A Work in Progress: On Ten Principles Around Which to Organize My Life.

DOGMA IS DOGMA IS DANGEROUS (KILL THE BUDDHA)
Anything that is concretized is dead, and has lost all access to wonder and magic. There must be a constant striving to deepen our understanding of self and the world surrounding us. We must be consistently curious and open to revision.

NOT EVERYTHING FITS
Not everything fits in a neat little box that can be tied up with a bow and presented in perfection. Life is messy, and sometimes quite paradoxical. We exist amidst the tension of multiple opposites, and there aren’t always clean or simple answers. It is, however, easier and more comfortable to believe that there are. We must fight this, and be willing to grapple with the complexity of moral and ethical issues in their fullness. We must admit that we cannot always uphold all of our standards at once, and be honest about which ones we choose to prioritize in any given moment.

INTUITION WITHOUT KNOWLEDGE IS FOLLY WAITING TO HAPPEN
Intuition is an important tool to harness and sharpen. It attunes us to a deeper wisdom that is somewhat mystical, and wholly unexplainable (as of yet). It is dangerous, however, to rely on intuition solely –  to utilize it without a system of checks and balances. Hunches and gut feelings should be honored and explored, but must be rigorously investigated for bias.

IF EVERYTHING IS SACRED, NOTHING IS
Claiming omnipresent sanctity is simply apathy masquerading itself. We cannot abdicate our responsibility in the name of God. Disease and violence are not sacred nor necessary, and we must fight against them.

MONSTERS DON’T EXIST
Adolf Hitler was not a monster. Serial killers are not monsters. Rapists are not monster’s. Pedophiles are not monster’s. Terrorists are not monster’s. They were/ are humans, just like us. And in us lies the potential to be just like them. We must, as a society, face the fact that we are more like other humans than we are different, and be willing to grapple with the immensity of our collective issues.

COMPASSIONATE ACCOUNTABILITY
We can (and should) hold people accountable for their actions, while also seeking to understand. We can (and should) fight against violence, oppression, and corruption, all while practicing radical compassion. Excommunication, imprisonment, and ostracization do little to deal with the root cause of these issues

PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY, WITHIN CONTEXT
We are all responsible for our own lives, but some of us have less agency than others. Personal responsibility only goes so far, and it’s dangerous rhetoric if we fail to integrate contextual factors into the conversation.

WE WILL DIE WITH REGRETS (NO FOMO)
We won’t do everything we wanted to do or be everything we wanted to be. We’ll have to make hard decisions, and sacrifice certain things for other, sometimes equally as important things. This is reality, and it is important to simultaneously push against this and make peace with it. There aren’t any ‘right answers’ about how to live our lives, but we’ll have to live with whatever we choose.

PLAY FOR PLAY’S SAKE
Life is absolutely absurd and should be approached with a sense of humor. It’s tragic and beautiful and heartbreakingly hilarious. It makes no sense, and this is reason enough to celebrate.  Dance wildly as often as possible.

BUT CONSEQUENCES STILL EXIST THO
Just because life has no inherent meaning doesn’t mean that you can just go around hurting people or being a douchebag for funsies. Be good to people. Fight for them. It may be all that matters.

I believe that orgasm is a very complicated issue for some people, and that’s it’s not always *somebodies* fault that a woman doesn’t orgasm. Past trauma, physiology, preferences, and a whole host of other contextual factors play into it. So, no, I don’t think it’s ‘always his fault’ if a woman doesn’t cum.

In my opinion, however, this video is speaking about a very specific phenomena in which many men don’t even *consider* whether or not their female partner has achieved orgasm (and yes this is super hetero) or enjoyed themselves. THIS is the issue I’m attempting to call attention to with this post.

Yes, sometimes after a man orgasms he may feel ‘done’. I’m not saying that’s wrong in and of itself. I know there are some very physical factors that play into that. (And also sometimes women feel ‘done’ afterwards, as well.) Thats real and okay, and sex isn’t always going to be perfect— even between loving, attentive, patient partners.

What feels problematic to me, however, is the lack of communication and care along the way, as well as the chronic lack of attention to women’s pleasure.

I spent many years having lots of orgasm-less, casual sex, and I thought I was broken. I am very grateful to say that this isn’t true, and it took having a dedicated partner who was patient and considerate. I am sad to say that this has been an anomaly.

So, men who date women,if you are considerate of your female partner’s pleasure, communicative and curious, and try to make her cum (if she wants that), this isn’t for you. Keep doing you. Keep listening.

But for those of you who aren’t/don’t: get your fucking shit together.

And ladies, please stop lying about enjoying yourselves / orgasming. If you didn’t, be honest. I know it’s hard and scary (and pushes against our socialization that tells us to be quiet and submissive), but this work is for us, too.

