Yoni Tree And Me

I pressed my hand against the rotting piece of tree that jutted straight up from the roots to the top of the Yoni opening.  It was damp and spongy.  It felt wrong to me.  Like a door blocking what wanted to be an opening.

I pushed on the soft wood and it gave under my flattened hand like a loose tooth.  With the slightest more pressure, it broke off under my palm.   I pulled it out of the tree, cleaning up the other loose pieces of rotting wood too.

Whensteppedped back and looked at what I had done, I knew I wanted to climp into the new space I  made.

I don’t usually mess with nature in this way.  I will prop of a small fallen tree after a windstorm, but I tend not to interfere with the natural process of the woods working her magic.

So I don’t know what it was that compelled me to dislodge this door, but once it was gone, the Yoni was too welcoming to resist.   I wanted to rest my head in the rounded opening of the tree.  The part that reminded my of the clitoris in my drawings of the Flying Vulva.

I’ve sat inside trees before.

There are a few in the woods where I walk that are big enough for me to fit into.  I like to pretend I am the tree.  To try to “see” what it sees and “feel” what it feels.

Last week I took a selfportrait under the arch of a Yoni tree, too small for me to fit into.  That’s what gave me the idea for another self portrait.

So I found a small rotting stump a few feet away and carved out a groove to set my iphone in.  Then I set the ten second timer and climbed inside the tree.  I did this again and again, hoping one of the photos would capture what I was feeling.

I wanted to be an orgainc part of the tree.

Jon posted the photo on his blog yesterday.  It was his “getting” it that helped me see that it worked just in the way I wanted it to.


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