Our Sex, Our Bodies, Our Spirit

. . . some ways we incorporate our sexuality and spirituality in our lives to be authentically ourselves

Robin: 

As is our practice, Malachi and I engaged in conversation about this month’s installment of SexBodiesSpirit. Neither of us had an idea of a topic (usually one of us does).  We both have had very busy and demanding days of late so we weren’t sure what might emerge.

But we enjoy talking with each other, learning from each other, and over the course of an hour or so we decided to write about our respective contexts in terms of the issues and lives involvNude Shoot: Robin Gorsline, 10/3/2017ed in sex, bodies and spiritual life. Although we share many ideas and ideals about these deeply entwined subjects, we engage them quite differently. We hope that our readers will see some of the possibilities for their own lives, and will resonate with our understanding that there is a wide variety ways to be sexual, to be embodied, and to be spiritual.

Some of our differences may be generational and age-related, and gender-related, too (me labeled and socialized as male and he labeled and socialized as female until he chose to claim his true gender identity).  I was born in 1946, Malachi in 1988. Even more than our age difference is the great disparity in the social contexts in which each of us came to adulthood. Baby Boomers (me) experienced one set of social norms, Gen Y (Malachi) folks another.

I now identify as queer, even gender queer in some respects at least, but when I came out as gay in the early 80’s the word queer was still an epithet for most. It took me 20+ years since then to begin to consider queerness as my identity of choice, and only in the past several years have I fully embraced it.

gender queerWhat this means in terms of sex, for me at least, is that after giving up my professed heterosexuality and embracing my same-sex self, I engaged in vanilla sex with some initial men, and then with my first male partner, then with various one-night stands (and a few jerk-off clubs in New York) until my now 20+-year monogamous marriage with Jonathan. It never even crossed my mind to consider three-ways (in fact, one early lover, not long after I came out, wanted that and I reacted with horror and disgust, partly due to my dislike for the proposed partner but mostly due to my gut rejection to the very idea). I had never even heard of kink and BDSM! And it has only been in the past decade or so that polyamory has become a more wide and accepted practice.

All of this is to say that sexually I am pretty tame. Of course, my age and the resulting diminished drive and capacity for sex plays a role, too.

And yet my mind, my soul—and indeed my body (nude as much as possible in this body-fearing world) in some ways I am only beginning to understand—feel very much alive and sexy. I love sex even though I don’t have a lot of it!

kinkAnd I am thrilled to have learned so much from Malachi and others about kink, BDSM, and polyamory—I am grateful to be alive at a time in history when so many old sexual taboos and shackles are being removed. Even when they are not my practices, I revel in the possibilities, for myself perhaps and certainly for others. Who knows how much freer I can yet become, and even more how much more liberation is in store for our world?

This very much informs my theologizing, my queer theologizing. Indeed, it may be most accurate to say that my sexual horizons and my embodiment, are now in synch with my spiritual and theological orientation. They are all working together in ways unknown to me before.

I have long believed that my higher power, whom I call God, is a totally loving being, a totally caring Creator, who empowers us to live whole lives, filled with love and passion and justice and self- and other-care, and strength and gentleness and much, much more. In the past 10 years or so, I have come to understand that our bodies, yours and mine and everyone else’s, are the centers and vehicles of our wholeness, and that sexuality, sex in all its myriad (and consensual) forms is the energy driving the movement toward wholeness. I say sex or sexuality but I mean a perhaps a more capacious term too, namely the Eros (or Body) of God.

sistine chapelWhat do I mean by the eros of God, the body of God? For me, it’s pretty simple, though it may not be so for others. The body of God is how I refer to what many call The Creation, the entire created order, all life forms not just humans, you and me and every other human being and creature and object of any sort. It’s all God from start to finish and all of it together makes up God’s body.

I often use the two terms, eros of God and body of God, interchangeably, because I find it difficult to separate them, but for our purposes I will say that the eros of God is the energy that infuses the body of God. As a queer theologian, it seems clear to me that one cannot have the body without the energy, which is why I so often use them together and interchangeably.

What I now know, and believe from the depths of my soul and body (and those two terms, so often seen as distinct, are a complete unity to me), is that God speaks to me through my body, with the divine Eros, and makes that eros mine too. I have long said, “There is always more with God,” and now I see that that is not just a mental or theological construct but actually comes directly to and through me in body, sex and spirit.

proclaimI don’t know if I can make this unity as clear to my readers as it is to me, but I hope it may give the reader some sense of why—despite a seemingly limited sex life these days (and through my entire life)—I can now stand and say, Luther-like and with great joy and thanksgiving, “My God, my sex, my body, my spirit—all one without exception and without end.” And I stand and pray it is so for Jonathan and my children and grandchildren, Malachi and other friends and colleagues, and my neighbors and certainly my readers, indeed the entire world.

This feels to me like a manifesto, a rootedness so strong that I proclaim it to the world in joy and hope and certainly in love. You read it here first.

But I will have more to say (here and elsewhere) over the coming months and years about this and its implications for Christianity (and especially my own MCC movement and other progressive religious movements in and outside Christianity), and in our shared political and social life in the United States and the world.

I don’t engage in partnered or solo sex all that often these days, but if I am paying attention, if I allow true God/erotic consciousness to engage me I can, and often do, have moments of connectivity with Eros, with the whole of who I am and the greater whole, that provide unique feelings of deep satisfaction and bliss, forms of orgasm, every day. I hope and pray that whatever shapes your sex life, your Eros, take, that this is true for you, too.

Malachi:

Photo by DWL

Sometimes I think it’s easy for me to forget the context of my life in integrating the work that I do, the work that I am passionate about, the work that fills and nurtures my spirit. As Robin and I sat down to do our monthly discussion about the things going on in our lives and what we might want to write about, he made the comment that this collaboration, this project, writing about sexuality and bodies and spirituality was grounding for him. It was a way for him to focus on these things that fed his spirit in a way that it wasn’t often fed.

I mulled over that a bit because I have a somewhat different experience. I am a professional kinkster and live my entire life talking about sexuality, about bodies, and somewhat about spirituality. This project feeds my need for connection with the spiritual, with the Holy, with God, but it integrates very easily into the rest of my life. Although our beliefs and ideas tend to converge and synthesize well together, Robin and I do come from divergent experiences in many different aspects, and we decided to take this month to write about some of our own contexts and the ways in which we incorporate our sexuality and spirituality into our lives in ways that feel authentic- and also in ways that we can then come together and talk about it.

I commented above that I am a professional kinkster. My sole means of income comes from working within the kink and BDSM communities: as an educator, as a ropemaker, as an event producer and promoter, as event staff. I spend my life surrounded by people for whom kink is an common part of their lives. But I also spend my life talking about sex, and the manifestations of sexuality. I spend a lot of time talking about intersection: the intersections of oppression within subgroups and subcultures, the idea that the things we do in the kink community are sometimes non-consensually done outside of the kink community, and having an awareness of how we engage and interact with hard parts of our sexuality that feel loaded with shame, stigma, or trauma.

I make bondage rope for a living. It seems perfectly normal to me to say, “I make rope,” when people ask me what I do, and I have to step back and remind myself that my lexicon is often different than other people’s (the most common response I get to that statement is, “What do you mean?” because rope is not a common part of every person’s life.)

The truth is, I have desensitized myself to a world and a life that is vastly divergent from most people’s experiences, and I no longer have any sense of what is “normal” and what isn’t. I recognize that this often creates a communication barrier between myself and others: I don’t know how to begin to talk about what I spend my time doing without first giving an in-depth primer about the kink scene and the social structures and norms of that space. Something as common in my world as the sentence, “I’m going to camp and looking for some pick-up play, specifically a sadistic rope scene,” takes a lot of explaining: what “pick-up play” is, what a “scene” is, how this is different than bedroom bondage or sexually-based kinks, what “camp” is, etc.

This isn’t something that’s foreign to me. I often feel like this when trying to talk about gender, something I have been analyzing for as long as I can remember to the point where my construction and understanding of gender is useless without the foundational groundwork of primers and Gender 101 classes and a working understanding of the binary system, what it is, and why it’s important to dismantle. But in trying to talk about or explain my gender, I am often very aware of the gap between myself and the people asking the questions, and it can feel difficult to bridge that gap in a quick, casual conversation.

My life is somewhat inaccessible, and that’s something I have to reconcile when I focus in on this project. My baseline assumptions, ideals, and beliefs are the product of years of struggling with different ideas and concepts, and I don’t always know how to condense those things down into something short, sweet, and accessible.

I don’t think this is bad, but I do think it’s something I need to be aware of. Because for me, it’s easy to integrate my sexuality, my relationship with my body, and my spirituality together. I have constructed my life to be able to think and talk about these things freely and surrounded myself with people with whom these discussions are commonplace. I have to step back and recognize that what seems easy to me is only easy because of the opportunities I have been afforded (a product of a generation that popularized language around BDSM, gender, and sexuality to make these things more accessible) and the ways I have been able to construct my life and income.

That being said, I think it’s still possible, regardless of everything else, to find ways to think and challenge yourself around these topics. To find people with whom you can share your experiences and thoughts and fears and struggle with the oppressive systems we work within. I think it’s possible to find a way to invite the holy into your bedroom, recognize the holy in your body, and find ways to bring these things together in a way that feels authentic for you.

I recognize that most people cannot live the way I do. Most people can’t- and don’t want to- spend their entire lives talking about sex, thinking about gender, teaching about oppression, and so forth. So the question I have for you- which is often the question I ask Robin- is, “What’s your ‘in’?” How do you access these things? What about what we talk about resonates with you? Where you do find your spirit calling you to explore, and what pathways and avenues are available to you?

How do we access these parts within ourselves that haven’t yet found an outlet, a way to be fully embraced? It doesn’t need to be as all-or-nothing as I (and in many ways, Robin as well) have done.

