Sex

What if we chose sex partners based on our perception of their ability with respect to pillow talk?  Women, I think, may do this often, but men, we–I, historically–only think through to the orgasm, after which–ugly as it is–the woman often becomes a nuisance.  I don’t deny this is pretty awful, but I doubt there are many people, male or female, who truly have no idea what I am talking about.

For me, as I’m sure I’ve mentioned on more than one occasion, I pulled myself out of circulation a long time ago, and will not go back in until I feel I have become a better person.

What if, though, pillow talk is the best part of the whole thing?  What if we made it the focus?  I think where it is good, those people become lovers for a long time.  That moment is a good time to feel heard, deep down in your bones.

Je T’aime, Je t’aime, Je t’aime.

I am just thinking out loud.  I am realizing I am a product of our popular culture.  I was taught next to nothing by any adults in my life that was worth a damn. I inherited stubbornness from my father, and neuroticism from my mother.  They had little else to give me.

It’s so hard, in mid-life, to learn new tricks.  Far from impossible, though. As I grow, though–and I’ve said this often, I am aware, but sometimes you need to speak things over and over and over to make them feel true–I realize how much I have lost.

If I might reference Buddhism again, Duhkha is losing and not realizing you are losing, not seeing it, not seeing open paths you might have taken but could not see for blindness, want of looking, or lack of flexibility.

Growth involves feeling this pain.  But it is a good pain, a real pain, a truly redemptive pain, and one well worth the effort. This pain is being tickled with a feather, not being smashed with a hammer, or cut in a thousand places.  That is what you can leave behind.  What you are leaving behind is being an object, an object which feels, but which cannot control its destiny.

I don’t know if I am brilliant, crazy, absurdly arrogant, or some combination of the three.  It is most likely the last, though. Still, my words are my own.  My thoughts are my own.  What you do not often see here is me discussing other peoples ideas, although I do do it.

I live alone.  I live in silence.  Sometimes it is hard, but it is real.  And the world comes at me here, in silence.  It is never out there.  It was always in here.  I have simply eliminated the noise that prevented me from seeing and feeling it.

Who knows what my destiny is?  Whatever it is, I feel increasingly open to it.  If there is a purpose to life, then I am fulfilling my purpose, as well as I can at the moment, which is not well, but it truly is the best I can do, when it rains pain as often as it does.

So often we get stuck in loops, where the only goal is to make it through each day.  You make it, then reset somehow and do it again the next day.  You can cross a life like this, and learn very little.  But I feel it is very common.  Very, very common.

Spiritual teaching is teasing, perhaps pulling, people away from their petty manias.