65. let's talk belly buttons!
We have them. They're on our bellies and they look like buttons and I feel like giving them some attention. Sounds good?
If you touch your body, you will find different textures, bumps, crevasses, fissures, slow rivers, fast cars traveling without stopping. And you don’t want them to. Because you want those guys to keep going. They don’t even honk or use their signal lights. They go go go.
They’ve been choreographed by a supreme force. A wise director. The Absolute Source. I think you know who I’m talking about. THE PERSON WHO’S NOT A PERSON. The creepy being observing us all through a peephole. Yes, I talk God.
Whether you are touching your body right now or not -I highly recommend you do- you should be aware of your own scars. Every time I do a mental rundown of my own -the physical ones, the emotional scars I cannot even start… Don’t know where to look, I just know they’re somewhere inside of me- I count four or five plus my stretch marks, which would be in the dozens. But I never count my belly button as one.
And I’m here to tell you exactly that: the belly button is a scar. Possibly our first scar. Not just our first scar but probably our most metaphysical one.
My relationship with my belly button is simple. I know I have one, she exists. We are pals. We rarely communicate much. I wash her from time to time, but not every day. Let’s just say I try my best to keep her clean. I do so by taking my index finger and inserting it in the button in my belly. I twist it and I make sure the walls are covered with bodywash. If I touch the very bottom of the button I have a strange feeling. Somewhere between “gotta pee” and “instantly horny”. It’s vaginal. But not in an obvious way. In a vertiginous, freefall way.