© 2023 by Zoe Marks. Proudly created with Wix.com

"Body and Wine Podcast: Conversations on Sex and Spirituality" - Charlie Gray interviews guests as they share experiences with sexuality and belief. 

  • White SoundCloud Icon
  • White Facebook Icon
  • White Instagram Icon

December 28, 2018

December 4, 2018

May 6, 2018

February 6, 2018

January 31, 2018

January 25, 2018

January 10, 2018

November 26, 2017

October 30, 2017

October 30, 2017

Please reload

Recent Posts

ma'adi in the morning

December 28, 2018

1/6
Please reload

Featured Posts

you held me when my body spasmed

September 26, 2017

It's this that makes the dream so true:

we're in it in the flesh that is ours in the real world.

It's this that reminds me that perfection exists

with pain,

and not without.

 

                                                  

"Breathe into me,"

she instructed me with a steady whisper.

 

---

 

It was day 6. You held me when my body spasmed, whispering into my ear between the sobs uncontrollable, “I have you, take my energy, let me ground you.”

 

---

 

My panic attack had been discreetly building over the week. Under the surface it rose slowly beneath my skin, which itself was weakening with each passing day from so many sun kisses. The elements wore me down to the moment when I exploded in a full-body reminder of the past. It was all a bubbling forth of trauma from years ago, reignited this week by an exhausted body set aflame by the spark of an unexpected fighter jet that awoke my resting PTSD, a beast I thought I'd put to sleep...

 

At Burning Man we don’t just check our shit at the literal line in the sand when we arrive. "Here's my baggage, good sir, now let me enter fantasy land - onward and upward!" Nope, bodies don’t work like that.  My panic attack was a stark reminder that this is real life, and that even in my fantasy, I’m not invincible. 

Yet it's this that makes the dream so true - we're in it in the flesh that is ours in the real world. It's this that reminds me that perfection exists with pain, and not without. It's this that reminded me that the fantasy isn't a get-away-vaycay, but a get-to-it place to heal and relearn how to breathe.

It's like how the two sacred structures at the centre of Burning Man are constant visual reminders throughout the week: we can look to freedom and celebration in the structure of the man, and remember our depths and our pain held in the solemness of the temple. We hold space for a week to cry tears of joy and of pain, and then we let it all go, and go.

 

---

 

On day 2, days before the moment she took me in her healing arms, I was sitting with eight other friends in a giant silver swinging bowl, dressed in nothing but our sweat, and refreshed after having just shortly before swirled and laughed through our dust masks in the dustiest of dust storms. We had then landed at this desert form of a traditional Russian sauna, and were now relaxing afterwards to the sunset over the Black Rock Mountains, taking turns recalling highlights from the first two days of our Burn. 

 

So... beautiful moment, sunset, cleanliness, nice people... we settled into it...

But then, right as we were reflecting, the golden sky was suddenly filled with a sound so piercing it drowned our voices. In an instant we saw the screaming fighter jet take its first swoop overhead, and circle back. What the F - at Burning Man? Why?? I thought, while in a jump of excitement, one of our little naked bunch (who was sitting next to me), jumped up in pure unadulterated joy (which is an awkward thing to do and accomplish in a giant swinging bowl filled with clothes-less people and swinging bits) declaring “This is a gift - it’s a gift! How amazing the military would choose to do that for us!!” His puppy dog smile didn’t know my heart had stopped for a moment, and then proceeded to race at a speed that matched the zoom of the engine in the sky above. 

The fighter jet zoomed off with a thunder that echoed behind it. It had made its presence known.

 

It took a few moments and several side glances while our friend calmed down his patriotic exuberance, and we were able to re-calibrate back to the glow of the sunset and normalizing nudity. We began again to share the moments that had blessed our lives in just the short time we had been at Burning Man… 

...when again with a deafening crack of a shock we were caught off-guard by the second and this time louder and lower swooping of the fighter jet.

 

With shear instinct, my upper body went into a loose fetal position over my knees, which wouldn't have been that clear to the rest of the group, as we were sitting squished on a circle bench already, still inside this giant swing. I knew in my mind that nothing was going to happen to us beyond a show of power, might and steel, but my nerves reacted out of fear for what they've experienced before.

My still naked neighbour friend resumed his ignorant shouting of "It's a gift! It's a gift!! Hahahaha!" So much boyish laughing. Fucking fuck. He clearly hadn't noticed my complete drought of enthusiasm or crippling body language. But it wasn't the time to explain to the group why this truly was the opposite of a gift to me - it was an instinctual reminder of death and destruction I’d seen in lands that felt then so far away, yet were strikingly clear all-of-a-sudden in my mind’s eye.  
He doesn’t know, he doesn't know. I told myself over and over again, in-between the thoughts of concern for anyone else of the 70,000-ish population currently in the Black Rock Desert at that time who’ve also encountered military action before, in settings not quite so splendid as this... I let my vulnerable and ex