Saturday, June 8, 2013

If She In Chains Of Magic Were Not Bound...

Oh, gentle readers (and those not-too-gentle in other departments), where am I to begin? 

The subject of sex is one I have written about from time to time. After all, the religious and social implications of sex are a cesspool of controversy, and in this as in all discussions, every voice needs to join the argument. As one knows, I am no offender to the rights of the obscene, the taboo, and the socially ungracious (having been called all of these in print myself), and so it was with a note of intrigue that I read about the May article in The Journal of Sexual Medicine that ultimately implied those with kinkier habits may in fact be psychologically healthier than everyone else. 

Well, fuck me. . . Not literally. (One should be clear when discussing this matter.)

It was said that some of the reasons for this observation were that people with BDSM tendencies are more honest about their sexuality, that they accept themselves through taboo labels, and that they have a fine understanding of empathy because of what the roles their play requires. 

I must admit that I (quite recently as two weeks ago) had my first experience in this fashion. While there are many collared nudes one might wish to picture in detail, I am sure my form is not among them, so I shall do you the pleasure of skipping over it. I will say, however, that the experience was something of a surprise and much more cerebral than anticipated. I found myself not focused on the moment at all but instead thinking on how ridiculous the moment must have looked to an outsider, especially one who knew me. Nonetheless, a level of trust and risk was involved that I had not hitherto experienced in Venus's boudoir. It has led to a lot of introspective thought and, naturally, curiosity on the subject and how it pertains to the world. 

Needless to say, it also made me think about religion. While monotheism has no official decree against BDSM-sexuality in particular, the host of other subjects over which it claims dominion are well known: the right to masturbate; which days to have sex on and in which position, or with whom; the horrid act of circumcision which is actually intended to dull the sexual response; the incredible pressure of virginity and pre-martial sex; the admonition that thinking lustful thoughts of another person is equivalent to committing adultery, as is watching pornography; that contraception is equivalent to murder. . . the list goes on. 

I am always perplexed by those who willingly give up their sexual liberation as human beings (or worse, criminalize it) for the sake of their spirituality. Perhaps there is a fulfillment in the latter that I simply could not understand, though I doubt it. Rather, it seems to me more that there is a fear of sexuality that religion conveniently helps one to avoid, and the overall temptation of it is eventually so great that rather than look on it as though it were a disease, the years of rejection have actually turned it into one. Regardless of all these thoughts, I've always had one simple assertion that I think even the most dogged of theists can at least empathize with: if god didn't want sex to be such an issue, he shouldn't have made it so awesome. 

Be that as it may, too few are willing to throw off their fear because to don the taboo mantle itself is so . . . well, taboo. I, for one, even up to the moments of the event, had no extraneous desire for it to occur, and was mostly surprised by the occurrence. But what I learned is that fear is always the prime inhibitor of (if not our greater desires) our human triumphs. This pertains not only to the sexual, vanilla and BDSM, but to any event that we as humans have the privilege to experience in our short, single lives on this extraordinary planet. Whether in the form of god or social clime or sheer inexperience, our ability to block out the novel for the sake of the comfortable is always something that deters from the truly luminous, which is the adventure. 

As well, the entire point of this blog might have been worth it if only to stumble upon one of my favorite pieces of irony I've yet found:

In order to be truly free, one needs to be tied up every once in a while. 

1 comment:

  1. Hmm. Perhaps this is why I've retained my sanity far longer than expected?

    Aaaaaaaand... I shall leave it there. <3