In the Hebrew creation myth, before the Fall, it is said that Adam and Eve "were naked and were not ashamed." After eating from the Tree of Knowledge their eyes were opened to their nakedness, and they sewed fig leaves together to cover themselves. They heard God walking through the garden and hid, but God called out to them, "Where are you?" Adam answered, "I was afraid because of my nakedness, so I hid from you." God's response is one of the most enigmatic questions anywhere in the Scriptures: "Who told you that you were naked?" They hid their now vulnerable bodies from one another, and they hid themselves from their God. They went from a state of openness and full disclosure to a state of shame and embarrassment, concealing themselves by whatever means were available. Without anyone telling them they ought to be humiliated, they instinctively disguised those parts of their bodies which would invite unwanted attention. There was now, for the first time, something between Adam and Eve, something between humanity and God. This something was the compulsion to control how much or how little of themselves may be known. Gone were the days of being naked and unashamed. Now come the days of being anxiously guarded.And so begins the breakdown of intimacy, the disappearance of belonging to another. It starts with our own miserable attempts to manage what our Beloved may see of us. Inherent within our exposure management is the primitive sense that "naked" is wicked, that who we truly are is far too awful to share with another person. So we cover up, convincing ourselves that the version of self we reveal to our partners is a gift of some sort, the "best" version of self, fearfully edited for their eyes. We assure ourselves that this editing is the most fitting, even the most loving thing we could do for our partners. After all, if they really saw us in our nakedness, they would have to share in our shame and embarrassment, wouldn't they? They, too, would blush because of who we really are. They, too, would turn away, uncomfortable to see our bare bodies, our bare minds, our bare emotions, our bare fears, our bare dreams, our bare motivations, and our bare ignorance. We do the "right" thing and feebly sew fig leaves together to censor ourselves.
What we tend not to notice, however, is that we expect our partner to do the same for us. Subconsciously, we suppose that since we are working so hard to conceal ourselves that they ought to be doing the same. We presume that our partners are also busy sewing and placing their fig leaves, strategically revealing the parts of themselves they believe to be admirable. We know, whether or not we admit it, that they are no more naked with us than we are with them. And we make an agreement with one another not to talk about the leaves, but instead to pretend there is intimacy where there is only its caricature. We wink at true communion, satisfied instead with mere companionship.
As a result, our beds are crowded with all of the versions of ourselves that we have portrayed over the years. Our partners' performances are there, too. Not to mention the many rotting fig leaves that must continually be replaced. The gulf that separates two partners grows deeper and wider with every new attempt at modesty, and true intimacy becomes a fairy tale. We become jaded, believing we were foolish to ever suppose such a thing were even possible. Anxiety, fear, and a safe distance become the watchwords of our relationships.
But must it be this way? Must we share our beds with the hundreds of versions of ourselves we've collected over the years? I say no. I say our beds are already too crowded as it is. We crowd them with the grudges we hold over the past versions of our partners, keeping a record of wrongs. We crowd them with unrealistic expectations for the future versions of our partners, assuring many disappointments to come. We crowd them with our pains, our inadequacies, our fears, our stresses, and our tendency to project those things onto our partners. We crowd them with our fantasies, our presumptions, our criticisms, our self-righteousness, and our tendency to hold every one of our partners' weaknesses against them. At times we even crowd our beds literally, with the bodies of our children or our pets. When all is said and done, our crowded beds are the last place where we might actually become naked and unashamed. Instead, we remain hidden from one another as long as we disregard the other bodies in bed with us, as long as we fail to name them, and as long as we fall short of our responsibility to protect the space between us.If we are to belong to one another, we must guard intimacy as a sacred trust. We must do away with the childish habit of hiding from our partners. We must risk being naked without shame. We must trust our partners with our nakedness. We must approach our partner's nakedness with kindness, gentleness, and a non-judgmental spirit.
If we are to belong to one another, we must be each other's Eden.
I will admit that I had to read this twice to "get it". But, once I got it, I loved it. There are some great thoughts in there about how we lose each other over the years.
Verla -
Do me a favor since you get it. Explain it to me! I have a feeling I'll be learning this one for a while. But seriously, I want to become a good, clear writer, so please tell me if there's ever anything that doesn't make sense. Much love!
Interesting idea. For me, I think we are more often more fully ourselves (for the worse) as we've been together longer. I think in the beginning of relationships we tend to put our best foot forward...strategically placing those fig leaves. Hmmm. I'm going to reread this entry later and think on this some more.
Kate -
Thanks for reading... and for offering to read again!
I agree that people tend to be more fully themselves as they remain together longer, but this isn't automatic. I'm convinced that it happens only as we make deliberate and concerted choices to come out of hiding, so to speak. As long as we remain preoccupied with our best foot (and it always surprises me just how long people can put all of their energies into keeping it forward) then we can only experience a virtual intimacy, or maybe a limited intimacy.
I'd love to hear whatever thoughts occur to you if you read the post a second time. Thanks again for reading and sharing your comment!