The Feminine Is Everywhere
By JH Simon
It was a scorching, bright-blue day on My Khe Beach in Da Nang, Vietnam. I was standing in my tiger-print swimming trunks next to a young guy I had met in an exercise group, chatting about the art of Bachata dance. This guy had a charm about him which I liked. His eyes were melancholic, yet his spirit was infused with passion. As much as we got along, I could not help noticing his eyes occasionally wandering while I talked with him. I began to wonder if he was enjoying the conversation as much as I was?
Soon after he blurted: “Oohh, she’s beautiful”, his eyes tracking a woman walking in her bikini along the water’s edge.
I patiently waited for him to finish, then resumed talking. Minutes later, however, the same thing happened. “She looks Russian,” he stated, following this by explaining to me the type of woman he preferred, down to her hair colour, figure and geographical background.
Over the week, a trend emerged. Every conversation would circle back to a woman he was chatting to online, or a woman he had chased down the road to talk to, or a woman he had met at a bar. Even while we spent time together, he would wander off to try to chat up a woman who caught his eye.
One day, he had gone missing for the entire afternoon. When we linked up later, he told me the tale of his magical afternoon beach-hopping with a gorgeous blonde. He was hoping it would progress further, although she had mentioned that she had a boyfriend. “Let’s see,” he declared with a far-off stare.
Two days later, I sat and listened to his heartbreak story, as he explained that his bombshell blonde had stopped responding to his messages.
“All I want,” he said with his melancholic eyes, “Is someone to lie in bed with for the entire morning.”
A week or so later, he went missing for good. During that time, I spotted him once, sunbathing with the woman who had possibly agreed to be his all-morning bed partner.
A Deep Yearning
Some men can’t help themselves. The second a beautiful woman appears, they check out. Their gawking eyes remain fixed on her; even when her body language expresses obvious discomfort. Such men feel compelled to nudge their friend with an elbow to share their overflowing excitement.
“Look at her!”
Less tactful men will lose their composure and dignity altogether, compelled to wolf whistle and make a sleazy comment. Deep down they know it doesn’t work, but they surrender their pride and sense of decency nonetheless.
It took me years to figure out the problem with such men, as well as the cure to their malaise. It began in my mid-twenties, when I was sitting in the sun at a Melbourne cafe, drinking a coffee alone. A woman walked by, and I took a moment to watch her. When she was gone, I returned to my book. But alas, another woman caught the corner of my eye, and I was ‘forced’ to stare again. When it happened a third time, I finally caught myself.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I told myself.
Did I have zero control? What was driving me to yearn over and over and over, for a random woman walking by? Something was wrong. I was no different to our hungry young buck patrolling Da Nang beach.
This moment stuck in my mind for years to come. I remained aware of an ambiguous need within me. I had to look. To take in any woman I saw. Not only bathe in her presence, but yearn for it.
Eventually, something shifted. The need to yearn gradually left me. I noticed it for the first time when chatting with a work acquaintance in Berlin, whose eyes continued to wander to any woman who walked by. As I noticed him losing himself each time, I remained calm and present. Even amused. Then it hit me: My need was gone. I could choose to look, or not. Either way, it made no big difference to my life. How did this happen?
Finding ‘Her’
A lot had changed between my sore neck in Melbourne, and my final light bulb moment in Berlin. During those years, I had pursued a deep spiritual practice. Meditation. Yoga. Plant Medicine. Bodywork. Breathwork. Dance. I had travelled the world. Spent time hiking over mountain ranges, wandering through thick forests, and immersed in the waters of various oceans. Such experiences leave behind a sense of serene aliveness — of not only inhabiting one’s body, but of inhabiting the entire world around you.
The young man I was when in Melbourne walked from his apartment to the cafe, completely lost in his head. The older man in Berlin wandered the concrete jungle of his city and took in the energy of the street. He focussed on the trees, appreciating their aliveness in contrast to the deadness of the buildings. He breathed deeply into his soft lower belly, and could feel his feet anchored in the ground. He appreciated the Earth which held him up, as well as the abundance of life it created. He enjoyed the breeze over his skin, the vibrations of the urban sounds within him. This man learned to find the feminine all around him.
Being Worthy Of ‘Her’
The feminine is everywhere. My time in Da Nang was simply another example of this. The area is gushing with life, from its thick, luscious plant life thriving out of concrete, to its sparkling and energetic beaches, as well as its mountain ranges over the Son Tra peninsula. Even beyond this, Da Nang has a special quality which you feel on arrival — if you are receptive enough. There was a good reason I was getting up at 5 am each day, ready to experience life. It had a lot to do with the energy of the place I was in.
Years of learning to surrender have taught me that the feminine is what permeates all of life. It is energy in motion, looking for an outlet to express itself. The feminine is life seeking life.
However, to be deemed worthy of this gift, one must surrender and soften. When you harden too much against the feminine, it can no longer nourish you. It is simple: Life denies those who deny it first.
This brings us to the crux of the feminine: It is not only all around you, it is also within you — regardless of your gender. To invite it in, you need to tune your body to its frequency. Take slow deep breaths. Adjust your mind via music and meditation to enter into awakened, deep rest states. Invite yourself to move deeper and deeper into surrender.
I have a memory from when I was fourteen which I will never forget; a lesson that took me decades to understand. I was watching my six-month-old cousin sleeping soundly on top of her uncle’s enormous belly. It was at once a hilarious image, and a touching one. Her uncle, usually a boisterous and energetic man, was in a state of pure surrender, inviting his niece to bathe in it. He was channelling his feminine.
This is what mothers do for their children, and what women do for the world. In their infinite wisdom, they are expert practitioners of the feminine. When a desperate man looks to quench his hunger through a woman against her will, he is unconsciously seeking out the feminine in himself. Such a man wants to be reminded of the life within himself which he lost, perhaps through trauma or chronic emotional neglect.
The young man I met in Da Nang lost his mother when he was twelve.
An Ode
At our worst, we men gawk at women, objectify them, and hunger for them to the point of causing them distress. This is perhaps the shadow side of what a healthy relationship with the feminine should be.
For what is a woman to a man? She is an embodiment of life, as well as energy in its many manifestations. A woman’s glow, her giggle, the dreaminess of her eyes, the softness of her curves, the aliveness of her movements, the fierceness in her conviction, her insistence on humility and understanding; each is an expression of inviting life to grow. Not only do women give birth to life, they continue to carry its torch in their very being, reminding men what is truly worth living for.
When a healthy man sees a woman, her being reminds him of the life within himself. That is, her torch lights his torch. There is no shame in him appreciating her presence and being thankful for the reminder. Yet he must also recognise and honour the humanity in her as well. Her boundaries. Her needs. Her feelings. Femininity is both a gift and burden to women. Men should understand this, and act accordingly.
A final update on our young Casanova: I did run into him a couple of weeks after he went missing.
As we stood in paradise, the sun warming our skin, the lively waves massaging our legs, the humid breeze caressing our cheeks, the mountain range of the peninsula standing tall among the clouds, he revealed that it was over with his young Juliet.
Within the first minute of saying hello, after weeks of not speaking, he began expressing his deep sadness, his eyes more melancholic than I had ever seen. It was then that I despaired for his situation, and I am ashamed to say, became angry at him.
I hope he one day finds what he is looking for.