Where is the sexuality resonating in your spiritual practice? Where is your spirituality calling out to you to challenge your understanding of freedom, autonomy, and oppression? Where in your body does your sexuality resonate?

The context of my life affords me the opportunity to live these things fully, every day. And I love my life for it, as complicated as it can be sometimes (particularly while raising a child on the brink of preteen years). And although our experiences are divergent, I love that Robin and I are able to come together to share our thoughts and feelings with one another and with readers. But I think, sometimes, I lose sight that the conclusions work within the specific framework of my life, and aren’t necessarily possible for everyone. And that’s ok. The idea is never to tell others what is authentic for them; the idea has always, for me, been about helping people find new ways to ask questions, to challenge themselves, to seek more authentic relationships with one another, with themselves, and with God.

That is, I believe, what we are ministers, teachers, parents, community members, and friends do: not necessarily give answers, but share our experiences in hopes of sparking new questions.

 

We Want to Hear from You! Help Make this a Conversation!

What are your perspectives, your sense of self about sex, bodies, spirit? Have they changed over the years? How do you experience the unity of these three central parts of our lives? Do you, or are they separate and distinct? Please share your thoughts, your heart, on these questions or anything else this blog raises for you (see “Leave a Comment” link on upper left, underneath categories and tags), or box below, or write Malachi and/or Robin at the emails listed above their pictures on the right.

Mark Your Calendar! August 8th (or thereabouts), right here, the next installment of Sex, Bodies, Spirit. Our apologies for being too busy to post on July 11.

Sex, God, and Unicorns

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Robin:

One of our readers sent me a link to an article—she called it “horrible”—as a way of encouraging me and Malachi to keep writing. “Christians Are Not Called to Have Amazing Sex” by Rachel Pietka (read it here) is, in my view, an attempt to stall or reverse any movement within Christianity to talk openly, and most importantly, positively, about sex in all its varieties, and even more to stand aggressively against openness to premarital sex (and although it is not named, I am sure also against same-sex sex and other “abominations”).

The author’s main point seems to be to stop people from making sex into God. I am aware that there are people for whom sex is an idol—on a par with making tons of money or being at the pinnacle of social or career success or having a “perfect” body—and I evrevrobin2-023en know a few men who think the cock (theirs and all others, too) is God. But by and large, in my experience within Christianity, even in Metropolitan Community Churches, there is a much greater danger that sex is the devil, Satan’s agent to lead us astray, and/or it is so spiritually dangerous that we should not talk openly about it. If we pretend not to know about it, then it will surely not bother us.

But that default position is not at all accurate. I grew up in a time when sex talk of any sort was really taboo. That did not stop people from having sex.

I remember when I was about eight (1954 or so), my mother’s best friend and her husband (she was a high school English teacher and he was the high school principal) invited people to their home for a reception in honor of their son and his new wife (a surprise to all because there had been no wedding invitations). What became immediately obvious was that the young woman was pregnant.

pregnant womanPeople sat around, sipping tea and maybe taking a bite of cake or cookie, in more or less stunned silence. No one knew what to say. We lived in a small conservative town 40 miles northwest of Detroit—and this sort of thing was not supposed to happen (never in the “better” families).

I have some small memory of the strangeness; I think I might have been the only child present but am not sure. I know my parents, shocked though they may have been (and they may have known of the situation in advance), would not have abandoned their friends.

What my mother recounted many times about the afternoon was her gratitude to her future son-in-law who came with my sister (she was friends with both newlyweds). He did not grow up in our town, and was in some ways a stereotypically “brash” Jew (there were no Jews in our town). He mingled with people and doggedly worked to create small-talk—breaking the silence. He was an actor, and for decades a well-regarded professional stage director, and he knew how to get people engaged. My mother often said, “Bentley saved the day.” But even he could not get people talking about what was really bothering them—and I am sure my mother was also glad of that!

I recount this story, well aware that much has changed in the 60 years since, but also well aware that in other ways little has changed. We still cannot really talk about sex.

You can't say that in church jasonkoon net
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And while we may agree when someone, like me or Malachi, speaks of sex as a gift of God or writes about the godliness of sex or divinely inspired eroticism, we never speak of it in church. When was the last time you heard the word “sex” used in a prayer in church or any public gathering? Is your sex life on your personal gratitude list? Or if in your mind it does not merit gratitude, is it on your prayer request list? Do you ask God for more sex, better sex, perhaps both?

My point is simply this: far from needing to police people’s desire to have good sex lives, we need to help all of us openly, joyfully, claim our desire for great sex, to pay attention to what kind of sex we want and even to learn more about how to get it.

And here’s the corollary for me: God wants us to have great sex, too. That’s why our bodies are wired the ways they are, we are created as sexual beings. How did we get here anyway? (I know its not nice or polite to think about our biological parents having sex, but I assure you they did).

So, I am going to pick up where my brother-in-law left off 50+ years ago: I am going to talk about bodies and sex.

Robin naked at desk 1_edited-1I am sitting at my desktop writing this, and I am naked. Of course, being naked is not the same as sex. Being naked is simply being our authentic selves, not covering up our body, the body we have from God. We are created in the image of God, and thus our bodies are part of the divine portrait. After many decades of not feeling good about my body, I finally learning to like it, indeed love it. Nakedness helps.

Sitting here naked—which I like to be as much as possible—allows me to “touch myself” as I feel moved to do so. I run my hands over my chest, tousle and then smooth my unruly hair, rub my sore feet and aching back as best I can. And I touch my penis and testicles (I call them my cock and balls—someday I may write a piece on why I choose to say “cock” rather than “dick”).

And at times, I do more than touch them. I massage them, I stimulate them. I do this as I write—and not just when writing this blog focused on sex, bodies, and spirit; I do this when writing more heady and traditional theology or poetry or other social commentary. Sometimes, I do this while I am feeling stumped about a word choice or when I am trying to discern what the next paragraph or stanza should be. The situation may have nothing to do with sex, but my body, my genitals, crave some stroking.  I respond, with pleasure. Sometimes, I just touch them to express self-love.

And of course, I also touch myself erotically when I think about a hot time with my husband (or even just picturing him) or a scene or a body I have seen online or a story I have read at Nifty Erotic Stories Archive, a place for gay men, lesbians, bisexual, and transgender (often but not always non-professional) writers to post their erotic stories (sorry, I don’t know the location for similar non-LGBT erotic writing—I am sure there are many). Nifty asks for donations to pay for the site, but it is accessible free of charge.

And of course, sometimes I get pretty worked up, and even ejaculate. That feels very good.

sex is divine arealrattlesnake com
arealrattlesnake.com

Okay, I have outed myself as a sexual being.  I have done this to make two points: first, we need more openness, more celebration, not less, about sex—especially in churches, communities called together by God who loves sex and wants us to like it, too.

And second, it is up to us to lead the way. I am glad to start.

How about you? Maybe you’d like to out yourself, too. It can feel pretty good! Even godly.

We could start a new spiritual movement—or rejuvenate the old one. God would be pleased.

14947937_10100747005631839_8991378826366585167_nMalachi:

I have a habit of referring to myself as a “unicorn;” that is, a somewhat mythical being that doesn’t quite seem to be real. This spans across many different facets of my identity, but I bring it up here specifically because I am a second (and in some interpretations, third) generation queer person.

As I have spoken about elsewhere, I was raised in a lesbian family and identify as queer myself. But beyond that, many of the people who mentored and nourished my growth were also mentors to my parents, some of whom were old enough to be their parents. As a result, my family as I understood it consisted of people who have lived, and fought, as queer people over the span of three generations.

This directly impacted so many parts of my life- not the least of which was my concept of sex and personal sexual growth. In my life, neither my mothers (nor any other trusted adult in my life) told me that I should “wait until marriage to have sex.” For one thing, my parents (and most other adults in my life) were queer, and thus denied the rights of marriage. It would have been hypocritical at best to espouse a “no sex until marriage” code when it wasn’t one they were able to follow themselves.

Certainly, they had commitment and were, in the eyes of God, married, even if the state didn’t see it that way. Nonetheless, though, they didn’t tell me that I should wait until marriage- they told me that “if I couldn’t talk openly about it with my partners, then I probably shouldn’t be doing it with them.”

During sex education in high school, I certainly understood and heard the message that the best way to prevent sexually transmitted infections and unwanted pregnancies was to abstain from sex, but I was also exposed to information about birth control and barrier protection methods (I discovered later that I was immensely lucky for the sex education I received).

But beyond sex education in school, I found my growing sexuality supported and

hitachi
Hitachi Magic Wand Photo Credit

encouraged by many of the adults around me, all of whom I met through church. For example, one woman was teaching me to drive stick shift, and over the course of the day, the topic of sex came up. She asked me if I felt comfortable masturbating, and encouraged me to do more of it, noting that some of the best sex of her life had been with herself.

Another adult encouraged me to “wine and dine” myself: that is, take myself on a date and allow self-pleasure to be the result of desire, rather than necessity.

But perhaps my favorite story is when I was coming home on a break from college at 18 and spending time at my godmother’s house. In college, I began to aggressively explore my sexual identity, and had been having copious amounts of sex with a variety of people. Feeling a little full of myself, I was recounting my sexual exploits to my godmother, who promptly asked me, “Are you being safe?” I looked at her with a puzzled expression and stated, “Well… everyone I’m sleeping with was assigned female at birth, so…”

She looked at me again, and said, “Ok. So, are you being safe?” I had no idea what she was talking about. She then went into her bedroom, came out with a box of nitrile gloves and a dental dam, pulled out a tub of ice cream from the freezer, and proceeded to teach me about safer sex methods, using the ice cream as a prop while she explained (and demonstrated, on the ice cream) how to use a dental dam.

