The Impersonalization of Eroticism

The Impersonalization of Eroticism

With the vast number of opinions being pinned onto the origin of motivation to rape and commit forms of sexual violence in our communities, it has become extremely important for us as individuals to investigate the source of this kind of behavior. When I mention the word source, I am indicating the source within ourselves and not the people in society who commit these actions. While we are an intellectually advanced species, most of our investigations begin with unfounded assumptions and we often choose to resonate with dull conclusions that strongly support our emotional and sentimental inclinations as opposed to actual reality. In this matter, we can use neither psychological, scientific, nor philosophical enquiry to arrive at the direct source. Instead, we each need to directly investigate within ourselves what is the source of sexuality itself. Biological sexuality is extraordinarily simple. But the human race has colored sexuality with a variety of shades and, in the process, has lost complete touch with the beauty and purpose of this function. We are now faced with a tremendously powerful monster that governs our actions, dreams, and thoughts – psychological sexuality. Of course, this counts for thousands of years of conditioning and we must be very careful as we begin to investigate the sexual process within ourselves. The easiest thing to do is to continue our lives by assigning sex and eroticism their regular roles of pleasure and procreation and to term those who misuse them as rapists and criminals who deserve worse than the guillotine or the electric chair. This is a blind and foolish commitment to convenience and with our limited investment of energy into the investigation of these matters, we allow our society to continue to rot with its blind conclusions on a force of energy that is pivotal in understanding the most important tool that we use to express our existence – the body. We must begin this investigation in ourselves, and the best place to start is to identify the source of the drive that motivates us to seek sexual communion with another being.

As little children, our first contact with our sexuality is the bubbling of pure sensation within the body when we observe someone of the opposite sex. This is a direct flow of energy created by the body’s perception of another body that is shaped differently from its own physical form. The difference, of course, extends to a variety of features including fragrance, voice, movement, and so on. There is absolutely no psychological coloring in this pure sensual connection. The fever flows through and it passes. These sensations come and go whenever they are triggered and the body neither tries to understand nor hold onto them while simply allowing them to flow through. As the mind develops with external conditioning and constant pruning, curiosity leads it to color repetitive sensations of high intensity that occur in the body. Undoubtedly, the sensations that are of the highest intensity are sexual sensations that arise with contact with the opposite sex. Now, even in these moments, these sensations are allowed to flow through easily although they flow through two apparent entities – a body and a mind. With the advent of experiences that begin to enforce the existence of a separate entity that each of us confidently call “I”, we come to see that this I begins to have preferences. Essentially, I is nothing but a powerful thought that lodges itself as an elusive permanent entity within the human body and then begins to filter experience as pleasurable and non-pleasurable. When this apparent I looks out of the body, it allows itself to be colored preferentially by the information that it is exposed to. The bombardment of sexual information that we receive in everyday society inevitably forces this elusive I to protect sensations within the body associated with sexuality and then sets forth a series of actions to force the body to bring appeasement to these sensations. Now remember, the sensations are nothing but pure energy flowing through the body. The “I” is nothing but a thought that has lodged itself due to habit and conditioning in the body. The mind is nothing but a series of thoughts with gaps between them. What existed before all of this happened? There was pure awareness! Always, at every moment, impersonal, unconditioned and always awake. Even in the presence of bodily sensations and the I thought, this awareness does not disappear because if it did, it is impossible to have sensations and thoughts. Have you ever wondered why you have no memories of when you were just one year old? The I thought is generated as the brain begins to develop the ability to think. However, the I thought is not representative of your real identity and, therefore, is not representative of life itself. We can consider the “I” thought as a mechanism that promulgates the forgetting of awareness due to which a multitude of experiences becomes available to the body and mind. The most intense of these experiences is sexual intercourse as the mind tends to color with intensity the sensations of the body that are most intense physically. Stay with me. I want you to investigate within yourself as we proceed. It would be useless if we drift away into some baseless philosophical discussion.

