Sacred sexuality is something I initially felt unqualified to write about. Or most certainly unprepared.
Using sex as an emotional anesthetic or an unspoken form of payment, on the other hand? I could write a full-lengther on that. Utilizing the act of making love as a way to feel worthy and loved and to temporarily fill the inner hunger I felt? Professional status, y’all. Feeling objectified by others (and myself) and being too debilitated by fear to speak up about sexual likes (or dislikes)? Oh yea. Been there, done that.
It’s not to say that I haven’t desired a holy bond between myself and another. I’ve had many daydream moments, imagining intimate times with a person who is deeply in tune to me and I to him/her. Times where we both slip into the true present moment and become completely unaware of and unaffected by the illusion of time. Times with eye contact, appreciation, and silent (yet simultaneously loud) communication between heart to heart, mind to mind, body to body, and soul to soul.
I imagined the butterflies. I imagined seeing someone looking at me in the way I had only ever looked at another: as a beautiful, sacred being.
I see individual persons as unique souls taking a ride in their corresponding vehicle. During experiences I aptly refer to as “sexy time,” I see the other party as a sentient creature who, in that moment, desires to be sharing space with me. Honored and grateful is how I feel, and I allow my eyes to show it.
Time and time again, I found that the deeply intimate and vulnerable expression of my eyes often resulted in a rapidly increasing distance from my sexual counterpart. He would close off. I’d feel him floating somewhere outside of his body rather than truly present with me. In response, I’d switch into robotic mode and also leave my body.
I thought there was something wrong with me. Or worse, I thought the connection I desired simply did not exist.
In the beginning of July, I experienced a very intense emotional breakdown/breakthrough where I ugly cried like I’d never ugly cried before. Tears, snot, drool, heaving, and wailing. For the first time in my life, I bore witness to my own vulnerability and depth. I didn’t distance myself or numb out or avoid my feelings. I allowed my emotions to flow out precisely as they needed to.
This emotional release resulted in an immediate shift… One where I suddenly felt safe and protected and embodied within myself. For the first time in my life, I felt a deeply vulnerable personal connection within myself. This connection brought with it some quantum leaps of realization (as is usual with emotional releases) and a huge download of receptivity.
I realized that the connections I longed for—both with friends and lovers—were readily available to me; I simply had to allow myself to receive. I had previously blocked myself off to this.
Once the foggy old lenses of repressed emotions were removed, however, I realized that my vision had changed. A longtime friend suddenly appeared to me as a patient, caring, attractive man who my heart craved. I began feeling a strong pull toward him, which had apparently been growing under the radar for the last couple of months.
His kindness, his care, his appreciation and gratitude for me, his affection… These are all things I not only started to logically recognize; I also started to physically feel myself receiving these vibrations from him.
Last night, he spent the night. We snuggled. We kissed. We laughed until we were snorting. We kissed some more, allowing the passion to organically increase into some specific [mostly clothed] motions that resulted in a wonderfully climactic end result for all parties involved.
There was no rush. There was no distance. No tallies. We were deeply in tune with one another. Time stood still. He met my eye contact with equal intensity and depth. He didn’t flinch at my presence or my vulnerability.
“I love the way you look at me,” he whispered as we lay in bed next to each other, “I can see into you.”
While the typical definition of sex didn’t happen [YET!], what I experienced last night was a holy connection between two souls. It was sacred. It was profound. And I would be oblivious to its existence had I not first nurtured that type of relationship with myself.