I Am Flesh [jessie b]

The Fruit

I look so fine in my shiny, supple skin.
My color is hot, you will be taken.

Come here, smell the scent of my green branches, Come!
Into my world, my adventure, my flesh.

Soft, juicy, slimy, seedy, handle with care!
Be gentle when you break me off the vine.

Hold me gently; softly press your lips on me.
I am yours, your ripened fruit, flesh.

The Woman

Looking down at my hands, I stared at the fruit freshly plucked from the branch. Did I really take this forbidden object away from its home?

The fruit was cool in my hands and I found myself rubbing its smooth skin. I bet it is juicy and sweet. I could almost hear it being crunched by my teeth; I could almost feel its texture on my tongue. I wanted it, but God had said…

How long had I been here? How long had the questions been running through my head? How long had this fruit been laying in my hands, begging to be bitten?

I rolled it across my hands. I felt it move across my left hand, and then fall into my right, settling itself in my palm. How easy it would be to eat it now. All I needed to do was raise my hand, open my mouth, and bite down.

The shiny surface of the fruit mirrored Adam’s reflection as he snuck up behind me, resting his head on my shoulder, eagerly looking at the object of my attention. I sighed.

Adam and I stared at each other for a moment. My life was full and lacked no pleasure as I walked through this garden each day with God and Adam. All I saw was mine to take. I had enjoyed it all. God had given us everything. There was no need to question or doubt if this was as good as things could possibly get. God had told us that this was it, and then He had given it to us. Or had He?

I closed my eyes blocking out Adam, blocking out God. I needed to remember what happened. I needed to think things through What should I do with this object in my hand?

God. God. I needed to think about what God said. He said I couldn’t eat from this one tree. I don’t even think I was supposed to touch it. I touched it. God, I touched it and I’m not dead. Didn’t You say that I would die?

It looked good. It sounded good. Knowledge. It would make me like God. It felt good in my hands. Nothing seemed wrong with it. Really, how was it bad?
There was no way it could be bad. Why did God lie?

Why did God lie and tell us that this one tree would kill us?

Would it really just make everything better? Could I be as good as God?

Opening my eyes, I looked down at my shoulder where Adam rested, nearly asleep. I looked back at the fruit. Closer, and closer, my mouth finally met its target and I bit, sinking my teeth into its flesh. Flesh.


The Fight

Let us think about flesh. The flesh of the fruit varies. If the fruit were an apple, it would be crunchy, sweet, and generally well-liked. Apple pie, applesauce, apple cider, apple juice, apple slices, apple-off-the-tree. We like it so many ways, and appreciate its versatility. It’s easy to imagine the fruit of the Tree as an apple, but what if the fruit were different? What if it was a fruit that made you wonder, and made you question everything?

Tomatoes, as fruit, provide my taste buds with more questions than answers. Every time I bite into a tomato, I hope for less of the slimy, seedy center. I hope for sweetness, and for understanding that this is, indeed, a fruit. If I were a tomato, I’d be embarrassed by my unusual flesh. I would long to have the true sweetness of a strawberry. Shame would be inevitable. I am less than desirable. My texture makes men gag. My flavor is unusual. I am less than the other fruit. I will never be enough.

I’ve always been acutely aware of my flesh, my physical body, and to be perfectly honest, I see myself as a tomato. I see Woman as a tomato, and I am Woman. There are parts of me that stir up desire and are held in great expectation, but those same parts are a bit slimy and not nearly as sweet as hoped. As I think through God, man, woman, and the Tree, I have many feelings, many thoughts, many questions, but mostly I have shame.

I wonder why woman was tempted with the flesh of the Tree? What did the woman feel as she stood by the Tree? Why was the Tree so central to the world God gave her? Where was her mate? Did she think about God? Why did God have to make me a woman? Why am I tempted – to see flesh, to feel flesh, to doubt, to isolate, to choose pain, to sabotage, to hide myself?
I wonder about how I choose things – how I choose God and I don’t choose God, how I choose my husband and I don’t choose my husband, how I choose the hunger of my stomach over the hunger of my heart. I struggle with fear; I doubt that I am loved. Why do I doubt my husband’s heart? And how, how can I doubt my God’s heart? There are some things I don’t ever wonder about. I don’t ever wonder about being a woman; I know I am irreversibly so. I don’t worry about my flesh. I don’t ever worry about shame. I know them well enough, and I embrace them again and again. I am Woman, I am Flesh, and I am Ashamed.