smart. The way I see it—before the test tube baby—since there have been gays throughout history, it might be logical to consider that it's nature's built-in, natural birth control device—so we don't overbreed ourselves . . . seems we've managed that great feat anyway. Anyhow, it's a theory of mine. Question: About birth control . . . What do you use? Response: I tried several: the pill—it bloated me. Diaphragm . . . but, you know, the men I have sex with have to use a condom or it's no go. Question: Because of AIDS? Response: Yeah, that—but it's also their sperm that does the impregnating job. They've got to understand that and take some kind of responsibility for it—it's not just me who has to deal with those messy devices. Question: What is your stand around abortion? Did you ever have one? Response: When I was young, sixteen. It was an awful time of my life—I went through such an emotional overload. The procedure itself was painless and over in a few minutes—I kept feeling so guilty. Question: How did you resolve those feelings? Response: Recently I've felt a lot of it has broken up because of my work, and I've been watching how women's right to have an abortion—to not have children—is being ripped away from us. I get so pissed every time I read that the right to have an abortion is taking another pounding. I couldn't go through having one again, and then I get cursing pissed when I know I wouldn't have to have done it—I could have bypassed the grief, the guilt—if the man just used the damn rubbers. That's all they have to do, that's all—to stop abortion. But they don't—they're lazy babies, thinking with their crotch. Just think of it: no woman ever having to feel the guilt, the grief, the moral dilemma of ending a life ever again—and all they have to do is put on a damn rubber. And they don't care enough to do it. There should be some kind of law. Don't you think? Yeah, that's all it would take. Question: Who was, or is, your greatest lover? Response: I can tell you this—it's not anybody I've had sex with . . . you're mixing it up—didn't I tell you sex generates a kind of power, or a wanted baby at best—it doesn't make love. About my greatest lover, I'm hoping to meet her someday. Question: Her? Response: Did I say her? How curious—I mean an archtypal kind of Her, I guess. Like, you know . . . He-God?