There is a mechanism behind sex. A way and process. A purpose. The taboo notion arises from the limited shallow view of it.
Things. What are things? Or more specifically, what are things that they can be connected?
We create things. We connect and thus create, because we fear the raging cacophony of reality. We create, because we seek to screen the light from what we fear are eyes unfit to behold truth. Now, perhaps, I am getting too poetic.
What would the world be like without truth? If nothing were true? This is not a rhetorical question.
Pointless? Not pointless. An endless swirl of points. A sandstorm of points. How is anything permitted to happen?
Chaos. Like the damned in Dante’s hell constantly buffeted by winds, never able to grasp a foothold. Exactly. We have a world of beauty and seeming stability not from any effort, not from any grasping our own minds might be able to accomplish, but by silence, by death.
Nothing is permitted. Happenings happen one way or another. Everything is permitted, because the storm of points dies down, looses some of its potential to fall into the actual. Everything we want, even the start of our own lives, comes about from a death, and yet we fear what lets the air fill our lungs. What lets our child come sit in our lap. We try to make it do what it’s doing already. Why is that?
The impulse to control? Actually, impulse is of the chaos, or as Taoists call it the Tao. On a more personal level, they have called it the Great Mother. Perhaps it’s clearer to say compulsion. Impulse implies a natural tendency and voluntarism. To be compelled implies a process of being or feeling forced.
The control force is like a parent? The chaos force is like a parent. Compulsion is like a juvenile tantrum, and we do it because we fear the unknown. Why is it that anything is unknown?
It’s ego that makes us deny certain connections? And the ego is an idea of self. You receive a flow of potential from the Great Mother, and you are meant to slow it down, make it actualize. We do this by observing, by experiencing our self, and yet we resist this at every turn.
We have a compulsion to say I am like this, when all of our experience says it’s not so. We insist we are happy when we are sad. We insist we are knowing when we are ignorant. We insist we are calm while we are in the grip of fear.
What is the cause of disconnection? Wandering too far from self? Not being the dot? Indeed, not being the dot. The universe informs you, gives you form and knowledge, and the potential for knowledge beyond self. It’s actually quite natural. It’s what gave rise to the ancient wisdom traditions, and what was thrown away with the rise of the age of religion, and forgotten almost entirely in the age of reason. Do you feel free yet friends?
Your thoughts are welcome. Be well friends.