The current experience that you have of yourself as a separate identity is just what it is, an experience. It is not you and when it perishes with the death of the body, awareness does not perish. The body and the mind arise in this awareness and dissolve into it. When we allow ourselves to cook a little in the juices of this realization, we begin to see the absolute lightness of all of experience. The heaviness, pain, and suffering that has been caused by sexuality in our world is only a reflection of our unquestioned identification with the “I” thought. When something is personal, it becomes important. Have you ever investigated the source and nature of this personality? Remove the feeling of “I” from sexuality. Entirely eliminate the “I” from sexual intercourse, friendship, social relationships, and so on. Doesn’t it all become such a grand display of playfulness? Obviously, the first thought that arises in your mind is how is existence possible without “I”? Have you ever investigated? When you look within yourself and seek this entity called “I”, do you find it? When you go to sleep, is this “I” present? Of course not! Well, did the body perish when the “I” disappeared? No! Remember, from the “I” thought, the thought that the “I” is the body is born. But both of these thoughts are just what they are – thoughts! The apparent “I” goes out into the world seeking another I that can make it complete. These so-called love relationships, or marriage, or simple sexual communion are nothing but elusive projections of the belief that one is a separate self. I am not proposing that these things should not happen. When you understand the true nature of who you are, pure awareness, you cease to seek happiness in whatever endeavor you commit yourself to. The world becomes a playground in which you can express your infinitely beautiful being. And wow, sexual intercourse is perhaps the most important action a being can indulge in to recognize its shared being with another body. It is a celebration of true love and oneness. It is not out of sex that love is born but out of love that sex is born. Love is not a selective process that relies on prettiness and ugliness, on the ability to fulfill the needs and desires of another person; these are childish misunderstandings. Love is the inherent state of our being. It is the inevitable oneness of existence. Awareness is not separate from some other awareness. “I” thoughts can be separate, but the awareness from which they spring is one and the same and that awareness is the true nature of each and every one of us.

Now, when we tackle the rapist, are we to point fingers? We can temporarily resolve a situation like this by passing some form of government policy that helps this “I” thought lodged in your body to find appeasement when it rests cozy in bed at home. We can come up with a host of different solutions to outwardly tackle violent behavior from men that harms women. But, how can we continue to remain under the stupid pinhole assumption that suppressing these undesired external elements can resolve this issue? Is it not so easy to see that the origin of the rapist lies in the fundamental structure of our schooling, upbringing, and conditioning? Our culture has been subtly designed to ensure the empowerment of the “I” thought that fuels the feeling of separation from the rest of the universe. A separate mind will inevitably seek a solution to fill in the void that its separation creates. Now ninety-nine out of hundred separate minds will choose some form of activity other than rape to try and fill this void. There will always be one mind that somehow stumbles upon violence and decides that it is the only solution. You can go ahead and eliminate this outlier, but does that mean that these outliers will stop getting produced? Our global culture of separateness is responsible for the violence in our world. You can choose to be lazy and march on a street with a banner in your hand to spread awareness of this so called “need for change”, but you will need neither spread any awareness nor effect any change. Go to the root of the problem. Be brave! Why is it so hard for us to investigate the source of our own suffering? Why are we so content with settling for half-baked solutions? Are we not interested in the truth? We are so distracted by the incessant whimpering of our own minds that we never stop to investigate – where does this mind come from?

It is easy now to ask yourself, “If I change, will he change?” This is the wrong question to ask. The correct question to ask is, “Who am I?” Am I this woman who fears being raped? Am I this man who fears being raped? To change the very fundamental structure of our culture, we need to produce a generation of human beings that are self-aware. We initiate this production by bringing up our children in a manner that they do not feel separate from the rest of the world. Why fuel feelings of patriotism, femininity, masculinity, religious loyalty, political loyalty, and all these others idiotic sentiments? Do we want to construct a global community that is fitted with bolts and screws or do we want to construct a living organic force that drinks from the fountains of its own natural state of love and connection between the elements that create it? Do not be a fool that rides the vicious wave of hatred and separation created by our predecessors.

