Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
Sex, sex, sex.
Who says so?
Many Mom’s and dad’s say so even though they do it.
Oodles of Pastors and Preachers say so even though they practice it.
Some Priests say so even though they pretend to be celibate (I won’t mention what else they’ve done).
Some little kids think so but they have no clue yet (“Ooooohhh, cooties!”)
Some teens think so because they’ve been taught it is so… many teens don’t.
Some old men are called “dirty old men” because they are considered sexual perverts.
The statistics for old women are to become more promiscuous/inventive/exploratory upon entering “old age.”
People who have sex, in American culture, are either considered:
- or -
Sex is also considered…
To express love
For some sex can be…
Better with oneself
A mental fixation
For some, sex is thought of as:
For getting pregnant
Not for children
Not for teens
Not for old people
Not for sick people
Not for ugly people
For Bible thumpers the…
Marriage bed is undefiled (Hebrews 13:4)
But this can also mean a husband or wife can…
Rape, molest, or use the marriage as a license to otherwise abuse
because no “wrong” can be done if the marriage bed is undefilable.
So many other forms of sexual expression are common worldwide…
BDSM (role play, heightened sexual intensity/release)
Bestiality (zoophilia - farmer Joe did it, and so did the shepherds)
Kama Sutra (many positions)
Kabbalah (sexual direction)
People who have sex can be…
Pop Quiz: Can a eunuch have sex?
And there is…
And all of these are but samples of a plethora of alternatives
within normal, sexual, human functioning and practices…
ALL are within the normal range of human variation around the globe.
ALL are “normal” except for the rules and labels that people call it.
Sex is normal.
We are here for three reasons…
Anything outside of that does not matter.
The human race can only continue if those three things occur.
Right now the human population is exploding.
The earth cannot sustain a global epidemic from overproducing more people.
We have grown beyond the need to reproduce.
When that happens (and this the first time in history or pre-history where it has happened)…
There is no need for reproducing.
There is no need for sex?
Except as fun, as something beautiful, to express love or for personal expression, for exercise, release, and healing… and more.
Or we should just call sex “dirty”?
It is not who does it that makes sex “right” or “wrong”…
It is not their age, gender, social status, socioeconomic status, ethnicity, nationality, whether they have a penis or a vagina (or both or neither).
It is how society labels sex that makes it “right” or “wrong”
How it is enculturated into our thoughts and beliefs.
How it is formed into mindsets…
How it is used for or against others...
That makes it “right” or “wrong”
Sex is unsafe.
Sex is safe.
Sex is bad.
Sex is good.
Sex, my friends, is just sex.
How do you think about sex?
Where did you learn that?
Who told you?
You were not born from the womb with that attitude.
You learned it.
You were enculturated.
This is your culture.
“Sex is dirty.” This is our culture.
Just “good clean sex” is also enculturated.
Why do you like or hate sex?
Why are you indifferent towards sex?
What kind of sexual, or nonsexual person are you?
Only to some…
Not to others…
Do you ever have “dirty” thoughts?
Do you ever think sex feels wonderful?
Can sex be fun simply because it is seen as dirty?
Like you’re getting away with something?
Like you’re in on a secret?
Can it be both dirty and good, depending?
Welcome to the concept of sexual relativism…
Where both views are equally valid and neither is “right” or “wrong”
After all, “dirty” is merely a label, a concept.
Sex is an act.
Have you had some good dirty sex today?
Friday, June 10, 2011
Who understands me?
All of the many human beings I have known or met all have different relationships with me. I wear many hats… daughter, mother, sister, wife/separated spouse/ex (depending), varying level friend (depending upon the person’s position and history with me), co-worker/consultant/owner/writer/minister/counselor (depending), friendly face/someone they have to deal with, or complete stranger. All of these relationships are true. None of these relationships are the real me, nor the whole me, so they are equally untrue.
Who understands all of me, at my core being, the eternal and deep well within me, which once named cannot ever be the truth, simply because it was named?
There are a few, a select handful of people (you know who you are) who have known my heart, my mind, my life, my wishes and desires, my very thoughts.
Husbands/lovers/boyfriends over my lifetime have known parts of all of this… one never knew… one knew a little… one knew most but believed that “the one who loved the least was the one who was in control”… and one knew me as well as my best friends, and became one of my best friends in the world.
Who understands that when one finally finds such a person that it is hell to watch their professional name defaced, their reputation and income demolished, their very soul tarnished with false accusations by the corruption within those who perpetrate it, which they call glorious from their own perspective?