I say all this to say, I had a very unusual experience in my own introduction to sex, and most of it came through the church, and from generations of queer people who had done the hard work to overcome much of their own sexual repression and were eager to counteract the puritanical social messages they knew I would receive.

Yet even I have hangups about sex. Despite their best efforts, I felt a sense of internalized shame about some of my own sexual desires, and still had to deal with the impacts of social messaging that taught me that desiring sex, as a woman, was shameful. But for me, so few of those messages came through the church- in fact, the church is where I found the most affirming messages about sex.

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And that, to me, is the key, the crux of MCC. We have generations of stories and people that have struggled and fought to overcome their own sexual repressions. Why are we not leading the charge to be a Christian movement that not only accepts, but loudly rejoices in our existence as sexual beings? (I say this, of course, recognizing and respecting those who are asexual and do not necessarily identify as sexual.) In this regard, I don’t want to be a “unicorn”- I wish everyone had stories like mine, of going to a place of worship and finding not only acceptance, but open celebration and support of who they are as sexual beings.

I recognize that these conversations happened one-on-one, and not inside of worship. Yet we should know that our churches and our sanctuaries are places where we can find people with whom to have these conversations. We should know that our whole selves- including our sexual selves- will be celebrated and embraced when we walk through the doors of an MCC.

We receive so many messages about sex every day: messages using sex to sell us a product, messages telling us that certain types of sexual expression are wrong, messages that enforce the “right” kind of sexual behavior, messages that shame us for our sexual desires, messages that blame victims for sexual violence, and so forth. Shouldn’t our sanctuaries be a place of true refuge from the sexual oppression- and repression- that we face every day?

Silence is so often complicity. When so many others are speaking vocally in oppressive and repressive ways, why do we stay silent, or speak in whispers? What levels of shame and sexual repression do we still need to overcome in our own lives so that we may speak our truths? I challenge each of us to consider, deeply, the messages we have received over the course of our lives- the positive and the negative. Which have we done the work to reject, and which do we still carry with us? Which help our growth in community, with God, with one another, and which hinder it? Which feed the shame and silence, and which support the foundations to speak our truths?

We seek to live our lives out loud, but we must remember that our sexuality is a part of our lives, of our spirits, of our means of connecting with one another and with God. To silence that aspect of ourselves is to silence a portion of the holy that lives within each and every one of us.

We Want to Hear from You!

Help Make this a Conversation!

What are your feelings about talking about sex? Do you want to, but feel you can’t most places? What were the messages you received as your grew up about sex, and about talking openly about it? What role does shame play in your relationship with sex? If you 40 and older, what changes about sexual attitudes do you see in our culture today? Are you comfortable with them? Why or why not? If you are under 30, is society (and/or church) open enough or do you want more? Why or why not? Do you think we can mention sex in church with appreciation and candor?  Do you pray about sex? Please share your thoughts, your heart, on these questions or anything else this blog raises for you (see “Leave a Comment” link on upper left, underneath categories and tags), or box below, or write Malachi and/or Robin at the emails listed above their pictures on the right.

Join Us Third Thursdays!

Please join us next week, THURSDAY, June 15th for Sex, Bodies, Spirit Online from 3-4:00 EST/19:00 UTC. To access the call, please click here. Please note that some members of the call (including Robin and Malachi) choose to enable video during the call. Video is not necessary; we encourage participants to participate as they feel comfortable. A sidebar chat option is available to those who choose not to enable their audio/video components.  If you have questions or concerns prior to the workshop, please write one of us at the email addresses above our pictures.

Previous month’s sessions can be watched here.

Honest Talk about Sexual Violence

We need to start recognizing and naming sexual violence when we see it.

14947937_10100747005631839_8991378826366585167_nMalachi:

Robin and I recently had a discussion around two distinct issues that had come to our respective attention: Robin heard about incidents where, after being expelled from college for committing a sexually violent act, those accused decided to fight the expulsion in court. I have been closely following a new trend called “stealthing,” in which men are removing condoms during sex without the knowledge of their partners. (For more information, see here and here).

I will let Robin speak more to the first issue, as he is more knowledgeable about that situation, but the rise of “stealthing” is an escalating trend of sexual violence rooted in patriarchal and sexist ideals. The action itself is bad enough- it is, at bare minimum, a violation of consent- but often it’s the intention behind the action that brings it back to power structures, hierarchy, and oppression.

There are websites devoted to helping men learn how to “stealth” effectively- tricks for getting the condom off without their partner knowing as well as discussions about intent which range from “condoms are uncomfortable and limit the ability to receive pleasure, and sex is about pleasure, so you should be able to experience it fully” to “it’s your right to spread your seed and reproduce and no one has the right to prevent you from doing this.” It elevates the comfort, safety, and security of men over that of women (I have only heard of stealthing occurring in heterosexual dynamics; I have not yet heard of this trend reaching gay men)- not to mention “dominance” of men over women.

There are plenty of people that I currently sleep with that I would refuse to sleep with if they didn’t wear a condom. Wearing a condom during genitally penetrative sex is a

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requirement, partially because of pregnancy, but mostly because of the risk of sexually transmitted infections (STIs). Now, if I had a conversation with a partner, knew what they had been tested for, and made a conscious choice to possibly expose myself to whatever risks that carried, that’s one thing. But for someone to remove a condom without my knowledge- and without knowing that he may have done this before, with other people- I lose not only the ability to consent, but also the agency to determine whether I am willing to risk my health.

I have had a terrifying situation in which a sweetheart and I were about to engage in penetrative sex, and they had put a condom on. Right before they entered me, they realized that the condom had come off, and we immediately stopped and assessed the situation, and they put another condom on and we were able to continue. But in that moment, I realized that I would not have known unless he said something- it would have been very easy for someone in his position to continue, and I wouldn’t have known any different until later. (Thankfully, he was just as panicked as I was).

In that situation, it was incredibly important that I be able to trust my sexual partner. However. I think it’s also important to state that victims of stealthing are not to blame for these situations. The person who does the action (removes the condom without knowledge or consent) is responsible for the harm they cause.

It’s a difficult and nuanced thing to parse out. I have nothing against casual sex- goodness knows, I’ve engaged in plenty of casual sex with people I didn’t know very well. And I don’t want to imply in any capacity that if someone is the recipient of sexual violence based on having casual sex, that that is in any way their fault. But I do want to underscore the vulnerability many sexual partners experience and the importance of building, establishing, and maintaining trust in sexual relationships- particularly if you are not monogamous, or aren’t in a steady relationship and are just casually dating. The

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vulnerability that someone could very easily do this without your knowledge. The vulnerability that you are trusting someone with your body, your safety, and possibly your future (if you were to get pregnant)… these are things that are becoming increasingly more important to think about as trends such as “stealthing” are on the rise.

It’s also entirely possible that people in established relationships- ones where trust has been developed- do this to their partners. Again, the blame for this lies solely on the person who removes the condom. This is in no way meant to shame people for engaging in sexual activities, or insinuating that they “should have known better.” That type of thinking is indicative of rape culture, and I recognize that my consistent- nearly repetitive- assertion that it is never the victim’s fault is my own attempts to actively combat that type of thinking. Putting ourselves in vulnerable positions does not mean that we are at fault when someone takes advantage of that vulnerability.

Regardless of circumstance, thought, I think that it’s extremely important that we call this what it is- sexual violence. Not an accident, not a misunderstanding, not a “gee, that sucks,” but intentional sexual violence. Putting ourselves in a vulnerable position does not mean that we are to blame when someone takes advantage of that vulnerability. Sex has risks associated with it, and we do the best we can to mitigate those risks. But when we are in a vulnerable state, and someone introduces new risk without our knowledge or consent, this is sexual violence.

In this culture, we are conditioned to view sexual violence in a very specific way. We

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expect it to look like how it is portrayed in media- a person walking alone in an alleyway gets jumped by a group of strangers- but the reality is, sexual violence doesn’t always (or even often) look like that. Sexual violence is usually more insidious and manipulative- and often comes from a friend or trusted individual.

We need to start recognizing and naming sexual violence when we see it. We need to distance ourselves from the Hollywood version and make an effort to see- and combat- actual forms of sexual violence. And it starts by recognizing that trends like stealthing are dangerous, damaging, and contribute to rape culture in a variety of ways. The intimacy and vulnerability of sex can be an incredibly powerful aspect of our physical, emotional, and spiritual connection with someone. But when that vulnerability is exploited, then it perverts that which is sacred.

Robin:

revrobin2-023A recent article in the Washington Post caught my attention and my concern. Entitled “College Men Use Anti-Bias Law to Fight Sex-Assault Findings,” the author recounted a trend among male collegians who have been punished and/or expelled from college for rape and other sexual violence to sue to collect damages, have their expulsion removed from the college record, and even obtain re-admission (link here).

Frankly, I felt angry as I read about men who seem determined to erase what they did and move on with no penalty. Male privilege, male supremacy, strike again!

I tried to balance that with a few instances in which there might be false reports of assault (most experts in this area is that the percentage of false reports is well less than 10%; many cite the figure of two percent), and that sometimes there might even be violations of due process in college administrative procedures. But that just reminded me how inadequate the so-called criminal justice system, and its collegiate parallel for student discipline, is in actually solving social problems.

Another reason for my anger is that rape is severely under-reported (most authorities say 90+% go unreported). Most authorities say sexual violence is the most under-reported violent crime in the United States. Given this, while I feel for someone falsely accused, I find myself not all that interested.  Given how many rapists get away with ruining the lives of others, why should I, we, care?  This may sound harsh, and perhaps I would feel differently if a friend of mine was among those falsely accused.

Report ItThe high proportion of under-reporting is due to many factors. Authorities often cite these: fear of retaliation, uncertainty about whether a crime was committed or if the offender intended harm, not wanting others to know about the rape, not wanting the offender to get in trouble, fear of prosecution (e.g. due to laws against premarital sex), and doubt in local law enforcement.