Love is impersonal. Existence is impersonal. Discover the impersonal nature of your being. When you shine the light of your awareness on this “I” thought that apparently exists inside your body, you will be free. Look at the multitude of beautiful forms in this universe that express the infinity of their source. You can look deeply into something as fragile as the eyes of a woman and discover the immense expanse of your own marvelous being. Every leaf, every smile, and every cloud will carry an invisible sacredness that touches you deeply as you move through life. Simply turn around and investigate this “I” that you believe yourself to be. All that is left to do in this marvelous existence is celebrate. Sexual intercourse must be a creative expression of your understanding of this intimate oneness with everything that is. Don’t repress it, don’t hide from it, don’t avoid it. When you have come to the important realization of who you truly you are, you can dive deep into the deepest orgasm in your experience and discover that it is no match for the bliss and ecstasy that you inherently are.

March on, you wonderchild!

-Screamjack

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The Art of Psychedelic (The Midlife Melodrama of Wit Warrior)

The Art of Psychedelic (The Midlife Melodrama of Wit Warrior)

My name is Wit Warrior,
83 years, 13 months, and 32 days old
The world doesn’t seem any older to me,
Than it did, when I decided that I was bored with it
The many myriad images,
Of desolate forests and broken souls of flowers,
Are but a tiny flickering to me,
In the endless expanse of space that I access

I broke the boundaries with old friends,
All those many years ago
We, like kids in a candy store,
Having a go at every molecule we found colored,
With even a tiny ounce of rebellion
I’ve seen things, heard, loved, and hated,
Opened avenues within me that,
Only the skies can know the true nature of
That sweet word, REALITY
I stitched the fragrance of it fibrously onto,
The deserted canvas of my imagination
And how I’ve danced with its many meanings,
Throughout my years

I’ve seen so many children in the sunshine,
Making choices, that broke them, that made them
To live on omelettes, chai, and rolled cigarettes
To scale the soft cushion covers in high penthouses,
Drinking bourgeoisie wine and making love,
To plastic dolls and rubber toys
Men drift too much to the east, and sometimes the west,
Some choose principle, honor, patriotism
The others choose love, madness, dancing, and rum
The few choose polished shoes and trimmed beards,
The many choose daytime jobs and evening whisky
Men choose too much, but me,
I’ve been as clueless as the sea waving blindly,
With open eyes, at the sky

There is a dimension to living,
That my way of mind has opened to me
It is, a kind of secret door in the psyche
There are two intelligences
One made of numbers, analysis,
Endless counting, metallic, perfect
But the other, is mine
It is untouched, yet entirely felt,
Ungrasped, yet so tangible
There is a kind of style in this way of life,
To groove on the edges, of risk,
And yet stay unbitten, unsmitten,
By it all
To notice the leaves dancing in fall’s death rhyme,
Is one aperture for human eyes
But to see, the sweet untold songs of death,
Being sung in the silence of red and yellow leaves,
To see the sweetness of death’s ugly feminine touch,
To waltz along with the absolute meaninglessness of existence,
That is the other aperture
Through which all men find a strange,
Lasting peace

The language of poetry only creates walls,
Around the sting of life’s true touch
But all men must write, for it is the only medium,
Through which our thirsting aches for expression,
Find fruitful waters

When I watch the news,
Have a little conversation at the grocery store
I cannot help but perceive,
The separation of my soul from the rest of it all
It is not, that I loathe it,
Or that I wish it was otherwise
Perhaps it was meant to be;
The flavorless tunes of loneliness,
The dull vibrancy of a settled happy life,
The absolute security of a lovely damsel,
And the cherishment of fresh, beady-eyed children
I construe this universe to be a great chaos,
Through my melodic explorations into the endless psyche,
With molecules, shortened breaths, and simple silences
I have seen this chaos, and the choice to find melody in it
Men are too lost in choices,
Our confusion is too great to truly communicate
You see me? I walk the middle, the inside path
I am neither this, nor that
I have no principles, I am bound by no reason
But I am reason

I watch the dabbling noisy ocean of humanity,
Striving to induce meaning,
Into their words, their treaties, their theories
So many men who are so convinced,
So sure, that death can be avoided,
By chasing some great dream
I saw it the day I opened my eyes,
With the molecule, without it
It didn’t matter, my eyes were open
I was looking at an old friend,
Death, dissolution, end, finale,
And it felt good.
All men must die, that is what they are born to achieve
There are some things, however,
That last forever
Like questions, born from old answers,
What is man? Who dies? What dies?

