My experiences have led me to believe that sex is not sacred.
Which is completely acceptable in our society (by some) but what I don't accept is how it's also led me to such a strange disconnect with my body.
My body is no longer sacred.
There's something not right there.
Rather, there's EVERYTHING not right there.
Several weeks ago, I had a dream about having an outer body experience.
Not like the ones I wrote about in the last post, but more spiritual... and disturbing.
My soul separated from my body and washed it.
My soul scrubbed my body until it was raw and red.
And then it raped my body.
I just read a short story from the book "We So Seldom Look on Love," by Barbara Gowdy (1997).
It was a personal essay by a necrophiliac.
It made me wonder what the connection with a body and sex is.
Sex is pleasure and it doesn't necessarily matter who it is with... at least for some people in this world.
I personally have that disconnect with body/sex/love. I'm not saying I'm completely comfortable with it, as my dream may obviously tell me, but it's just how I am at the moment.
After a discussion with my class that this reading was assigned to, I'm left to wonder why I don't think my body is sacred.
Most of the women in the class think their bodies are.
One woman in particular said, "I've been taking care of and reclaiming my body for as long as I've been alive. So it damn better be mine even when I die."
Another woman linked this to a line in a poem we read the first day of class.
"Maybe to truly understand sex, one must be fully destroyed by it."
It's a lot for me to think about.
Especially after my Jekyll & Hyde battle just last night.
Driven by pure desire, it seems that Hyde always wins.
7 years ago