Based on conversations with both women and men over the years, my observation is that there are two main reasons: fear of not being believed, and shame that it happened. Both are, in my view, the clear result of living in a predominantly patriarchal world. The first and largest number of victims are women and children. But men are raped and violated, too. Patriarchy is male power granted dominance, a system in which men (first and foremost white men with economic privilege) hold the power and women, and men who are seen by some men as ‘not real men” or “less-than men” are largely excluded from it. The most ugly and severe outcome of patriarchal systems is misogyny, the hatred of women for being women.

Rape unreportedThis reality is reflected in results from a 2015 Washington Post-Kaiser Family Foundation poll of college students. “Asked about things students could do to prevent sexual assault, 93 percent said it would be effective if men respected women more.” (See “College students remain deeply divided over what consent actually means”)

If men respected women more. Now that’s a concept!

Feminism has helped women make gains, and the rise of the LGBT equality movement has helped create significant social change. However, it was 1995—only 22 years ago—that Hillary Clinton shook the global, and U.S., political world with her declaration, in Beijing, that “human rights are women’s rights and women’s rights are human rights.” And she echoed that point of view in 2011—only six years ago—by declaring in Geneva that “gay rights are human rights and human rights are gay rights.”

Most interesting to me is that no one of her stature and influence had said either thing up to that time. The outcome of the 2016 presidential election provides a certain irony; the same Hillary Clinton was defeated by a man who famously claimed to grab women “by the pussy” at will.

Hillary Clinton 2That candidate, now the President of the United States, recently spoke up as a character witness for a media personality who has been repeatedly charged with sexual assault and abuse—to the point that his employer, Fox News, removed him from the air (so far, he has not used his millions in severance payments to sue). The President experienced no discernible decline in popularity due to his unsought observation. It seems to have been more of the “locker room talk” that he claimed was the source of his “pussy” comment—in other words, boys will be boys.

Other facts bear out how in the United States progress for equality is slow. Only 29 chief executive officers of Fortune 500 companies (5.9%) are women. In the current Congress, there are only 104 women (19.4% of 535 members).

Here a few other relevant facts more directly about sexualized violence:

  • Every 98 seconds, an American is sexually assaulted
  • Young people are at the highest risk of sexual violence; Ages 12-34 are the highest risk years for rape and sexual assault.
  • 1 out of every six American women has been the victim of an attempted or completed rape in her lifetime
  • Young women are especially at risk. 82% of all juvenile victims are female. 90% of adult rape victims are female.
  • Females ages 16-19 are 4 times more likely than the general population to be victims of rape, attempted rape, or sexual assault.
  • Women ages 18-24 who are college students are 3 times more likely than women in general to experience sexual violence. Females of the same age who are not enrolled in college are 4 times more likely.
  • Men and boys are at risk of sexual violence. About 3% of American men—or 1 in 33—have experienced an attempted or completed rape in their lifetime.
  • 1 out of every 10 rape victims are male.
  • Males age 18-24 who are college students are five times more likely than non-students in the same age group to be victim of rape or sexual assault
  • 21% of TGQN (transgender, genderqueer, nonconforming) college students have been sexually assaulted, compared to 18% of non-TGQN females, and 4% of non-TGQN males.

every 98 secondsKnowing all this, what do we do about it? And specifically, what do people of faith do about it?

I will write more about this in future posts, but I will say here that the first thing is to talk about it. Not hide it. And that means breaking the silence in church not only about sexual violence but also sex in general, as well as focusing on gender equality and overcoming misogyny.

Those are central to our mission on Sex, Bodies, Spirit, because we believe they are central to living as God creates and calls us to live—honoring all, caring for all, sustaining life.

We Want to Hear from You!

Help Make this a Conversation!

Have you, and/or someone(s) you care about and love, been the victim of sexual violence? Was it reported? If so, what happened? If not, how are you, or they, dealing with it now? What do you think can be done to reduce, if not eliminate, sexual violence? Please share your thoughts, your heart, on these questions or anything else this blog raises for you (see “Leave a Comment” link on upper left, underneath categories and tags), or box below, or write Malachi and/or Robin at the emails listed above their pictures on the right.

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Join Us Third Thursdays!

Please join us next week, THURSDAY, May 18th for Sex, Bodies, Spirit Online from 3-4:00 EST/19:00 UTC. To access the call, please click here. Please note that some members of the call (including Robin and Malachi) choose to enable video during the call. Video is not necessary; we encourage participants to participate as they feel comfortable. A sidebar chat option is available to those who choose not to enable their audio/video components.  If you have questions or concerns prior to the workshop, please write one of us at the email addresses above our pictures.

On May 18, our topic will be . . . .

“Old Story, New Threats: Creating Responses to Religious Oppression”

The growing movement to claim “religious liberty” as a way to discriminate is not new. The history of Metropolitan Community Churches reflects decades of LGBT people being kept out and kicked out of churches which claimed that our sexuality and gender identity and expression offended their theologies. In a new era of discrimination masked as religious liberty, LGBT people are not the only groups experiencing religiously-based oppression. As we seek to come together and unite, our responses in this historical moment are critical to the future not only of our faith but also our country and wider world. Malachi and Robin intend to draw on the experience of MCC and others to suggest ways we can work together to promote true liberty and justice for all. Join the conversation!

Intimacy Whiplash

Explore non-monogamy in action with Malachi as he talks about both the importance of connection and radical intimacy as well as the need for self-care

14947937_10100747005631839_8991378826366585167_nEvery so often, I am afforded the incredible opportunity to appreciate how magnificent and blessed my life is- the capacity to see the image of God in others, as well as catch glimpses within myself. This past week provided such an opportunity, and I want to take this time to share a bit about it- as well as some of the impact it has had on me in the aftermath.

I have referenced FetLife at other points in this blog, but for those who are unfamiliar with the site, it is basically Facebook for kinky individuals. It provides an opportunity to connect with other people, learn about local events, and share, read, and witness other people’s experiences through photos, videos, and writing.

I do a fair amount of writing on FetLife- some erotic writing, some writing about my journey, thoughts, and experiences. This past week, I stumbled upon a prolific writer who posted some things about power dynamics that resonated with me, and I messaged him to let him know that his writing had had an impact and to ask his permission to link his writing in a piece I was doing exploring some of my own thoughts. This began a back-and-forth public dialogue between the two of us, each writing inspiring a new piece by the other, and so forth, over the course of four or five days. We wrote about vulnerability and the process of writing, about transparency and fear, about how we relate to ourselves and the world around us. For two people who had never met before, it was quite an intimate exchange held over a public forum.

Prior to this happening, I had made plans to attend a BDSM party in Philadelphia on Saturday, and I noticed that the gentleman on the other end of the computer was local to the area. At some point, we realized we would be at the same event, and decided that an in-person meetup and handshake was in order. So our back-and-forth discussion built up into a climactic finale that lasted through Saturday, the last post going up just hours fetlife-logobefore we were planning to connect in person.

That experience colored most of my week in some way or another. I had a pretty full weekend planned, and the backdrop of writing so openly, vulnerably, and expansively impacted the interactions and connections I was having in real life, away from a computer screen. On Thursday, I spent time with someone with whom there has been mutual attraction slowly building. I went to her house and we hung out, got food, talked, smoked too much (at least, on my end), curled up and watched TV, and learned to be around one another outside of the pressurized space of conventions (which is where we usually end up connecting). It was a wonderful, connective time that didn’t include sex- and that was absolutely perfect.

Friday evening, a friend (and mutually acknowledged crush) was in town to work an event happening in Baltimore, and stayed over at my house- again, someone who I only see at conventions, normally. My partner was out of town visiting some sweethearts, so we had the house to ourselves and got to spend time together talking- again, outside of the pressurized space of a convention. We didn’t feel any pressure to have sex (although we interacted in sexual ways, certainly). I was excited to have them in my home and have the opportunity to let them see me in a new way- people in my home feels like a certain level of intimacy and vulnerability, and people sleeping in my bed feels even more so.

Saturday morning, after my friend had left, I collected my things and drove up to visit a dear friend with whom there has been some growing sexual tension. On the way, I was able to talk to my partner, who told me that he was comfortable if anything sexual happened between myself and this person. We talked about it for a little while, and I felt comfortable in the boundaries we established. When I arrived, I was greeted by my friend and his partner, as well as a person I had never met in person before, but had talked to for several weeks leading up to this weekend. We immediately connected and the four of us had a wonderful time cooking dinner together and sharing space.

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I then got some one-on-one time with this new acquaintance, and felt immediately at ease, comfortable talking openly with her about a plethora of things, from mental illness to sexual dynamics to poly boundaries to our shared overindulgence of caffeine. She and I made our way to the party together after checking into a hotel that she, myself, and our mutual friend had planned on sharing together (my friend’s partner was not planning to attend).

This felt culminating and climactic in many ways. I got to meet the person with whom I had been sharing so much writing intimacy and, while we didn’t get a chance to talk long, it was a wonderful introduction and, and I hope, the beginning of a continued friendship. I got to watch some wonderful interactions and bask in the sense of feeling connected and loved and cared for by people I know very well as well as people I am just beginning to know.

I gave my friend a blowjob in the car. It was the beginning of us exploring a sexual dynamic, and it felt fulfilling and satisfying and wonderful- particularly because I have shared so much non-sexual space with this person in the past, I feel like he and I have built up a level of intimacy that I don’t usually have with people prior to having a sexual relationship with them. We went into the hotel room, and then the three of us cuddled into bed together with no strange, hard, or weird feelings between us.

In the morning, I got up and drove a little further north- my partner was going to leave New York City that afternoon, and conveniently, a person that I have begun sleeping with lives within walking distance of a commuter line. So I planned to spend the day with them while my partner finished his trip, and then we would meet up and drive home together.

