Alejandro Jodorowsky - The Spiritual Journey of Alejandro Jodorowsky - The Creator of El Topo

A minute passed; it seemed longer than an hour. My whole pubic zone was trembling, aching to move inside her. In this tormenting immobility, the walls of her vagina suddenly began to shake with a gradually increasing tempo. Finally, her entire vagina was convulsing, squeezing, and vibrating like a quivering glove. Inside this muscular tempest, I had no more need to move. A few seconds later, my semen flooded her. I had three successive ejaculations.

I told her that I had never before met a woman of such mastery. She confided: “I had a great master myself. I wish you to know that I am the daughter of Gurdjieff. *23In 1924, the master visited New York with a group of disciples for a demonstration of his sacred dances. My mother, who was thirteen years old at the time, brought him some food that he had ordered from a Russian restaurant. He seduced her and taught her these vaginal techniques, which I learned from her. Gurdjieff said that through laziness, most women have a dead ‘Athanor.’ From childhood on, girls are taught that only the phallus is powerful, active, and vital and that what they have between their legs is a mere receptacle, a kind of swamp whose function is to be filled by sperm. People take it for granted that the vagina is a passive organ. But there is a world of difference between this kind of passive nature and that of a deliberately trained vagina. Gurdjieff taught my mother to awaken and develop her soul by developing a living vagina.”

Deciding to offer me a demonstration, Reyna spread her legs, contracted the lips of her vulva, and, with a soft airy sound, began to pump air into her vagina. Then she expelled it with a powerful hiss.

“Phase one: learning to breathe in and eject with the vagina, as if it were a lung. When this is mastered, a woman can go much further. .”

She set four olives in a row and, scooting up to them with her perineum on the floor, she swallowed them one by one. Then she lay on her back and expelled them with such force that they bounced against the ceiling. She lit several candles and blew them out with one gust from her vagina. She drew a thread up into her organ and then deposited it, knotted, in my hand.

“My vagina has the same agility of movement as my tongue. What’s more, I can will my lubricant secretions to increase or diminish.”

She concentrated with effort. Then, from the base of her lips, she expelled an oval of small, transparent jets of fluid, which covered her thighs.

Finally, kneeling and concentrating with a queenly air, her knees spread far apart, she inhaled a very large quantity of air into her vagina. When she expelled it, a quasimusical sound was heard, both metallic and organic in tone, which recalled the song of whales. My hair stood on end as I thought of the legend of the sirens of Homer’s Odyssey , who attracted sailors with their wails in order to shipwreck them. Fascinated and overwhelmed, I lay my head on her lap and began to whimper like a child remembering a lost paradise.

In a very soft voice, she said, “In the most ancient times, women chanted lullabies with their vulvas to make their babies sleep, but as this art became lost and forgotten, children ceased to feel they were loved. An unconscious anxiety settled in the souls of human beings. That whimpering of yours expresses the pain of having a mother with a mute vagina, but we are going to resolve that.”

She undressed me with precise, delicate movements, had me lie on the bed, and began by embracing the soles of my feet, moving all the way up my body — countless, deep kisses given with all her soul, patiently, over every square inch of my body. For two hours, from my foot to my head, without neglecting the slightest place, she bestowed upon me that ineffable caress, murmuring each time: “You are loved.” I had been kissed by women in many ways, but never over the totality of my skin. I surrendered to it.

When she finished with a final kiss on my nose, I gave a great sigh of happiness mixed with deep sadness. “You have shown me nirvana. . but I would have preferred you to say ‘I love you,’ instead of ‘You are loved.’”

Her blue eyes flashed with utter disdain.

“As I multiplied my kisses, I perceived you moving back through time. From thirty years you went to twenty, to fifteen, to ten, to five, and suddenly you were six months old — a baby marveling at having found a universal mother. That is what you are feeling right now. Should I accept such an unworthy role in saying ‘I love you’? What do you want? By soliciting my love, what you are really saying is: ‘Because I never had the tenderness of a mother, I’m confused and lost in my life. You are my only emotional refuge. That’s why I cling to you. Be authoritarian, guide me, possess me, ground me, nourish my soul. Never abandon me, satisfy my desires constantly, amuse me when I’m bored, make delicious food for me, forget yourself, and admire me more than anyone else. Become my audience.’

“You deceive yourself by seeing me as a projection of that inner woman that you call ‘soul’—but in no case will you accept me as the portrait of your mother. When you say, ‘I love you,’ which one of your multiple selves is speaking? The mental I , the emotional I , the sensual I , the moral I , the cultural I ? What is the profound I that is independent of age, sex, nationality, or beliefs? When you define yourself, which part of yourself is making this definition? Can you say, without dividing yourself in two: ‘I am what I am’? Do you realize that you are not an individual organism? Do you realize that this body that you believe is yours is all men — all who exist, have existed, and will exist — and that I am all the women from the beginning to the end of Creation? Your essential self is the cosmos manifesting itself through you. When you enter into contact with me, it is for you to unite yourself with the totality of time through our minuscule present.

“By wishing to have me, centering yourself in possession, you go astray. Love is an infinite energy that surges within you and has nothing to do with the image you have of a separate self. In the we there is no me . Love goes beyond all desire of possession. When you prefer ‘I love you,’ to ‘You are loved,’ you fail to realize that the only reason you are in this world, born in a body of flesh and bone, endowed with consciousness, is because that mysterious force that creates the universe every instant loves you. You are obeying a divine destiny. Right now, every moment, cell by cell, atom by atom, you are loved — you, just as you are, with your particular form, your style, your limitations, and your irreproducible aura. The universe thirsts for this consciousness that your organism can produce. A grain of this consciousness has been given you so that you can make it bear fruit to prevent it from disappearing without leaving a trace in time.

“My blessed father said: ‘Whoever does not create a soul lives like a pig and dies like a dog.’ You have been taught that you were no one, that no inner god lives in the center of your dark psyche. Your parents, seeing you as only a projection of their selfish plans, never saw you. Not seeing you, they never knew you and forbade you to be who you are and permitted you to be only who they wanted you to be. They did not love you. This is why you brew all this emotional muddle around women, who will never be able to love you as you would prefer. In a state of perpetual neediness, your ‘I love you’ actually means: ‘Mean mommy, you don’t love me. I search in vain for your look. If you don’t want to see me, then I don’t want to see me and I must be as you imagine me to be. If you do not tell me who I really am, then I am not. I remain a child. I cannot become an adult, because in order to do that, you would have to see me as I really am — and that’s impossible, for then you would have to be able so see yourself as you really are, which in turn is impossible because your parents — my grandparents — never saw you. Because I am afraid you will abandon me, I’ll distance myself from you first, before you can do it.’”