 

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Pssssst. Hey, you! Your spiritual practice might just be playing into the same harmful notions of the heteromonotheisticpatriarchy that you’ve been trying to distance yourself from, thus feeding into a never-ending cycle of shame&blame.

Let’s go for a walk…

Do you believe that if you align yourself correctly, good will come to you more than it will come to others? Do you believe that your spiritual practice will somehow protect you from evil— or from Death, destruction, and decay? Howabout the reverse: do you believe that you might call terrible things towards yourself because its some sort of lesson that you need to learn, or maybe because you’re ‘out of alignment’?

Let’s try this one on for size: “If you’re a good girl, you’ll go to Heaven. And if you’re bad, you’ll go to Hell.”?

Still with me?

News Flash: The world is a chaotic abyss of nothingness and wonder that you have very little control over. You can, however, control your own experience— your reactions and responses to stimuli/ your environment. And, you can, of course, work to make your environment/ life/ this world one that you care about and enjoy deeply.

But that doesn’t mean you might not die tomorrow in a horrific car crash.

And no amount of prayer or meditating or vegan macrobiotics or yoga or goddess worship or sobriety can protect you from that (though it sure as hell *might* make you better equipped to handle it)… To think otherwise is dangerous.

There is nothing inherently wrong with you that you need to fix or become in order for ‘The Universe’ to bestow its gifts upon you. The Universe will giveth as quickly as it shall taketh away. There will be no sense to it and it probably didn’t happen for a reason.

Stop looking.

Stop keeping yourself stuck in a shame-blame cycle of self-absorption where you’re never quite good enough—never quite enlightened enough or calm enough or peaceful enough. Never get that pose quite deep enough. Its the same never-ending cycle of consumerism, just wrapped in a different language.

Build a life. Build the person that you want to be, step by step. Build a community. Make art. Destroy it.

Fight. Because it will not come easy. And it is not owed to you for ‘good behavior’. (The Universe does not know this ‘good’ and ‘evil’ you speak of.)

Your people will die just like the rest of ours. You will be touched by grief, destruction, violence, and despair. Welcome them. And then rage against it all.

And never forget that the flowers come back again each springtime.

Savor these little treasures, and the moments you are able to hold them. Savor the love, the joy, the peace, and your breath. None of them will last.

And no amount of effort on your part can make that not-so.

Meditations on my Biography; One

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Growing up in a conventional Catholic household in southern New Jersey, I had my first existential crisis at the age of five. As my young mind struggled to hold the weight of ‘forever’– the idea of heaven bringing me terror rather than peace– I cried out against the idea that this singular experience of consciousness would be my only one. As I grew, I continued to question the prescriptions that were handed to me, both from the church, and, later, from my psychiatrist.

I could not understand why I was unfit to receive God if I did not first repent, why my best friend would go to hell simply because she was Jewish, why sex was something to be avoided. I looked around and saw the life that had been handed to me and I struggled to understand where I fit, armed only with a tradition that did not serve me, and an immediate community that would rather not ask.

I lashed out against my body from within, literally starving myself on the outside in solidarity with my internal landscape. When vodka failed to numb the pain I carved lines into my flesh in protest, begging to be seen. But there was never enough, and the hunger never died.

And so I did.

You can take that how you will. But know that as I awoke I, for the first time, saw a tiny sliver of light very, very far away. For the first time I felt the ground . It was soft, moist, cool, comforting. It was dark, quiet and safe down where I was– at the bottom of a very deep hole.

But for the first time in a long time I too felt my hands, my feet, my nails, my toes. I felt muscles that moved, bones that supported me and a heart that pumped blood to it all. And I saw that the earth that surrounded me was firm, and I could hold onto it. And that if I was willing to get dirty, I could climb.

And so I did.

It has not been a pretty journey– the walls riddled with gnarled roots and jagged rock and crevices that turn into corridors only to collapse in on themselves the moment they begin to feel solid. Paths that have looked promising have led right back to where they started and left me (seemingly) with no more than bloody knees and a shattered heart. I have wanted to give up.

But slowly I am learning (and relearning) that there is no destination. There will be no heralding of angels as I finally stumble out into the sunshine to forever declare that ‘I have made it!’ And with that, I soften, and the world softens with me. The roots and rocks become handholds that catch me by surprise– cool and almost unbearably smooth, from time and age and weather. The corridors continue to collapse, but the surrender that they bring was not there before. My tears mix with the moist soil. The scars on my knees heal each time, and carry memories that make it easier to step, to stumble, and to get back up. My heart stays open a little bit longer each time it breaks.

And suddenly, I am not clamoring to get out. No longer eager to avoid the dirt, but rolling in it. Allowing myself to be covered, calm, silent, still. And in that moment the darkness itself is transformed. I blink, as my eyes adjust to the luminous black.

And I can see that it shines brilliantly of its own right. And that I have always been, exactly where I thought I was going.