Self Conscious

Emma

A moment ago, I picked up my iPhone, laid a finger on one of its buttons, and thought about clicking it...

I know the feeling. It is tempting.

Emma

Exactly! In that moment, I feel like I’m at a crossroads: will I wake up my iPhone or leave it be? I feel, in my bone marrow, it’s the matter of a spontaneous choice, of suddenly clicking a button. As I feel my own pure freedom to make this spontaneous choice, I feel, in a word, self-conscious. Remember, self-consciousness isn’t just a vivid awareness of self. If it were, it wouldn’t induce any more anxiety than looking in the mirror. No, self-consciousness is the vivid awareness of a self with pure freedom. The anxiety comes from knowing that nothing (not even a wild desire to look at Instagram) will dictate my spontaneous choice, whether to click or not to click.

Go on, I’m listening...

Emma

But, of course, this pure freedom extends beyond waking up iPhones. Just as nothing compelled me to wake up my phone, nothing prevents me from now throwing it out the window. I have an idea in my head (namely, to throw my phone out the window), which prompts me to set in motion so many body parts with so much vigor, sending my phone flying across the room and out the window. As follows...

Nice throw!

Emma

That idea in my head, as flimsy as it felt, provided the same prompt as a dynamic, courageous desire, a reckless, cavalier impulse, to throw my phone out the window. Conjuring up such feelings definitely helps, but, otherwise, I can always just do it, off the idea alone. And I can abstract any course of action into an impersonal, objective, yet actionable idea, such as,
to throw my iPhone out the window
walk across a frozen lake
burn my wardrobe
beg for change
go to London
give away all my cash
make pancakes
sing Bohemian Rhapsody
play ping-pong
dance my heart out
Exquisitely aware of my pure freedom, how I could now make any one of these spontaneous choices, I’m again self-conscious.

Then what?

Emma

Then, as I act on the idea, as I actually throw my phone, I lose myself in the moment and just flow... Doing whatever comes naturally, I’m less self-conscious...

Which isn’t always easy...

Emma

I know! Any time I think I’m something, self-consciousness reminds me I’m not this something, in light of my pure freedom, how I can be anything. Like when I’m sad, I know, at any moment, I could look at the bright side, and try to be cheerful. How can I just be sad, just be that something, when I know I’m choosing to be sad, and could choose not to be? By reminding me I can be anything, self-consciousness is the acid bath that melts down everything, every something I try to be, whether I’m sad, happy, angry, pleased, bored, excited, worried, calm, etc. Whatever feeling, mood, or attitude it is, in the moment, I try to just be it, proud to be something. But, deep down, I know being that something is an affectation, in light of my pure freedom, how I can be anything.

Unless?

Emma

Unless I open my mouth and speak. Then my tone of voice alone defines me as something. Even a supposedly neutral tone of voice (like the one I’m using now) still makes me sound calm and rational.

But we’re not constantly talking all the time... This self-consciousness, this pure freedom... We see it whenever we look into each other’s eyes, and don’t say a word...

Emma

You know, years ago, you came home with a pint of ice cream, and I never felt so much love in my life. In a moment of clarity, I saw you had chosen to pop into a store along the way and purchase ice cream, all for the sake of pleasing me. Nothing logically necessitates ice cream should be yummy, it just is. Like everything else about the universe just is. But you bought that ice cream because you chose to and not merely because. Besides, while choices are dynamic, the idea of a person (their personality, their character) never changes. And being in love with the same old idea, tragically, is a flower that wilts over time. Only real love, the kind that springs from choices, refreshed to a full bloom by every kindness, can go on forever...

And, remember, with the pure freedom of spontaneous choices, we can do anything. Like right now we could
make love
dance to music
watch a movie
play board games
play video games
go into town and

Emma

Can I get a hug?
And now, without further ado, you throw your arms around someone you love and SQUEEEEEEEEEEEZE!

Thanks! I love you too...

Emma

We can also talk about anything... Give me a premise.

You’re a sports mascot. Go.

Emma

If I had to be a sports mascot, I would be a giant basketball. Only nasty neighborhood kids would keep rolling me down the street.

Very funny... Now let’s get to work! You’ve read my theory of consciousness?

Emma

I have. But I feel like doing something practical. Maybe we could volunteer at a hospital?

After all, blessed are those who do God’s work amidst such soul-withering dreariness... Who fill their lives with what you and I would sooner not think about... Who bring a sunny smile to the handicapped, the terminally ill, when there’s nothing sexy about the whole business... Who give them a shoulder to cry on, with no regard for self and a heart as big as all outdoors... Who take away bedpans and clean up the elderly, who suffer every indignity with a happy heart... Who prove you don’t need to battle climate change or save the world to make a difference...

By the way, before James Bond saves the world, he doesn’t just brood in his lonely manor like Batman. No, he does the Bond girl, as nature intended. I get that. Like sugar for your soul, playtime’s energizing. Fancy a video game?

Emma

How about you come to bed...

kiss her all over
heavy petting
like a heady wine
mood bath
loveplay
slow-cooking it
awaken a glow
slow and narcotic
give her a rubdown
sweet body scent
smoky incense
a slow jam
interlaced fingers
sink my fangs
blush with pleasure
sexually burning
lush and voluptuous
gauzy dream of erotica
hot enough to bake bread

shimmies out of her dress
bathed and freshly scented
her legs hitched up
locked in passion
with the regularity of a drop forge
tropical heat
the invigorating charm of sex
perspiring like an ox
satisfy my flaming desires
first one way then the other
a looping weariness

crescendoes steadily
drumroll
cresting
claps me on the back
before the ultimate sunburst
broken water main
uncorked champagne
sensory overload
most poignant bliss

sway lazily
psyche still vibrating
dopey from morphine
pleasurable afterglow
milk and honey