I was born without a skin. I
dreamed once that I stood naked in a garden and that it was
carefully and neatly peeled, like a fruit. Not an inch of
skin left on my body. It was all gently pulled off, all of
it, and then I was told to walk, to live, to run. I walked
slowly at first, and the garden was very soft, and I felt the
softness of the garden so acutely, not on the surface of my
body, but all through it, the soft warm air and the perfumes
penetrated me like needles through every open bleeding pore.
All the pores open and breathing the softness, the warmth,
and the smells. The whole body invaded, penetrated,
responding, every tiny cell and pore active and breathing and
trembling and enjoying. I shrieked with pain. I ran. And as I
ran the wind lashed me, and then the voices of people like
whips on me. Being touched! Do you know what it is to be
touched by a human being!
— Anaïs Nin,
House of
Incest