This particular person is someone I have been on a date with previously, and we are still in the stage of being a little awkward and clumsy around each other- but it’s also endearing and tender and sweet. And so when we spent Sunday afternoon in their bed, learning and exploring one another in new ways, when I saw them drop their guards and become tender and vulnerable and open, those moments felt like a blessing, and made me feel giddy and excited and so full of joy. I found that I have just as much pleasure in sleeping with them as I do watching them cooking. Both feel intimate in different ways, and both help me feel connected to this person in different ways, and I like the ability to share both kinds of space with them.

I think of all the work my partner and I do to make things like this possible. I think of thepolyamory-symbol-happy-parties-com fights and the long hours talking and processing. I think of the contracts we have written with one another for finite periods of time that are records of who we are in those moments and a safety net to fall back on when we disagree about the terms of our relationship. I think about the frustrations, but also the joys, of living poly. Of unexpected, spontaneous connections and hours talking about someone we’ve recently met that makes us feel smitten.

If I had written this Sunday night or even Monday morning, this whole post would be bursting with exuberant glee, with no negative feelings in sight. But I’m not. I’m writing this on Tuesday evening, and the reality is, I’ve actually had a harder day and a half than I thought I would.

There is something called “con drop,” which is an experience that people have after going to a convention and feeling so full, so present, so seen- and then returning to their day-to-day lives and noticing the ways in which that kind of intentionality and integration is not present. It affects people in different ways, but when I’ve felt con drop in the past, it usually makes me feel a little cranky, but mostly, I feel needy and insecure and frustrated.

So Monday, when I returned to work and found myself getting irritated over the smallest things, when I found myself checking my phone too often and feeling sadder than usual to have no texts, when I began to question and doubt these connections that I had felt over the past week, I was somewhat baffled until I realized that I was “dropping” from a weekend so full of connection and feeling seen and making intimate connections and being present with people, and I didn’t know how to make the transition from that back to my life, particularly my life at work. My newfound friend put it quite well when we were talking about this earlier (as she mentioned she was dealing with some of the same emotions). She said, “masking emotion feels so wrong post radical connection.”

And that’s the crux of it, I think. I’m feeling some intimacy whiplash but mostly, I’m

self care
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feeling like I need to mask my emotions (particularly working in customer service, and that feels disingenuous, particularly when juxtaposed against a weekend full of radical integration of self. And please don’t get me wrong: I think that that kind of radical vulnerability and intimacy is incredibly important, and I want to strive for more of that in my life, not less. But it’s also important to make space for self-care in all of this. It’s important that we hold these lessons- that we are valuable, that we are loved, that we are seen, that we are beautiful, that we are important, that we matter, that we are worthy of love and affection, in whatever forms that takes. But it’s also difficult when, for whatever reason, something in our life butts up against that in a way that we are not able to shift or change. And dealing with that self-doubt and confliction is an important part of growth in learning how to be whole, integrated people.

I have so much gratitude in my life right now- gratitude, first and foremost, for a partner that is able and willing and excited to navigate these spaces with me. For each of these people, who allowed me to be present with them in different ways throughout the week and met me wholeheartedly in those spaces. And for the hard feelings the past day or so, that remind me that we can appreciate great joy, expansive happiness, unexpected miracles, but we are able to appreciate them partially because they don’t exist all the time, and disconnecting from that is difficult, but it reminds us why it is so poignant in the first place.

I encourage radical vulnerability and intimacy, in whatever ways feel authentic to you: perhaps through creation of art, music, or writing, perhaps through conversations over coffee with an old friend, perhaps through sex (with someone else, or perhaps with multiple people), perhaps through worship. I think it is a powerful way to grow and allow ourselves to see and be seen. I also believe it’s important to take time after that to recognize that radical vulnerability can be difficult and scary, and that’s ok. When we open ourselves up in new ways, sometimes we have to take a little time to reassure ourselves that we are still safe, loved, and cared for.

That piece is an important part of my weekend I’m glad I haven’t missed, because it’s giving me a chance to learn to trust myself.Because part of radical openness, intimacy, and vulnerability isn’t just learning to be open with others. Part of it is learning love, trust, and care for yourself, too. We cannot allow others to see what we are not willing to see ourselves. And that, I think, is the greatest blessing of all- when we can see ourselves, made in the glory and image of God, then that is what we are able to show others. And in its many different names, faces, and manifestations, the image of God in each of us is a glorious sight to behold. May we all learn to see the God in ourselves and in others. May we all learn to share the God in ourselves and be open to receiving the image of God in others.

We Want to Hear from You!

Help Make this a Conversation!

What would radical intimacy and vulnerability look like in your life? How can you find ways that allow you to connect both with the image of God in others as well as the image of God in yourself? Please share your thoughts, your heart, on these questions or anything else this blog raises for you (see “Leave a Comment” link on upper left, underneath categories and tags), or box below, or write Malachi and/or Robin at the emails listed above their pictures on the right.

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Join Us Third Thursdays!

Please join us on THURSDAY, March 16th for Sex, Bodies, Spirit Online from 3-4:00 EST/19:00 UTC. To access the call, please click here. Please note that some members of the call (including Robin and Malachi) choose to enable video during the call. Video is not necessary; we encourage participants to participate as they feel comfortable. A sidebar chat option is available to those who choose not to enable their audio/video components.  If you have questions or concerns prior to the workshop, please write one of us at the email addresses above our pictures.

Workshop description: “Creating Space,” particularly in worship is our focus: creating space for different ideas, beliefs, communities, and perspectives. Creating space can be a difficult process that requires us each to examine our own internal biases, prejudices, and desires about what we want from our churches  and communities. And yet, it is important that we start somewhere- and, for us, that “somewhere” is based in a firm belief in sexual and bodily liberation. So mark your calendar to be with us for this important conversation on March 16! 

When Bodies “Betray” Us

Sometimes our bodies, our hearts, and our minds are working on different wavelengths, and we have to figure out how to sync them all up.

14947937_10100747005631839_8991378826366585167_nMalachi:

I haven’t spoken much about it, but over the past year, I’ve had some serious issues in my sexual life.

These issues were not specifically related to my attraction to anyone else. My sex drive simply… shut off. Things that used to feel pleasurable simply… didn’t anymore. It’s not that they felt bad, exactly (although the longer it went, the more guilt and shame I felt, and those feelings began to make sexual touch feel bad). It’s that things that used to feel sexually arousing had about as much sex appeal as scratching my elbow.

I still don’t know what caused this or why. I also don’t know what made my sex drive turn back on, or why- it was like a switch got flipped and suddenly, I had interest in sex again. In fact, I had interest in sex AND interest in all the sex I hadn’t had over the last 10 months. It was sex over-drive.

Until the switch flipped back on, though, the truth of the matter was, I could barely have sex with my partner, and it was incredibly difficult on both of us. Perhaps the only thing that made it easier on him was that I also wasn’t having sex with anyone else- myself included. I masturbated when my body simply demanded an orgasm as a basic necessity- much as you use the bathroom when your body informs you that you need to go. But I didn’t really get any pleasure out of it- sex with myself or with others felt more mechanical than connective.

I am terrified that that will happen again. That I will wake up tomorrow and find no interest in sex. And the next day, and the next day, and so forth. My partner is wonderfully patient with me, for which I can never be grateful enough, but I know this long stretch of minimal sexual interaction was incredibly difficult. It was incredibly hard not to take it personally, or feel like I just wasn’t attracted to him. And as much as I tried to explain that it wasn’t about him, it was still an understandably hard time for both of us.

I wanted to fix it. I felt incredibly broken and felt an immense amount of pressure to fix
my sex drive, fix myself, fix our relationship. Every night, we would go to bed, and I could loss-of-libidofeel him wanting to ask, but holding it in. I could feel myself trying to pep-talk myself into it: “You love him. He’s beautiful. You are attracted to him. You want to be intimate with him. You want to, dammit!” But try as I might, I couldn’t feel connected to my sexual self… which also meant I couldn’t feel connected to his sexual self. And so I would hold him, and think, “Maybe tomorrow. Maybe I can do it tomorrow.” And I would feel how much it hurt him, and I would think, “You’ve got to fix this. You’ve got to do this. Tomorrow. You have to deal with this tomorrow.” But tomorrow would come, and it would happen all over again.

Sometimes, our bodies do things that we don’t understand. It can be their way of telling us that something’s up. Our connection is broken, somewhere, and it’s trying to mend, but it needs our help. Sometimes there is something we aren’t focusing on that we need to- sometimes, it’s our mental health (I started seeing a therapist partway through this process, and it has helped immensely), or physical health. Sometimes, our bodies are changing, and those changes impact our ability to be sexual. And sometimes… sometimes it’s just that there is a lot of tension, stress, and pressure and our bodies are energetically exhausted.

Sometimes, our minds really want something and our bodies won’t cooperate. On a more lighthearted note, I recently began sleeping with someone who was designated male at birth, and interacts with his penis in a sexual way. We were fooling around a bit, and he looked at me, somewhat sheepishly, and said, “I think I’m having a bit of…performance anxiety.” And then we spent a few minutes talking about how “getting hard” isn’t necessarily the same as “being aroused”- that he was incredibly turned on, he just couldn’t get hard in that moment.

Oh.

I didn’t even know that was a thing that could happen. I knew, of course, that it was possible for people with penises to get hard without necessarily being aroused, but I never realized that the opposite could be true. I also know that it’s completely possible to want to want to be sexual, but not have the energy for it.

The point of all of this is that sometimes, our desires and our actions don’t always match up. Sometimes our bodies, our hearts, and our minds are working on different wavelengths, and we have to figure out how to sync them all up. And that can be incredibly hard- no pun intended.

passionAnd there isn’t an easy answer for these things. The breakdown and disconnect comes from different places for different people for different reasons. Figuring out how to reconnect with ourselves can be a difficult process- especially when we’re exhausted, or don’t have the time or the energy to deal with it right now.