Those who are hated are often the least understood. My own personality is shared by 1% of the population. 99% do not understand me, and some of the other 1% may also not due to other cultural and environmental factors out of my control. My whole life I have striven to be understood, when finally I realized it is wholly impossible. I am hated because I am not known. I have been hated most by the people who did not even know me. Is not victimization a choice? Is it not a choice to care what people think? Especially when they do not know what they think they know?
Who understands what it is like to have these similar views and actions of hatred and disgust imposed upon oneself by others, and to watch as they victimize the victims, and bring great emotional harm to the children in the worst way, while claiming they are saving them? What hypocrisy. What self-deceit. What relativistic truths, which seem like opposites… yet these are all truths in and of themselves, even if apparently contrary. Whose truth is better than another? They are equal, even if not the same. Labels are man-made concepts. We are all labeled as this or that. They are truth to some, and falsehoods at the same time, because they have a partial view, a limited bias, a narrow mindset.
Who understands this?
Are we not all equally capable of the gravest errors, and the most awesome blessings?
Who understands that I am not the person that many think I am? Who knows the real me? Who sees my soul bleed for truth, and who hears my pain? Who feels the ragged blade that ripped through my heart and stabbed me in the back? Who senses the spirit of who I really am rather than the one they choose to see through their misjudgments? Who tastes the bitter drops of betrayal that they shoved into my mouth? Who smells the putrid agony of death that was laid to rot within my very soul?
Who understands that I am not the person that many think I am? Who knows the real me? Who sees my soul as the spring flower that blooms within me, and who hears my lips whisper gratitude to the trees and sky and water and powers that be? Who feels the peace that emanates from my innermost being that makes me smile when no one is looking? Who senses the spirit of who I really am in totality or in part? Who tastes the glory that shall one day be mine? Who smells the sweet smell of justice as the truth is told to the masses?
That is all that matters.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
The rocks under his rump were making his back sore so he got up and stood in the water’s edge. Mr. Chen walked deeper and deeper towards the middle of the river. The water reached up to his chest. He stepped up onto a large boulder, but it was slippery, so his foot slid off making him fall completely into the water, dunking his head, and making his hat fall off. A spirit bird flew down, nabbed Mr. Chen's hat, and dropped it on the bank. The river, with its mighty arms twisting and turning Mr. Chen's body, swept him downstream.
Mr. Chen floated down the river, and swimming only kept him on top of the water but would not bring him to the bank. He continued floating downstream, passing a footbridge, then a large hanging branch, which he tried to grab without luck. He saw clouds pass by, heard children playing in the distance, and the sound of a stringed musical instrument. Finally, he snatched a small log that stuck out partly into the river, but it pulled loose and it held him afloat as he continued to swiftly go farther and farther away from his fishing bank by the money tree.
Mr. Chen became so weary that he lay across the log and shut his eyes. Time passed and he heard a voice – a soft, gentle, but concerned female voice. “Are you alive?” He cracked his eyes open and saw a small woman standing over him from atop a rope bridge. She had reached down towards him and had grabbed his shirt, and caught him like a fish from out of the water. Dragging him to the bank she said, “I am Shu, who are you?”
He stuttered, as if in a dream, and choked on the water for a moment. “…Mr. … Chen,” he replied, exhausted. Shu took him to her village and aided him to regain his health. They had many conversations, for many days, very long and in-depth, and entirely fascinating. Mr. Chen was drawn to this little woman Shu, and felt she was part of him. He knew things were okay, and he thought about his home back at the money tree, by the riverbank. Before retiring for bed he told Shu of his home, and where he was from in detail. “You are well enough to go home,” Shu said, “but I will see you tomorrow by the water.”
That night Mr. Chen went to sleep in Shu’s village, but when he awoke he saw the underside of the leaves of the money tree he was so familiar with at home. He sat up quickly; the sun was rising. Panicked, he looked all around, and got up and called out for Shu, but she was nowhere to be seen. Did she take him back home in the night while he slept? Did he even meet her at all? Was it a dream? Was he alive or dead?
He noticed his cane pole by the water’s edge, so he sat down cross-legged, put on his hat that still laid on the riverbank, and began to fish. Missing Shu he put his bare feet in the water and wondered if he would ever find her again, and he considered what would happen if he went downstream. He shook his head, figuring she was lost to him in time and space. He could not remember how far away Shu’s village was. Shu had caught him out of the water as if he were a fish when his eyes had been closed.
Right then the little spirit fish came and nibbled on his feet, looked up at him and said, “Are you alive? I am Shu, who are you?”
Mr. Chen jumped! Then he realized he must be dead, and so calmed down, sat down, crossed his legs, and picked up his cane pole. The only thing left to do would be to fish.
May be this time he could catch Shu out of the water…