礼品之路 ( Lǐpǐn zhī lù ) – The Gift of Sex

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Every gift can be a curse.

And curses are sometimes transformed into gifts, as our Origin meddles in our lives, letting even loss flow into gain.

Sex.

Three letters creating a sound,  which calls to mind many different things for many different people.

For some, hurt.

For others, shame.

For more, loss.

For a few, something beautiful.

Exquisite.

For all of us it speaks of two people.

Being naked.

Sharing something.

Intimate.

Something extremely personal.

Being touched, sometimes caressed,  feeling the fingers and hands and body of another on my skin, the impudent brush in soft places only hinted at with shy flaunting as clothes hide our body.

Our bodies swelling.

Receiving.

Giving.

Exploring another, and ourselves, as we rub, rhythmically thrusting and embracing.

Folding ourselves around another, as we are enfolded.

Lips seeking out lips.

Our being and bodies in a single place.

Occupied.

Only with desire.

To feel the sensory tantalizing of skin on skin.

The deep connection of soul touching soul.

In places seldom touched.

Mingling.

Mixing.

Intertwined.

Soft kisses flowing.

Lips.

Necks.

Shoulders.

Fervent.

Intense.

Soft mouthes finding breast and chest.

Tounges tasting nipples hardening.

Pushing up.

Inviting.

Palms searching for the softness of legs and places in between.

Slowly, softly, following the contours of bodies.

Warm.

Moist.

Hungry.

The weight of each other, on each other, below, next-to.

Moving.

Slow.

Soft.

Intensifying.

Every moment pushing.

Everything else.

Out.

This moment.

Everything.

At-one-ment.

Reaching.

From inside our selves, into each other.

Wind and earth exploding into fire.

Dripping.

Bursting.

Erupting.

Shivering.

As two beings combine.

Again and again.

Leaving something of our wind and our earth, our being and our DNA, as we receive and eat and feel and combine.

Our entirety.

Venturing so near, it is scary and exciting and unveiling.

Hope.

Of being known.

Completely.

Of being a part.

Of more.

Than just me.

No longer apart.

No longer isolated.

Synergy.

Completion.

In much more than bodies rubbing and pulsing.

In us.

Everything we are, from everything we come.

All our matter and all our spirit.

Giving.

Our selves.

Allowing to be known, as we are allowed to know.

Without hesitation or reservation.

To another.

In all our earth.

All our physical nakedness.

And all our wind.

All our heart and soul and mind.

In a single collective moment.

Of singularity.

Our energy and being flooding into each other.

And being flooded.

By another.

Our collectiveness spilling onto each other in juices and gasps and fluids and utterances of extacy.

An act so spiritual.

So intensely soulful.

Yet, often, degraded to the nothingness of empty vesels mechanically moving up and down for a desperate burst of physical release, disconnected from anyone and the One and my self, throwing away preciousness,  as we struggle to know our own heart, its deep seated need to be intermingled and intertwined and synergized with another, in more than a single fleeting moment, but in moment upon moment, upon another exquisite moment, which is born in words of love, spoken from unknown acceptance, ignited in hidden chambers from the kindling of affection as we see that someone to whom we are connected and have been connected and want to be connected, that someone of whom we have been taken and who was taken from us.

The gift of Sex.

A gift received by two people who choose to share each other, to be vaccinated into each other, this gift a mystical part of their process of joining and sharing and being at one.

Every day, a little more.

Not only through that naked private moment.

Through proximity and presence.

Through open-hearted allowance of another into the deepest darkest chambers of each others’ fears and hopes and dreams and desires.

Granting unrestricted access.

To who we are.

So that we can be known by one, as we are known by no one.

For me, this gift received in uncountable moments shared with my Zuko, just my Zuko, over the past 2 decades.

Hesitantly explored with stolen kisses and innocent fondling of uncertain half-beings.

Gradually growing into authentic giving, day-by-day, with greater frequency and authenticity gushing forward from each encounter.

Every encounter fresh, as it is not isolated from who we are, in all our togetherness, but rather extension of it all into these moments where everything we are becomes consumed into a single flame burning blue, melting us into each other as we are welded together where we touch and feel and taste, the searing sometimes even painful to our consciousness, the torch so fierce we are surprised.

Leaving us longing.

For more.

Of each other.

Fused into each of us.

As we walk among others who seem unwaware of the raging scintillation which blaze between us.

Nobody talks about this.

We see images of strangers who fall in love and copulate.

Apparently passionate and eager.

We hear stories of happiness coming to life from sex.

The exhilaration of meeting someone and sleeping with them.

But we are never told of the emptiness which follows these voided experiences.

The unsated hunger, so different from the longing ablaze between two who have given and are giving  and will be giving themselves entirely to each other, without contingency or diffidence.

The famine it feeds as it sucks my being dry and parches my soul.

The loss.

So chasmically deep, as I use and are used in selfish unrequited hope of becoming more as I transcend my disconnection.

Disconnection just increasing.

Until my loneliness is so overwhelming I lose all hope of ever being truly happy.

Disabled.

In vision.

Unable to see any beauty any more.

In our self.

Or any other.

Left.

With only a moment’s physical pleasure,  which could just as well have been brought on by the electric vibrations of a toy bought online.

We are wind and earth.

We are meant to be all of it.

And when we combine our self with another, not in a brief encounter, but in an eternal and intentional knotting together of all we are and was and become, our earth ignites,  fueled by our wind, bursting into flame, steaming, condensating, clear pure water.

And we are more.

Transcendent.

And we can never go back.

I implore you: seek this gift.

Wait for the moment it is given to you.

Wait patiently.

Then unwrap it slowly.

And if you have been with someone for a long time, perhaps married, or hesitatingly sharing life and a bed – then I encourage you, start unwrapping.

Stop reserving some of who you are.

Embrace.

And be embraced.

Give.

All.

Passionately.

Fearlessly.

For being married or having sex is not always the receipt of this gift.

Too often it is nothing more than the emptiness of casual encounters, two fearful beings never really connecting.

Eventually seeking connection in other places.

Neither receiving.

Nor transcending.

Barren.

Like the addict living meaninglessly with unquenched thirst.

The gift of sex, in reality the gift of fusion,  as two people become at-oned, beyond comprehension,  without losing either of themselves, while losing themselves entirely in each other.

We need this, I believe.

We were made for this.

This immensely creative experience of at-one-ment.

I implore you: seek this at-one-ment.

Receive it gratefully as it is given.

There is no more beautiful gift.

Curses are sometimes transformed into gifts, as our Origin meddles in our lives, letting even loss flow into gain.

Taking the emptiness of what we’ve known, transforming it as we are set free to experience the fulness of all we are created to be.

I say this carefully.

All of it.

For I am acutely aware that we can only speak of what we know.

And that which is true for me, might not be true for another.

And that which is received by me, might not be gifted to everyone – for not all are rich and not everyone is poor and there are people who live with the roar of oceans and others who awaken to the rustle of the wind through trees, and some prefer solitude,  while others are energized by the hustle of crowds.

Our Origin the One Who knows exactly what we each require, measuring for each one of us, what we could never measure for our selves.

Yet I am compelled to say it.

For I see so many for whom what is gift has become curse.

And I hope, in sharing this, you will find a little hope.

That what your being has been longing for is real.

And worth waiting for.

Perhaps also seeing that there is no shame in any of this.

No shame at all.

Just beauty.

And gift.

Gift, very different from what so many experience and is so often modeled.

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