From someone who went through a 10 month dry spell, I highly recommend dealing with it before it becomes a prolonged thing. Because at some point, you’re not just dealing with a disconnection within yourself; you’re dealing with a disconnection from your partner(s), and you’re dealing with the guilt and shame that goes with that.
I wish I knew an easy way to do that. I wish I knew what really caused the disconnect for me in the first place, and what helped bridge it, so that I don’t fall back into that place. It’s not a place I want to be. So while I am feeling strong and connected and sexual and in touch with these parts of myself (and my partner), I am doing the work I can to maintain and strengthen that connection. I am doing the work- difficult as it may be- to understand what broke down in the first place. Our sexual selves are an extension of ourselves, and sometimes the breaks have nothing to do with sex, exactly… the break is simply an extension of brokenness somewhere else inside ourselves that we need to address.

It’s a poignant reminder that taking the time to heal the disconnections within ourselves can also help strengthen the intimate relationships that sustain us, and remembering that our sexual connection with ourselves enables our capacity for a sexual connection with others. For some, they do not want, seek, or desire a sexual relationship with others- and that’s totally fine. But for others of us, who do desire those things, we have to constantly do the work of being whole, real, connected people, and listen to what our bodies are telling us.

revrobin2-023Robin:

The old adage, “the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak,” feels increasingly apt as I age.

I am reminded of this sexually when despite almost a decade of TRT (Testosterone Replacement Therapy) intended to help me cope with ED (erectile dysfunction)—ever notice how we make initials out of things as a way to code them, for ease of communication to be sure, but also perhaps as a way to avoid saying certain words in public—I continue to experience a lack of penile hardness far more often than I want.

I have alluded to this in this space before, but it seems like the right time to explore what for me is a sensitive topic, and to include how physical limitations can impact emotions—for in truth, there are times when even the spirit can seem weak.

I don’t think I am alone among those born with penises when I say I have a complex relationship with mine. As I have said  before, I have struggled (and do still to some degree) with its small-ish size.

I used to comfort myself with the knowledge that when erect it measured 5.5 inches (yes, many, perhaps most, of us, measure), which is the average length of an erect penis according to those who study these things. But now, sad to say, it is more like 4.5 inches. I have moved to below average.

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But my husband has never complained and seems to like my little guy. So, all should be well, right?

Well, not so fast. TRT helped overcome ED at least a little for a year or two. But hard still was not really happening. So I tried pills, a pump, even injecting something into my cock just before sex (so romantic to say to my husband, “Okay, dear, I’m done, can you please take the syringe to the disposal container in the kitchen? Then hurry back!”). It didn’t do much either. Cialis on a daily basis  (unlike ingesting it just before sex) worked wonders, but then it lowered my already low blood pressure to dangerous levels. No more Cialis.

Herbs seem to help a little, maybe, and walnuts are said to be good for erections. I like walnuts, so I eat some most days (have to watch how many, however, due to fat content). So we “limp” along.

I did learn from a wonderful doctor I saw once in Richmond that my little guy was suffering from disuse. So I began to masturbate regularly (have written about this here before—“It Gets Better”).  And that can help in sex with my husband, sometimes as well.

But lately, I have not even been that keen on jerking off. What’s going on?

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Ageonics Medical

And the last several times he and I have made a date for sex I confess I did not feel much of the usual anticipatory arousal. Nor did I have much luck getting hard—a little when he stroked me, but it did not last when he stopped. Even his penetration, while feeling okay, did not get my juices going or my guy to rise to the occasion (being fucked is usually a turn-on for me and I get hard and often ejaculate with great joy).

I am writing this history about my flesh not simply to confess or even to ask for sympathy (although it would be accepted). I am writing because I know I am not alone among men with these issues, and because I believe talking openly about sex is vital to survival, indeed to thriving. I know that is true for me, but I believe it is true for others, too. I also know men are not the only part of the human race with sexual issues.

I also feel quite sure that all this is having an impact on my emotions, as my emotions are having an impact on my physical self—and all of it is having an impact on my spirituality, my God connection.

This embodied self which is me—sexual body, spiritual body, emotional body—is subject to analysis from different disciplines, different perspectives, but it is at the same time a unity in which the various parts interact to create me at any given moment. Of course, this creation is not affected only from within me and my parts, but also by the social body/bodies of which I am a part.

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patheos.com

But here’s the deal for me, at least as I see it. This recent lack of sexual interest is linked, I believe, to my lack of interest in a daily God connection. I am having a dry spell, and it is not just in one of my private parts.  My focused prayer life, like my sex life, has been off-balance.

What makes this really interesting, to me at least, is that another part of my life—my writing, especially poems—has been more lively of late. I may not be expressing much through my genitals or through prayer time, but I have been really enjoying written ejaculations. In fact, poetry composition requires considerable foreplay and massaging to find just the right word, and the process often feels very erotic to me (no matter the subject of the poem).  So maybe I have been more erect than I knew?

Is this just a question of balance—pulling back (or out) just a bit from writing and inserting a bit more God time and/or sex-play—so that the various parts of me receive adequate attention and produce appropriate levels of expression?

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TL Shreffler

It sounds too simple, frankly, but I know it is not easy. What is easy, because, it is well-learned from our culture and religion, is to separate these aspects and treat only one at a time. I have spent a lot of energy trying to find a pill or cure for ED. I often turn to some new prayer or practice or commitment to make time for God. I engage a therapist to figure out what feelings need to change and how to change them.

What I do not often do is explore the links among these parts (and others), and certainly not to explore how they could help me to be more me, more potent, in all parts of my life.

I really like using the word potent, or potency—because it has two fields of meaning. The first is about forcefulness, effectiveness,  persuasiveness, cogency, influence, strength, authority, power.  Those are aspects I want associated with my poetry and other writing, and also descriptive of God’s place in my life (and my place in God). The second meaning, according to the dictionary, is “a male’s ability to achieve an erection or to reach orgasm” (I want the “or” to be “and”).

I want a potent life. God wants that for me, too. And for you, for all of us. That’s my belief, my truth.

aliveOf course, there is a limitation in this word, in the second part. But I know many potent women, and I trust you do, too. Some of them have been, and are, my teachers. And I sure know potent trans folk, whatever their genital configurations (some teachers here, too)! They may not achieve erect penises or ejaculate semen, but they do stand very tall and they certainly give forth powerful self-expression.

I am a whole person, continuing to come into my wholeness, my potency. I hope and pray, and believe, that is true for you, because that is what God wants for each, all, of us. And if you don’t feel it right now, stay open, there is always more with God.

We Want to Hear from You!

Help Make this a Conversation!

Have you had sexual “dry spells?” How did it feel? Did you do anything to move out of it, or did change just happen? How do you experience sex as a force in your life that impacts your spirituality and your mental well-being, and how do those other aspects affect your sex?  Please share your thoughts, your heart, on these questions or anything else this blog raises for you (see “Leave a Comment” link on upper left, underneath categories and tags), or box below, or write Malachi and/or Robin at the emails listed above their pictures on the right.

discoverpittsfield.com
discoverpittsfield.com

Join Us Third Thursdays!

Please join us in about two weeks, THURSDAY, March 16th for Sex, Bodies, Spirit Online from 3-4:00 EST/19:00 UTC. To access the call, please click here. Please note that some members of the call (including Robin and Malachi) choose to enable video during the call. Video is not necessary; we encourage participants to participate as they feel comfortable. A sidebar chat option is available to those who choose not to enable their audio/video components.  If you have questions or concerns prior to the workshop, please write one of us at the email addresses above our pictures.

polyamory-symbol-happy-parties-com
happy-parties.com

Workshop description: We are still working out the precise content, but we will be discussing how to help church leaders and congregations open up sexual conversations, and to be open to people of differing sexual practices. Stay tuned for more specifics, and in the meantime mark your calendar to be with us on March 16!

Our Whole Selves

“…it can be so easy to simply come from a place of being a sexual being…It’s a lot harder, I think, to be a whole person.”

Robin:

revrobin2-023Malachi and I agreed that he would post solo this week, in order to share reflections from his weekend kink convention. As I read it, I am moved by how his intention to be a whole person—to not hold himself back—helped him create a new level of personal fulfillment and whole self-expression.

There is a lesson here for me, and maybe for you. For me, it is a reminder that not being afraid of sex, not seeking to control it but rather to live into my whole being including my embodied desire for pleasure, with self and another/others, takes me to a new level of wholeness, of personal shalom.

And one more thought: kink is not part of my sexual life, at least not yet. But that does not mean I cannot learn more about my body, about sex, about wholeness, from those for whom it is a key part of their living. If we talked more openly about sex, about our sexual experiences, just imagine what we might learn  (and perhaps even teach!).

Malachi:

14947937_10100747005631839_8991378826366585167_n
This past weekend, I had the extreme fortune to attend a weekend-long annual kink and BDSM convention in DC. This was my third year attending this particular event, and my eighth convention put on by this particular group.  I had a good sense of what I was walking into- the environment, the people, the experience. But given the current political climate and location of this event, I confess I felt some sense of trepidation that I don’t usually feel before events like this.

This was my first time working as event staff, and I was feeling the weight of that, and nervousness of what things might come up. Particularly being in DC at an alternative sexuality conference, I felt a good deal of nervousness, worrying about someone entering the event that was not supposed to be there and compromising the safety of attendees.

In reality, though, this was one of the best conferences I have been to. I don’t necessarily want to go into all the details of everything that happened, but I walk away from these events with new lessons to ponder every time, and this is no exception. So, this week, I offer this small reflection of thoughts and lessons that I grappled with throughout my time this weekend.

And while these reflections are given in the context of a BDSM convention, the truth is, most of what I took from this conference had to do with being wholly present in my body. Giving space for the good where I am prone to seeing the bad. Allowing myself permission to want, and ask for, things that made me feel good.

