You know, those Opus Dei flagellators are not wrong.
In many ways, God is in the pain. Sensation is sensation, pleasure to pain, and that sensation opens the space for focus in a way that moving through the routine never can.
I don't drink often, and I rarely drink a lot. But that once or twice a year that I feel a bit of a hangover, well, it makes me move slowly and conciously. I have to be super aware, and that is a kind of gift, though not one I could recieve every morning.
I think that kind of awareness is one of the things I miss about not really living an embodied life. Entering into sensation is entering into sensuality, and that's not something easy to do unless you are around people you trust or beyond caring about how people see you.
This guy thinks that homos entering into sensation is counterproductive for them, and any transperson publically visible is an offense to all that is moral and appropriate.
GLBT includes "transgender" in there. Have fun explaining "transgender" to your kids in the Winco line. Equality means that "Samantha" who used to be Sam until he cut of his genitals, went through hormone treatment and started wearing fishnet stalkings has just as much a right to teach a third grade classroom as Miss Nelson does. Thanks governor K.
The American ethos is about getting numb, numb enough that you can tolerate the souless crush of rush hour, the banging and scraping, the essential denial. That requires the denial of any sensation other than the anasthetic, the denial of ectasy, even in others, or maybe especially in others.
In cultures with a history, that history always includes the passionate, the intense, the erotic. There is language and symbol to communicate nuance about desire, not denial and erasure about that facet of being human. This is something that those mystics knew; even as they denied themselves what they considered mindless sensation — the sedative — that mindful sensation was a path to communion with their God.
A friend once called me as I was getting dressed to go out and I wasn't really responsive. She asked "Where are you — in a fugue state?" Ah, yes, a fugue state. It's impossible to say howimportant that fugue state is to me as I immerse into my own truth, open myself to my big bandwidth connection with the godhead.
I know the hair shirt. Too. It makes magic by opening us to sensation, by having us dance in that space between the pleasure of being possessed by god and the pain of living a human life. How can I tell crossdressers not to immerse in the sensation of expressing truth? How can I tolerate them only using sensation to ansesthetize rather than to blossom?
I miss having a safe place to enter the transformation of sensation, and miss even more having anyone to affirm and understand that essential magic. I know people have to stay stabilized to live in this culture, buying more machine made red shoes rather than crafing their own beautiful handmade expressions. For me, I have feelings that aren't easily expressed by Hallmark, so I have to make my own expressions, but that also means that others don't have the comfort of understanding me just though predigested mass market epiphanies.
Maybe people have this nakedness, this total openness to sensation in their bedroom with one partner and that's enough. But to me, the physical intimacy isn't the start — the intellectual, emotional and spritual intimacy are more ecstatic, more sensational and more invigorating.
Still, sometimes I feel a bit of the sensation, rubbed raw and aware every time I move.
And I know then that God lives in the pain, not in the comfort of routine. I catch a sense of her though the sensation of her.
And I remember how much I miss her and her spines of awareness which stimulate oceans of love.