I haven’t spent much time, aside from the minimal grooming and maintenance, paying special attention to my vagina. One might say that I have been neglectful of the spiritual needs of my own vagina, having been raised a woman in American society and all that.
I haven’t spent much time talking about my vagina either, because, well, it doesn’t seem appropriate to talk about the part of me that has been such a source of secret, deep-seated shame and embarrassment for my entire life.
Why a perfectly healthy, vibrant woman would be ashamed of her own perfectly healthy, vibrant vagina is a different subject all together. We will file that one under “Future bones to pick with the Patriarchy.” A different story for a different day. We will just say that hiding and quieting my vagina has just sort of been a major part of my role as a female, and hiding tends to lead to shameful feelings. Am I Right?
Getting stoned with my vagina revolutionized my feelings about my own sexual body. I am still trying to figure out how to categorize the experience in the file cabinets of my mind, so bear with me as I recount the story and my feelings about it.
Here is the story…
A couple months back, a dear alchemist friend of mine gifted me some homemade “Beaver Balm,” a pink cinnamon smelling goo, made with a blend of organic oils and infused with sativa, formulated for her pleasure. [Editor’s note: it’s similar to Foria, which is available in some states.] I was very eager to try it out, what with the stories and testaments of the magic of the stoned yoni which have been circulating in the past few years. With all that and the words of a close friend in my head — “I discovered weed balm for my vag, and I haven’t left my bed for the last week” — I had to give it a try.
It seemed appropriate to first experiment on my own, in the safety and comfort of my own bed, on a day when my husband was at work, and kids at school. Today was for me and my vagina. I applied my beaver balm, generously. It melted like butter and felt warm, with a nice tingle. I pulled my pants and undies back up and went about my business, tidying the house, made myself a cup of coffee. Usual stuff. Twenty minutes later, my vagina was stoned. As in fully heightened senses, relaxed, giggly (yes it really was), thoughtful, and with a legit case of the munchies.
The feeling was unmistakably like being high on good pot, but in my vagina instead of in my head. The rest of me felt normal, completely unimpaired. My vagina appeared to be operating as its own entity — asserting its lovely personality and sense of humor. A new awareness set in. My vagina, after all this time, wanted to be friends.
For the next twenty minutes, my vagina laughed with me at the absurdity of our cultures’ obsession with the female body and shame around our sexuality. My vagina, in a friendly jab sort of way, told me to lighten up a little bit and stop acting so repressed. My vagina assured me that just because I carried the torch of generations of puritanical thoughts and beliefs, didn’t mean I couldn’t drop the torch at any point, and keep walking. My vagina confessed that it didn’t have a good grasp on what “gender” even meant, let alone how to identify. My vagina said “I’m hungry. Got any snacks?” And I was like, what does that even mean!? How do you… I don’t even know what to do with that question. Just absolutely stumped. We laughed, we cried, and then we decided to take a nap.
This experience left me absolutely struck… The discovery of the capability of my vagina to be so insightful and hold its own in a heated discussion, and of its ability to relate, and its quickness to engage with me — even after a lifetimes worth of neglect.
I realized that maybe I hadn’t given my vagina the credit it deserved in the past. I hadn’t tuned in and listened. I had been quieting it myself, without even realizing it. And after all of this, it forgave me! The Beaver Balm had helped us initiate communication, and begun the process of healing the rift which had divided us all these years.
I can now officially say that I have seen the light, and that I have had conversations with my vagina. What I am thrilled to report is that beyond the heightened sexual experiences that are promised by cannabis lubes, lies the experience of an honest conversation, a good laugh, and a different kind of awareness… and if you are lucky like me, a new-found vaginal kinship.
As we nodded off together, my vagina said, “Hey. Don’t forget. We are in this together!” I smiled, and nodded lazily in agreement. I had to ask though If we really are in this together, then how is it that you are you stoned, and I’m not. To which it responded “You! Always analyzing and questioning! Just relax and give in to the mystery.”
Which was exactly what I needed to hear.
What would your vagina say in a weed induced state? #pussytalk