Competency: This was a really big one this weekend. Working as staff, I was concerned that I would mess up or not know how to handle a situation appropriately. I was scared of failing. As I was training and began to work, I felt deeply reassured that I was not working without a safety net- other staff members were quick to answer any questions I had. As the weekend progressed and I got more proficient, more than once, another person wouldimg_7381 begin to do something and then defer the task to me: “You can handle this.”

I began to learn how to trust myself. How to make decisions that impacted other people. How to recognize my own competency. There is a lot of discussion about imposter’s syndrome and feeling like you’re waiting for everyone to realize that you don’t really belong there. And sometimes, I still feel like I’m “too new” to the BDSM community to have any form of leadership role within it (I’ve only been around for a couple of years). But feeling the support from others and watching as my decisions turned out well, I began feeling more competent. And competency helped me feel confident, and feeling confident shifted a lot of the ways that I navigated within the convention outside of work.

Confidence: Directly related, my confidence soared. I felt sexy, happy, fun, excited, exciting, and desirable. I accepted compliments about myself, my body, my capacity for caring, and my presence more gracefully than usual. I gave myself permission to ask for the things I wanted, and decline the things I didn’t (rather than feel a sense of obligation to engage in things I didn’t want and assume that it was too much of a bother for those things I did).

In short, I took up space and set appropriate boundaries for myself. The tapes that usually play in my head took a break for the weekend, and I felt comfortable in my own skin. I approached someone I hadn’t met before that I found sexually attractive and stated as much (and ended up having sex with him shortly thereafter). I acknowledged feelings of mutual attraction with a friend. I graciously accepted those who told me they were attracted to me without needing to feel guilty if the feeling wasn’t reciprocated.

Catalyst: I made things happen for myself. I didn’t just focus on work and logistics and distractions, and I also didn’t get caught up in a web of trauma processing. A few months ago, I was in a situation in which I was breaking up a fight and got kicked in the face, resulting in some minor fractures along my eye socket and cheekbone. After it happened, I

malachi-rope
Photo by BDSLR

felt uncomfortable going to kink parties and play spaces for a little while because I wasn’t sure how I would respond to seeing sexualized depictions of violence that felt a little too close to home.

I’ve since been to smaller parties, but this was the first large convention I had attended, and many of the people who know me there know me within the specific context of kink-
and particularly things that include a level of heavy impact. I was scared, I think, that I wouldn’t be able to do things that I enjoyed because of either (a) exposure to situations that looked similar to my trauma or (b) because people tend to approach me for certain kinks that look similar to my trauma, and wouldn’t be interested in doing anything else with me.

I found both to be untrue. I got to branch out and explore a lot of things I often don’t get to (like rope bondage). And as I explored, I also found that I got more comfortable asking for new things. I felt like I was breaking out of a box, in many regards, and allowing my post-trauma body to exist in a familiar space in new ways. That, in and of itself, was cathartic and healing.

Connection: I had the opportunity to connect with some wonderful people at this event- people I had seen in passing, but got to know through conversation and physical interaction. It’s easy to get wrapped up in the “WOW” factor at BDSM events, and it feels really important to make sure that there is also time for the subtler things- moments of friendship, moments of kindness, moments where we are able to connect with one another as whole people, rather than sexual objects or kinky people.

Particularly in spaces like this, where there is such a sex-positive atmosphere, it can be so easy to simply come from a place of being a sexual being because our sexuality is so often repressed in the rest of our lives. Casual conversations between total strangers often involve descriptions of acts that many people would blush at telling their best friend. In that space, it is easy to be sexual. It’s a lot harder, I think, to be a whole person. To feel uncertain or insecure. To feel nervous or have a political analysis. To be asexual. To be a

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Photo by LoganV

parent or to have a new job or to be in the middle of moving or any of the other mundane, day-to-day things we have going on.

My challenge this event was to be a real person, and I found myself able to be grounded in that space- not because of sex, and not in spite of the overt sexuality, but because I gave myself permission to be a whole person. To be nervous about working on staff and allowing others to offer help. To accept words of encouragement and compliment, rather
than brushing it off. To allow myself to ask for things and not be afraid of what might come up in my own mental processing of trauma. To allow myself to have real conversations with people about things other than just sex and kink.

Overall, I had a fantastic time and a wonderful weekend. As always, leaving events like this leaves me wanting more, and more- but I can also give myself permission to be present in this moment, enjoying the calm and sitting with the feelings and reflections of a powerful, wonderful, affirming weekend.

What A Good Fuck

If we sacrifice our joy for their fear, then we have given them the power to conquer our hearts.

14947937_10100747005631839_8991378826366585167_nMalachi: 

This has been a chaotic, terrifying week in many respects. To be honest, so much has happened that it’s hard to hold onto everything- the most apparent issue, at the moment, is the Muslim ban imposed by Donald Trump, but it is certainly not the first of many questionable, objectionable, and (in my opinion) immoral actions since his inauguration a week and a half ago.

In light of this, it is easy to feel overwhelmed. We are all expending so much emotional energy on the issues of the day- calling representatives to encourage them to block Betsy DeVos’ confirmation, or supporting people still fighting against the Dakota Access Pipeline, or making signs and showing up to airport protests, or fighting to keep Planned Parenthood funded, or simply trying to make it through the day- it can be hard to find space in our lives for anything that isn’t pressing in this moment. And every moment seems to bring a new pressing issue, until it is easy to feel fatigued, overwhelmed, and burnt out. Sometimes, it feels like we have nothing left to give to the issues that are coming, and we don’t have the capacity to spend time and energy on issues that are not front-and-center.

How, then, do we maintain relevance in our discussions of sexuality and bodies? How do we ask people to care about something that, while important, isn’t making the news cycles time and again?

As an avid lover of West Wing, there is a quote that comes in one of the later seasons: “Don’t let the urgent crowd out the important.” It is something that has stuck with me, because I see us at a crossroads now, one in which we are marshalling our strength and energy for the long fights ahead, and we need to put our resources where they will have the most impact. And quite frankly, I understand those who might feel that the inclusion of eros, the focus on sexuality, the self-acceptance of our own bodies, the drive to welcome other bodies might seem important, but can be left behind in favor of more pressing issues.

And yet… at the same time, I think when we look around at the issues that are coming up
and the fights that are building, to not have the discussions around bodies and sex leaves us at a loss for connectivity but, more importantly, loses sight of a key point that interconnects so many of the issues. Most obviously, we exist and enter the world through our physical manifestations- our bodies- and through our bodies do we find our voice. But more importantly, we note that so many of these assaults are assaults on bodies: on women, on people of color, on manifestations of religion, on restrictions to our sexuality. The issues Robin and I seek to address are at the center of the national debate, if only we as a community and country are willing to see them.

So why is it important that we continue to come back to bodies, to sex, to eros, to love, to faith?

Because our bodies are our mechanism of resistance. They are the forms that we take to protests, they are the voices with which we call our representatives and speak our truthscivil-disobedience, they are the hands with which we carry signs and sign petitions, they are minds that debate the role and use of violence and the bodies that carry those beliefs to actions, they are the skin that faces undue prejudice directly proportional to the amount of melanin present, they are the configurations of trans and gender nonconforming bodies that face violence. Our bodies have been weaponized, some of them against our will.

We run the risk of becoming cold, hardened, robotic. In the frenzy of back-to-back protests and social media explosions and fights with in-laws and a constant barrage of bad news, we become desensitized and, ultimately, burnt out. Our bodies become tools, rather than whole, complex, organic beings. Our mechanisms for self-care become more vital to stave off the fatigue. Self-care is important, and we cannot let the urgency of the news of the day crowd out the importance of self-care.

And how do we find self-care? In so many ways, but for many, that care may come through connection, and one means of connection is our sexual selves. In the article, “Queer Sex is Our Greatest Act of Resistance,” Alex Gamer talks about the how our sexual selves are part of our resistance. In response to fear, he says, “Now is the time to be unapologetically queer and that must include our sex. When we fuck it has value and meaning and no policy or lawmaker can ever take that away from us.”

For me, “fucking” is an act of defiance. “Fucking” is also different than “intimacy,” “making love,” or “having sex.” Perhaps the crassness of the language is offputting to some, but I personally believe there is a time and a place to use certain language, and “fuck” as a term of passionate, visceral, raw exchange of sexual energy is a powerful word in the face of censorship.

Recently, I wrote the following piece, “Fuck Me Fiercely” about fucking as an act of resistance, about harnessing the raw power of anger and drive into sexual relations. Content warning: it uses plenty of crass language, but that is also the intent.

Fuck me fiercely, like your hands and lips and cock are instruments of dissent. I want to hear your guttural, the sounds in your throat that echo orgasm and rage.

Fuck me like fucking is an act of defiance, an unapologetic stand, a shameless gauntlet thrown down to the streets.

Fuck me like “Fuck You!” sounds when it’s screamed like war cries. Hold my hips like you are holding my hand and running into the fire.

Fuck me with the passion of enough. Fuck me like fucking is adrenaline embodied, like we are fighting back by loving fiercely, loving recklessly, loving fully.

Fuck me like we do not have the luxury of fear. Like this moment, right here, is the dawn before the storm and we are fucking because we are alive, right now, and we do not have the privilege to expect tomorrow.

Fuck me like fucking is courageous. Like fucking is how we scream.

Fuck me with planning and care that goes to hell when the firebombs start. Fuck me like fucking is surviving and we are survivors, like we would fuck in the streets just to piss off someone who couldn’t stand the sight of you and me.

Fuck me like rebels and anarchists and radicals. Fuck me like you know the taste and shape of those words, how they fit in your mouth, and fuck with me the passion with which you left them behind.

Fuck me like you’re picking them up again.