“The seeking must stop!”
We’ve heard that before

And all those many years,
As I swayed into those dangerous realms,
Of clear tangible beauty,
And little sweet droplets of tormenting wisdom
I felt it for the first time,
I felt the weight of being alive
And it released me,
Into a blissful corridor of absolute delight
And I saw the origin of this entire cosmos,
It came from, why ‘ME!’

There is an art in life that too few men find the time,
To discover and master;
This art is ancient, so ancient,
And yet so timeless
That drives us to live with magic,
Crawling and battling at ease,
To birth ecstasy in the concrete manors of mundanity
And find fullfilment in the smaller perspectives of movement

We set ourselves goals so high,
And parameters too unreal to be tuned into our realities
Men live with such delightful theories,
Of perfection
It is not that we need change in this world,
You see,
As it is; this cosmos is splendid
This little earth with its little germs,
Creating war, endless murder,
The perpetual social catastrophes in our communities
Lovers appreciating intricate architecture,
Thieves and rapists, terrorists, and masked bombers,
Milkmen and prostitutes,
Drunks and drug addicts, conmen,
The children of midnight doing business at dawn,
The machine maker, the code cracker,
The marketing maniac, the suited salesman,
The suicidal, the ambitious, the artistic, the calculative
I see them all as one creative movement,
One explosion of life
Ah the several aspects of living,
The numerous creaks through which we find expression
These are the lovely little acts of living,
Are sweet scenes in a delightful drama,
And it makes no meaning,
To proclaim the elements of this drama,
Within the drama itself!

But well, that is the folly every poet must turn to,
Every artist, artisan, and engineer of innovative living,
To proclaim the drama, within the great act

We must, so that a few men,
Might wake up to see,
That life after all,
Is quite an intricate thing
Quite a complex thing
And, is quite worth living
Whether entrenched in meaning,
Or abandoned to oblivion

It is not, my friend, that these things,
Might come to your understanding,
One great eventual day
Most of these things are left to die,
Without finding the halls of universities,
And worse, the hearts of living sentient beings
But, what drama is there in understanding alone?
What adventure will we find in complete revelation?
What joy will we discover in eternal clarity?

The dance is in the chaos,
And the truth in the laughter,
That erupt from our untouchable innocence
My friend, it is sweet when we look at the colors of living,
The delectable opportunity for eternal exploration,
Answering the mating calls of the unknown
And yelling, “That’s fucking psychedelic, man!”

artwork: Archan Nair – Alchemy Resonance

The Story of Creation

The Story of Creation

Sometimes too often stuck with papers,
Some moments when two things are interesting
It’s too often that this daytime job,
Gets to become a string of dull choices

Do I want magic or money?
Food of leaves or golden beef,
Sometimes too often,
I’m wandering astray,
Into a maze in which color is non-existent,
Into a maze with no dance and music,
With no enchantment
And I’m lost,
With no inspiration to tickle my neck,
No fire to burn my emotions

Most people, are stuck

Life is this great LSD story,
At the beginning of which,
God had himself a champion dosage
And wandered off into this endless dream,
Of which we are all so sincerely part of
Becoming fragments and fractals of this ancient dream,
That spurted forth like paint on an invisible canvas

It’s true, life is God’s great LSD tale,
A psychedelic dilemma,
Forged into molecular abstraction,
An atomic explosion,
In the non-existent mind,
Of an eternal being
This great psychedelic story,
In which somehow,
Death became a feared antagonist

Somehow, this whole color show,
Turned out to be,
A social drama around death

Where are the champions of the light,
Who lovingly tripped this Earth up to ecstasy?

God’s tale, his color tale, his foolish tale,
His endless tale, his bloody tale his wretched tale,
A psychedelic tale, after all
And it’s still being told,
By that formless champion tripper,
Who’s decided to get sober for a while,
To get drunk with the characters,
Of his own delusional painting,
Of this life story
Who is God you might ask!
Tell me who’s asking the question,
And I’ll tell you,
About God

And after that,
We’ll take a walk through the garden of the void
As two gods clothed in light,
And start for ourselves another great dream,
Like children at dawn
Sewing cosmic works with Lego toys
We’ll create this other whole new world,
This other orderless color spur
And keep on dancing,
Till shit happens again
And change it again,
And again,
Again