2.7
June 16, 2021

Committing to an Erotic Life.

How committed are we? And to what? Or whom? And why?

Life is a series of peculiar perversions and particular practices that we preach from each and every pore with every precious moment of our perilously divine, profoundly sacred, and remarkable profane lives.

We choose what we choose. An obvious statement, I know; however, have we ever paused to truly digest what that means to us? With every choice, we are saying yes to that behaviour, action, word, movement, direction, and expression of who we are.

Especially now. Crawling through the birthing channel back into the bright lights of big-city living after a year or so of inner cave-dwelling, thumb-twiddling, and metaphorically being sent to our rooms and homes to think about what we’ve done!

We have a chance. To live differently. To create the passing of our time more meaningful. Truer. Honest. Post-pandemic time (though far from over) is our opportunity to reset who we are. And why.

Life is a series of relationship moments. We cannot avoid this fact. Simply by being born, we are in a relationship with life, the air we breathe, our caregivers, our body, the sensory experience, the earth, gravity, the objects that we touch and hold and put in our mouths and slather over.

As we get older, we become moulded by the conditioning of the external conditions around us: what to believe in, what is apparently “right” or “wrong,” good or bad, how to behave, what to say, what to look like, who to be. And all of these are wrapped up in the greater domain of family, culture, society—our belonging to the world.

During the young years of becoming a woman or a man, we start to refine and strengthen those aspects of ourselves that feel more in alignment with who we are, on a deeper level—an inner landscape that is our internal map, compass, and sense of knowing. It’s like Spirit whispering in our ear.

And if we are so blessed (and more than most of us are not), we will have been told and taught to trust the tempered tally and touch of this inner voice, the way our body speaks to us in a language far from the one we had to learn, the gut and bones and belly of us. Maybe we know how to listen, revere, and follow the truth that shines like a jewel in our hearts. If we are extremely lucky, we have our soul as our guide, leading us, teaching us, showing us, and inspiring us to live in the deepest inhabitation possible, both within and without.

If we are lucky, that is! Most of us are not.

We arrive in adulthood lost—without Paddington Bear’s handy labelling system and jar of marmalade. We have no idea which way is our way, our truth’s way, our soul’s way. It has been buried beneath with the years and has grown musty and unpolished, squashed into the dark recesses of our own given wisdom.

And so we live committed to the version of us who has been plaster moulded, painted in, and given the kitemark of approval!

What Are You Committed to?

Some of us have a sense of off-balance-ness, a not-quite-right-ness, and we set off on the seeker’s path, seeking hither and wither, for something more. Something tangible to bite into—something that makes sense. And something to make our whole body sigh at such a deep level that the earth quivers in post-orgasmic bliss and peacefulness. Like a game of hide-and-seek with the odds never in our favour, we travel and retreat and workshop and class the hell out of ourselves, searching for that key. The one that will unlock the door to freedom.

And yet we forgot one thing:

Our soul is there. Waiting. (Not waiting!) Quiet and patient and with no expiry date. It talks to us all of the time, like the radio on in the background, one that we never really bother to listen to. It points us this way and that. It shouts with the hot force of our flesh when we are getting closer, like that childhood game we played with our friends. It weeps through the form of malaise and depression, of half-living and zombie states of consciousness, of the washed-out colours in a palette built for more.

What Are You Committed to?

There is a point when we start to yawn ourselves awake through whatever means possible, when, with newly open and crusty eyes, we realise that to live a deep and rich life means that we have to accept that we are the only ones responsible for it. And that responsibility starts here, with us, right now.

It’s a huge quest, and not everyone is up for it, for as we know, whenever a hero or heroine commences upon a quest, it’s not all roses and ponies. It’s facing our limitations. It’s turning toward, not away from, our shadows. It’s sitting with our pain, grief, and disappointments. It’s claiming the voice that’s rusty and in need of the Tin Man’s hearted oil can. And it’s claiming, not shaming, the seduction of those places that we live in that create a perversity of polarity that places us pole dancing with the devil.

And that’s only the beginning.

True responsibility then ripples out into service. Our family. Community. Society. Tribe. Human Kind. Life itself.

(Kind of a huge f*cking key, hey?!)

We stand at the doorsill, and we have a choice. We always have a choice. Within that choice is power. Always. And within that choice is our yes, our no, or our maybe. Our word is God, is divine, and is the greatest spell-crafter that there is. Our word is the vow we offer to our lover under secret sheets in the witching hours of the night. Our word is sworn upon as truth, as promised, that at that moment burns us up to ashes. Our word is the binding that marries us in love and devotion. And our word is the sacred sound that hums its tune of life and living that makes our cells dance in unison.

Our word is that of commitment.

When we are aware and awake, we can consciously choose what or whom we are committing to. How frivolous that is is irrelevant. The tiny acorn has committed itself and becomes the oak. It doesn’t know when; it simply knows why.

Why?

It has no other choice. Well, not one that makes sense, that it knows, that within its imaginal cells roars and sings and echoes out to all the oaks before him.

We, as soul creatures, are the same.

What Are You Committed to?

To the sacred mundane moments? Our work? Our family? Our lives?

Do we get to express the fruits of this commitment through song or story, dance or devotion, ritual or revolution, art or activism, our walk, or through the appreciation of wonder?

Eros is in our voice. It speaks. To us, through us, as us. It is passion in motion—the passion of our commitment. We are always moving, in movement. It is not simply sex that Eros is the domain dominatrix of, but of the depth of our aliveness, of our yeses, of our bleeding wombs, and hard-cocked desires.

This erotic commitment is physical. Lush. Ripe. Alive. The consciousness of our pelvis pushes us into pulsing with its rhythm. The animal within us, the one who always knew its language, yearns to be let loose, to be alive, prowling, prancing, groaning, grunting, and choosing this moment, over and over again.

Our sexuality, like our life force, like creativity, is a choice. A choice to commit to life moving through us. So we must move. Daily. Often. For life. So that our soul knows that we are listening. So that our soul knows it has been found, polished, dusted off, and rubbed like the pearl between our legs, like Aladdin’s genie(us) lamp.

What Are You Committed to?

Life or death. Being here, not wasting our God damn given gifts. Our light. This breath. A spark that ripples its thrill through us, making holy love. To truth. To Silence. To Honour. To walking our walk. To showing up.

To rest and care and the thousand ways that we pillow talk our way into quiet seduction and the addictions we know so many of and can no longer count them on one hand. The shame and the fear. The guilt and the apathy. The stories of not belonging, of separation, of not enough. The God upstairs on his throne of clouds and beard to match.

To sin and sinners. To punishment and humiliation. To victimhood and helplessness. To the old blah blah blah. To fighting for life. To awe. To beauty. To love. To love. To love.

We have a choice. Our souls await our attention and pleasure.

What Are You Committed to, my love? 

May we choose wisely. May we choose love. May we choose Truth. And may we choose life!

Aho!

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