Ruminations on Sexuality Part 6: Self-Immolation

At the darkest times of my marriage, when I was locked out of our room and terrified all had been lost, the seductive mysteries of the new and expanding internet chat rooms caught my attention. Feeling alone and abandoned in the middle of the night, in the silence it seemed the screams of my discomfort were so much louder.

On a green and greener screen, I could type in letters of intimacy and the computer would give back reassurances in erotic phrases. Anonymous, surreal, removed from the relentless struggle for a few moments, at the computer, I could release a load of frustration without the magazines of evidence my father left behind so painful for my mother to see.

In tough times, wounded in self-esteem, I was not strong enough to face the demons and repel the taunts that lured my blood to flow selfishly instead of spiritually. I succumbed to urges that promised relief, over and over losing the battle with myself to breathe and relax. Turmoil forcing passion to be repressed, rationalizations danced seductively to make me believe I was taking care of myself, fantasy over-ruling judgment, behind closed doors, alone as I had ever been.

Not as much sex goes over the electronic waves as strokes of sympathy and affirmation. We find reminders that we are not so alone and our troubles are not so bad. As the technology decreased the separation, showing real smiles, the justifications multiplied. Desperate to feel less pain, the computer still seemed like a barrier that kept me somehow faithful.

The continuously brief distractions, however, created major harmful long-term effects. Not very good at secrets and lies, my transgressions were regularly discovered, the evidence left in a file of history just an easy click away. Deleted in one place, as if on purpose, it leaped out from another for all in the family to see. Adults and children suffered. The rages of pain carried into the neighborhood. Shame hung like a cloud that only seemed to clear into sunshine when I was alone and in front of the computer again.

No matter the reasons and intensity of the stress in work and family that made the internet accessible, my behavior became the focus of the turmoil. I educated myself on sexual addiction, bore the brunt of innumerable counseling sessions and developed a skin so thick, I could withstand the piercing arguments.

When we feel deprived of love, especially from someone we especially love, we twist and contort in the pain that seems especially cruel and undeserved. When sex is considered such a healthy expression of love, it makes sense in a distorted way that having sex in any form should feel like love. Unable to fix the problems quickly, another dark night of loneliness would be too much to bear and I would seek again the slings and arrows that had the expressions of affection I was missing so much in my reality.

Sex without spirit, sex to fill an aching void, becomes focused on the product, not the energy. The orgasm becomes the goal and if the goals at work or the hugs at home are too hard to come by, there is some small satisfaction in the quick result hard at hand.

All powerful in that instant, mercifully free of worry and fear, like a drug, I could find the minutes for that no matter how frantic was my life with no minute to spare. Surrounded by so many employees and family, I could find ways to be alone. Sexuality became pure lust, avoidance of the pain and suffering I had to face at every step.

Once I moved out of the home and down-sized my work, embraced whole-heartedly my passion for writing and music, the internet behavior vanished, evaporated in that very first night alone. Spending time with myself and enjoying healthy emotional releases, I have no need for the compulsive and elusive distraction. I have created a life from which I need no escape, never mind that it does not include love as I would like to have it. The abundance of love that does dance around me celebrates the progress I have made to become the spiritual lover I know is possible.

Falling off the scaffold two years later and delivered a severe wound to my groin, my sacred sacral chakra that is at the very core of my manhood and sexuality, has given me an eighteen month pause to wonder about all of this. When I have worked so hard to heal so much, it has astounded me that I should be thrown to the couch and commanded to sit still and contemplate my penis even more.

Ironically, the stimulation of blood flow to the region is required for the physical healing, especially important as the surgery approaches. As a daily therapy, I must focus my attention on the good feelings that lead to ecstasy, growing comfortable with myself and my sexuality, my manhood. So hard to believe the Universe could have such a sense of humor, living alone and by a doctor’s prescription, I am now allowed to pursue the pleasures of the internet with my heart free and purpose clear.

Curiously, I am not interested.

Understanding the basic concept of tantric sex as the channeling of energy between two people united in ecstasy to reach a spiritual height, in this time by myself, I have learned to focus on the energy of the process instead of the product. Orgasm is currently a little painful and ejaculation impossible, so the stimulation is most effective by prolonging the energy of the mounting effort, witnessing the falling away of thoughts into a spiral of breath and propulsion, an expansion far beyond the physical realm. With permission, time becomes irrelevant and, no longer goal-oriented, the process can last quite awhile.

Having experienced love and learned to recalibrate sexuality to be more spiritual, when they blend together, I can imagine the combination of these two energies, practiced with a like-minded soul, will turbo-charge the atmosphere into something spectacular.

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