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art-and-anarchism

Our bodies, how we relate to one another and ourselves is a part of our self-care, to combat the fatigue and daily assaults on who we are and how we live. They are the moments when we unravel and show our fear and vulnerability. They are the beating heart of who we are, and without that sense of connection to ourselves and one another, we would be little more than robots, constantly fighting with no end in sight, no moments of joy, no sense of solidarity and connection, no sense of being seen.

When we are seen and embraced, then we are able to relax, recharge, refuel. For some, this comes by means other than sex, particularly those who are asexual. But for others, the act of sex- the act of fucking- is where we can unwind and unravel, fall apart and put ourselves back together again. It is a moment that cannot be taken away by politics and fearmongering. It is the essence of being wholly, truly present, and in the moments after, we find ourselves truly alive.

Our bodies are more than tools; they are instruments that we play to the beat of the music we expose ourselves to. Sometimes it is chanting at a protest, sometimes it is challenging problematic language, and sometimes it’s the pure pleasure of being present.

We cannot ignore or minimize the discussions of our bodies, our sexuality, our eros, in these discussions. They are central to the assaults, yes, but they are also essential to the healing that comes so that we may persevere and thrive, regardless of the constant propaganda that we should be ashamed of who we are. We must not forget to live, to breathe, the embrace and enjoy the life we have now. If we forget to do that, they have won. If we sacrifice our joy for their fear, then we have given them the power to conquer our hearts.

Fuck fiercely. Love wholly. Embrace yourself and those around you. Find intimacy. Show people unconditional love. And never let the urgent news of the day diminish the need for important, radical self-care.

Robin:

revrobin2-023I am dismayed and distraught, and angry, at the flurry of orders that are passing for a working government in the ten days since the Presidential inauguration. It feels to me like we have an adult child who is playing a role, surrounded by people who either are afraid to tell him to stop or who also proceed from an immature understanding of the exercise of power and authority. Even more, some of those orders are having immediate negative consequences for people caught in the web of suspicion and fear that marks new national policies and priorities.

And yet I refuse to be governed by fear, my own as well as that driving the man who holds the title of President. I also refuse to be governed by anger, even though I will tap into it to claim my power to push back against fear.  I learned long ago, from my old friend and mentor, Beverly Wildung Harrison, about the power of anger in the work of love.

I remember the 1960s when some said “make love not war.” Often, they meant, stop the fighting and have sex, stop beating people up and fuck instead. But there also was an edge to this, because they were angry about the senseless loss of life–not only U.S. service personnel but also the people of Vietnam and Cambodia. I remember the first time I heard “fuck” said in public was at an anti-war rally at the University of Michigan in 1966–and the speaker drew a contrast between two kinds: the one where both parties are enjoying it and the other where one is getting off at the expense, the dignity, the life/lives, of the other.

make-love-not-war-maniacjoe-comSo, in my fear and anger, I remember I am called to love. And I am called to love, to fuck, in the first way with my husband, and to use the desire for community and care which is part of that to love others, too, as I do my part to resist a certain Bully in Chief before he does more of the second (which is not love only fuck without any care for those he violates).

You may think I, a 70-year-old married clergyman, have gone off the deep end, talking about sex in the midst of our national angst. We can talk about bodies—e.g., the immigrants’ bodies are being mistreated, and the bodies of those who lose health care will surely be adversely affected —and we surely can talk about spirit or spirituality. This focus on keeping people from countries with a Islamic majority in its citizenry out of our nation violates our long, and clearly continuing, struggle for religious tolerance and openness. That struggle reflects our national spirit from the days of Jefferson and Madison and many others. And that struggle against intolerance and prejudice is consonant with values in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam of welcoming and caring for the stranger, the sojourner, in the land.

But what about sex? Is it even appropriate, at times like these, to admit we’re having sex? And forget about admitting is: Is it even appropriate to be sexual at all? Can we have fun in the bedroom, or wherever, when there is so much angst? And if we are engaging in sexual activity, and we want to talk about it, what language do we use?

My answer to both questions—whether to have sex and whether to admit it—is an unequivocal yes! Here’s why I feel so strongly about this (some thoughts on language a little later).

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Oliver Rath artistic nudes, peace sign, Friedenskonferenz (courtesy of rath-photografie.de)

A time of difficulty is precisely a good time to feel the power of one’s own body and soul. To acknowledge, and draw upon, our own erotic power provides a sense of well-being and stability at times when both are in question.  The strength of our response to trouble(s) can be enhanced by how well we are connected to others, especially other loved ones, as well as our own inner and embodied selves.

The more all of us, whatever our orientation(s), understand the power of the erotic to guide our lives into wholeness the better people we will be and the safer and saner the world will be. Fucking, including our self-pleasuring, is a delight for us and our partners and is a vital way to heal the planet and our nation and ourselves. It also is an expression of embodied power.

The reason for this is the exchange of energy that happens when we are erotically engaged—whether it is solo or coupled or group or monogamous or polyamorous or “vanilla” or BDSM, or anything else.

We must talk about, even celebrate, these exchanges—because we cannot give all the conversational space over to those who are creating the angst and anger, or even to those of us who engage in resistance. Indeed, resistance really depends on our being centered and strong. When we deny our erotic core, even in the cause of working and witnessing for justice and peace, we weaken our participation. I am reminded of a saying attributed to 20th Century socialist/anarchist Emma Goldman, “If I can’t dance, I don’t want to be part of your revolution.”

emma-goldman-300x185Authoritarian regimes, fascist movements, even fundamentalist religious and political movements and leaders, want to keep people under control. They do not want sprouts of life to emerge, they do not want joy to bud unless it is the sort authored by the power they create and use to bring what they consider order to society.

Thus, our resistance to control needs not only to be direct opposition—protests, marches, letter-writing, phone calls, etc.—but also expressions of alternative visions of life, ways of bearing witness to how God calls us to connect with each other, with all others, in love and hope and gratitude for life. A key mechanism of connection is eros, acknowledging and acting on our desire to be in positive, healthy relation with all that is life-giving.

God is not as interested in order as in fullness of life, nor, I believe, is God’s sense of order too much like ours—which is why the uprising within ourselves of desire, sometimes seeming to come at odd or inconvenient moments or in ways we may not always understand, can seem disorderly.  But in God’s realm, such moments are very much in order.  Indeed, in the midst of this writing, I felt a powerful urge to masturbate, a desire to which I yielded in joy and gratitude all the way to feeling divine energy rising in and out through my cock.  I know it helped me get clearer about what I want and need to say (and that is not far from the first time that has happened).

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http://quotesgram.com/

That does not mean we have to have sex with everyone, and it certainly does not mean coercing others to engage in something not agreeable to them, but it does mean that we find ways to express the erotic through our bodies, spirits, and minds. I know a couple who have been partnered for quite some time who are now seeing a sex therapist to deal with fears and blockages in their intimate life. This couple just recently experienced anal intercourse in a way they had long avoided, and it is opening them up to more—right in the midst of their own fears over the way the country is moving.

I also think we need to pay attention to our language. Malachi and I generally avoid using “street language” here, while at the same time trying to be honest. I used “fuck” above for the first time here (by me) because I believe at a time of crisis, a time of widespread angst and anger, our language must be direct. We don’t need to be rude, but we can claim the power not only of our bodies but also our language.

I try not to use the term “fuck” to connote negative situations (I choose not to say, “Fuck You” in anger, including even about major political figures with whom I am very angry), because it is a good earthy term to describe a powerful experience that is intended, by God I believe, to bless us and our partner(s).  So when others are hurting people through their policies and actions, I believe a good fuck creates powerful, authentic energy. That’s the same way I feel about sucking, and jerking off, and licking, not to mention names for body parts that convey connection deeper than formal medical anatomical terms.

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DashHouse.com

I continue to believe that the church has missed major opportunities over two millennia to engage the sexual, the sensual, the erotic, in powerful ways to show people how God works in and through us. Our Jewish roots are far more earthy than Christian theology and practice has recognized.  I believe Jesus would be talking about sex, certainly sharing ways to resist modern-day Pharaohs through our embodied presence and action and challenging the sex phobia of so much religious teaching.

In these times, let us get real, and let us undermine the powers that seek to control by celebrating, even flaunting, our freedom, our call to be the whole people God wants us to be—including our genitals and the entirety of our bodies (every square inch of which are, at least some times, glorious erogenous zones).

We Want to Hear from You!

Help Make this a Conversation!

Did you participate in a local march or action? Did you feel included or did you feel “othered” by those around you? What are your thoughts on protest in the coming weeks, months, and years? Please share your thoughts, your heart, on these questions or anything else this blog raises for you (see “Leave a Comment” link on upper left, underneath categories and tags), or box below, or write Malachi and/or Robin at the emails listed above their pictures on the right.

discoverpittsfield.com
discoverpittsfield.com

Join Us Third Thursdays!

Please join us THURSDAY, February 16th for Sex, Bodies, Spirit Online from 3-4:00 EST/19:00 UTC. To access the call, please click here. Please note that some members of the call (including Robin and Malachi) choose to enable video during the call. Video is not necessary; we encourage participants to participate as they feel comfortable. A sidebar chat option is available to those who choose not to enable their audio/video components.  If you have questions or concerns prior to the workshop, please write one of us at the email addresses above our pictures.

Workshop description: Non-Monogamy 2 continues from where a previous workshop ended. On December 15, 2016, Malachi and Robin delved into non-monogamy. Malachi described its various forms in contemporary culture and offered observations from personal experience. Robin commented on some of the positive aspects and understandings he has gained through learning more about non-monogamy and reflected on his own feelings (which are more positive than he would have thought). There was a good discussion among those participating on the call, and questions were raised. Malachi and Robin plan to offer more information, and specifically some responses to the questions. If you were unable to be present on December 15, we are hoping a video of the presentation (but not the discussion) will soon be available.