Toilets
If you cannot help, do no harm. In order to do no harm, one has to know what Not to do.
I’m 67. I can post a free toilet. You might need one. My housemate put this out for grabs. It goes by many names: ‘the throne,’ ‘the privy,’ ‘the shitter,’ ‘the john,’ ‘the loo,’ ‘the crapper,’ ‘the head,’ ‘the bog,’ ‘the can,’ ‘the latrine,’ ‘the dunny,’ ‘the jakes,’ ‘the pooper,’ ‘the potty,’ ‘the dumpster’ (replace d with t) — or drop ‘ster’ rhymes with dump — a necessary function — for a necessary purge.
Yesterday, after hearing the news of the 2024 election, a fire burned in my belly. It felt like a bomb might explode in or around me. I headed to the bathroom. Audible moans, deep exhales, tears—a mix of relief, tentative comfort, raw and real. It was a small catharsis, just the tip of a cascade of grief.
A passerby took the part you put your ass on, the detachable, hinged seat that can be lifted or lowered. The lid for the tank went next.
In Ancient Egypt (around 2000 BCE), wealthier homes had seated toilets, often made of limestone, which led to a basic sewage pit. The Romans (around 100 BCE) developed communal toilets with stone or wooden seats, with water systems to flush waste away. It is said that Sir John Harington's Flush Toilet (1596 CE) included a raised cistern and used water to flush waste down a pipe, but it didn’t become popular right away. In the late 1700s and early 1800s, inventors like Alexander Cummings and Thomas Crapper added features like the S-bend and efficient water closets. Flush toilets became more widespread and resemble ‘the crappers’ we use today. Along with the failure to mention who did the shoveling.
Little Libby my second-born twin had a fever last night. She is 28, about 80 pounds, her toilet is a diaper. She slept in my bed. She communicates with her body. When I listen closely I understand. To translate the fire of rage into a positive force for well-being, her body speaks—it purges for her, not against her.
She spent the first six months of her life in a semi-coma—emotional shock of being C-sectioned from my womb three months early without consent without reason without ‘do no harm.’ I could have continued to numb her—silence her—suppress her story—contain her voice—blur her eyes, dull her value, her preciousness, her woman with prescribed medications—sedatives. But for healing to happen you have to know what Not to do.
Her voice called me close. We held each other. We purged together. We know the rights of women and body autonomy are only one part of the ‘crappers’ used today. We don’t always know what to do but we know what Not to do.
Maybe I’ll smash the remains of ‘the throne’ to smithereens. Or perhaps I’ll paint it, fill it with compost, and grow flowers for all to see. Either way, it’s a good way to purge the energy of rage for creation to continue in tender times.
Dear readers. Thank you for being in our lives. 💚 I love you today more than yesterday. As Libby calls me close to her. I want to be close to you—to purge out—so we can paint the world we wish to live in and for.
How are you, what or who are you holding close to your heart—your precious body?
I’d love to hear from you:
Thank you for reading The Salty Crone.
with love,
Prajna O’Hara @PrajnaOhara.com
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© Prajna O'Hara 2024
This comment is from an email reader who has not downloaded the app yet but wants to contribute to this conversation on toilets, purging, dreams, feelings, music, and medicinal tobacco ceremony:
I couldn’t believe it when I opened your email to the image of a toilet!
I had my first toilet dream. I’ve had toilet dreams before but over the years they have faded to nearly never. Since the tobacco ceremony they are now occurring several times a week. In the dreams I’m desperately trying to scrub shit off a toilet before people walk in a see me. I’m scrubbing and scrubbing and literally can’t get it clean, more appears the harder I clean. Each time, same dream, different toilets/locations/people watching. When they occurred before, I associated them with feelings of embarrassment and shame and now they are back.
Over the years I discovered the Japanese tradition of daily toilet cleaning as a sign of good fortune… so as an early riser I diligently clean both my toilets every morning at around 5.30-6am. Not obsessively, but it’s definitely a firm routine. I do it before anything else, morning coffee anything. It helps me feel calm and prepared to start the day. Whilst writing that it sounds so weird.
Also a few days after the ceremony I started to have an unusual feeling. An emotion I couldn’t quite put my finger on or name… it felt like it was building and I couldn’t grasp what it was. I’m well used to fear or sadness. It took several weeks to identify what I was actually experiencing was…. anger!!! I have a burning, boiling bubble of rage in my stomach at all times and literally don’t know what to do with it!!! I have a variety of tools to deal with anxiety… but I have absolutely no idea how to deal with it and/or how to shift rageI!!!!!!
I remembered I had pre booked tickets to see Nessi Gomes live. I only know about Nessi from my husband attending your Spain retreat several years ago. He came home with her name as music I might like. Since then I listen to her album nearly every day. Her music speaks directly to my soul. But since I was feeling so dreadful, I very nearly didn’t go. I didn’t want to face seeing her live. But my god when she walked on stage I completely cracked. For the first time since the tobacco ceremony I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed throughout. Words cannot describe her voice and presence. It’s like she is directly channelling something higher than her human self.
You were also in my thoughts throughout. Then I got home and saw your email…
Phew… I don’t know how I feel today. I’m exhausted to the extreme. I’m functioning, and my family wouldn’t know what’s going on internally. Dinners are being made, laundry is being done etc… but I’m scared about how I might feel tomorrow and the day after that. After years and years of trying to heal and thinking I was finally ‘ok’, I’m know I’m not. I don’t expect you to solve anything. But I thought I’d finally touch base… I couldn’t not.
Something big is moving through....
Sending you and your daughters all my love. Keep holding them close. I’m holding my daughters close to me too. I also hold them, one in each arm while they fall asleep every night.
Please paint mine next.