Vagina Diaries Day 4

This poem by ee cummings has long been my favorite of all times.  As I embark on this journey and character work for this production, the lines of this play waft back into my consciousness.  So, with that in mind, I'd like to do a little poetry analysis based on my thoughts surrounding my precious "pussy" and the literary genius of cummings' work below.

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

The idea of a place that has never traveled speaks to me about the idea of the vagina being the forbidden grounds, somewhere not to go or even to speak of in polite society.  Gladly beyond any known experience, spoken of and thought of in secrecy and silence.  And yet, as I voyage deeper into my feminine psyche, I realize how easily it is to understand and appreciate my whole self in its completion. 

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

Closing myself off as I have from truly understanding and appreciating out of fear of reprisal or judgement or being shunned, loss of acceptance and not fitting in with the status quo, yet at what cost? The loss of myself and when I surrender to the divine within, the beauty of my soul, I find how easy it is to be free and to truly take in the entirety of love for myself and others, without judgement or any sort of bitterness.  The usage of the "first rose" speaks to me even more about the loss of self in trying to fit in and tow the line because I have long since felt a divine connection to my self and the rose, seeing myself as The Rose and as I fall into line with the status quo I lose sight of that.  As I continue through this process, I embrace that part of me, the beautiful fragrance of my soul, opening so sweetly.

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

It is then up to me and only me if I wish to close, to hide, or be open to the free flow of life, the source, the divine.

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

If I replace "your" with vagina", I read it as "nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of my vagina's intense fragility"...the power.  Not in that horrible way I used to be treated as some form of wonton woman intent on seducing every man in my sight, but in the proven power of my feminine strength, destiny, and abundance of love and acceptance.  Accepting and appreciating myself, my whole self, as divinely capable of seeing truth and following after my calling is where the power and strength resides.

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

The voice of my vagina's eyes is deeper than all roses.  Even though I can view my vagina as the rose or for that matter myself, (see: when I first did this show, the director had pictures of all sorts of flowers flashing across the walls and screen during the pre-show as a symbol of the vagina), the fact of the matter is my self, my being, my vagina is more intensely powerful and worthy of more love than that of the rose, all comparisons aside.

somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond