Cutting off Access to Eros

If you wanted to cut off someone’s access to fulfillment, you would cut off their access to magic. And if you wanted to cut off someone’s access to magic, you would cut off their access to power. And if you wanted to cut off someone’s access to power, you would cut off their access to orgasm.

The norm of a world cut off would become work, production, and an epidemic of isolation, be it that people lock themselves in their rooms with their computers, or away with their partners, or behind a mask of appropriateness or an idea of who they should be. Our collective resting pulse would reflect a fundamental lack that no one could speak, and so it would show up in the form of not enough—not enough time or love, not enough of you or me, not enough wealth, not enough good, not enough attention.

We might suffer from a collective attention deficit disorder, and all kinds of sites might rise up to fill the void with quick solutions for people with low attention. And if the lack was one without a name, then you would attempt to consume more of whatever was available. You would not need to. You would need to be competitive for resources, not knowing which one might fill the hole. Women might compete for men. Men might compete for territory. Actual connection would be an obstacle. It would cut off your competitive edge. Your life would become a landfill of attempts to fill what already exists inside of you with only imitations. And in your stance of getting mine, you would unwittingly be setting yourself in opposition to the very forces that create orgasm, power, magic, and fulfillment. In fact, without realizing it, you might become part of the counterforce.

You might, for example, demonize a woman who uses her sexuality, suggesting that reducing herself to such tactics makes her of a lower nature, associating lower nature with lower class and thus not to be trusted. At best, you might suggest that she’s a naive victim who does not know better, while never questioning whether or not a woman who reduces herself to the singular dimension of, say, intellect or spirituality is not to be trusted, is naive, manipulative, or reductive. The classism would be an invisible knapsack we all wore. You might say about a man who dares to have a healthy appetite to express his hunger that he’s grabby, that he only wants one thing, that he’s repulsive or even depraved. You might become part of the subtle conversation that the proper response to sexual appetite needs to be punitive.

You might consider orgasm enthusiasts sluts, whores, or perpetrators, all of which carry a connotation of lower, lower being bad. You and your girlfriends might collude to harm a man who goes too far, rather than you yourself holding yourself responsible for developing enough power to show him how far feels good. You might reduce the experience of women to that of victim or potential trauma, and wear your stories as a badge of power. You might settle for the crumbs of false empowerment—that of standing up for yourself—rather than standing in true empowerment, that of standing up and helping others to get a leg up. Not because you acquiesce, but because you now have the acumen to handle what comes your way.

Your guy friends and you might give the boons of a culture to the woman who cuts off her sex—the girl next door, the nice girl, the one you’ll marry—while secretly sucking the energy off of those you demonize and disenfranchise but still watch for hours on the computer screen. And you might privately justify your right to steal from both types of women this way, setting them against each other and taking it as a given that these are just natural polarizations.

A culture cut off from the access points of orgasm, power, magic, and fulfillment might take the natural flow of sexual desire and dam it up with so much mental bureaucracy that by the time it makes its expression, it’s but a trickle. An aura of not just fear, but hyper-vigilance and panic might occur in the minds of the people in the culture anytime their own nature threatens to express itself. Silence and whispers would be the vehicles. No one would speak of their experience, and any experience must be had under the radar, in the shadows where shame and secrecy fester. Because we couldn’t speak of it, education would be impossible, and the threat of unwanted pregnancy and STIs would become a way to police the mind. Desire would become a slippery slope that promises you’ll end up traumatized, loose, burdened under the message of orgasm.

You might even go so far as to respond to these epidemics as signs of a higher order operating, rather than simple ignorance that comes with denial. Women might pride themselves on their capacity for discrimination, translation, commerce—to use our orgasm as a tool for barter rather than pleasure, thus needing to mute the actual desire with terms like sacred sexuality or committed love, never recognizing that this diminishment is a tool of the patriarchy that keeps us separate, and separate from our men. And that it’s through unfiltered experience that we’ll find each other.

You might disparage the words that carry with them the live charge of orgasm—words that do not extract the orgasm out by being medicalized or spiritualized. You might balk at the native tongue of orgasm: pussy, cock, fucking, and go for the more milquetoast versions of yoni, vagina, intercourse. In the realm of what is possible, results of actual orgasm, power, magic, and consonance would be dismissed immediately and seen as crazy or new-age.

Connection above isolation might be diminished by terms like grouping or codependence. Hunches, intuition, and genuine vision would be rendered impotent. These perishable qualities would be forced into the cardboard boxes of linear structure, order, and proof of replicable result. And yet, with our very best scientific minds at the helm of opposition to orgasm and magic, it would still peek through, as Rumi said, letting us “silently be pulled by that which we secretly desire.” As one scientist said, “You may enter looking to prove it all wrong, but you cannot look through a microscope for any period of time and not believe in magic.” Life has a way of converting even the most skeptical of us.

And so tonight, despite every obstacle on your path—this feels like a commencement speech—despite the fear of the unknown as if it’s some kind of enemy that has been placed inside of you to combat, despite the fear of your own body and how it looks and what it secretes, despite public opinion and fear of what others might think of you, despite the stories that overlay your orgasm—be it that there is something so wrong inside of you that you must never unleash it, that sin of original desire, or that there is something so innocent inside of you that it must always be protected from the impurities outside of you—whichever it is, tonight, you have proven both posits untrue simply in what it took you to navigate your mind to make it here.

What’s inside of you is infinitely more true in its aim and resilient than most will ever know. Tonight, we can rest in the surrender of the realization that you can let go into the underlying pulse of life that beats despite our best efforts to cut it off. We can then determine to wholeheartedly operate along with it. That’s where the magic begins. And when you do, you might find that the way we understand orgasm from the outside is far different from how it looks on the inside—that these hellfires are actually the fires of passion that purify and cleanse.

You might find that over the course of these six months, as we repair the path to your orgasm and you feel the boost of power, you become who you have always wanted to be. You become the genuine article of you. And you might find that certain ethics—of efforting, work, pride, deprivation, and control—get replaced, not with the opposites we were promised (that of sloth, gluttony, or chaos), but with the sweet spot: your ability to be intimate with a moment and, in that moment, to hear the message of what the perfect response is.

Your searching might be replaced with a deep sense of knowing—not of any particular outcome, but that you can show up for it, whatever it is. And in this kind of knowledge, there is a key. Neither manipulating the world through achievement nor withdrawing from it through spirit, but resting in your rightful place, which includes both poles and all the gradients in between. You might discover that the key to fulfillment is the ability to be right where you are. And that the power of orgasm renders you once again capable of doing the igna.

So tonight, we begin to restore what is rightfully ours. We restore our magic. We restore our power. We restore our orgasm. And as a result, we are returned home to fulfillment.