Sex is beautiful. It is wonderful. And I think it must feel out-of-this-world. No, I did not just have sex. We’re abstaining.
The point is, we should be teaching our young to appreciate sex as a most physically intimate expression of love. To be responsible, yet unreserved; to see sex as an important aspect of romantic love, yet discriminating in whom it should be shared with. Not guilt-tripping them with religious commandments and stifling, passé traditions.
And then you bug them about grandkids afterwards. Idiotic.
Sex with the person you love, the one you professed a lifelong commitment to love, is many glorious moments of actualizing that love. If love were a concept, sex would be (one of) the operationalized function(s) of that concept (couldn’t help it; too much research methods swimming in my head). But there’s more to it. I think love consummates the act of sex, too. That would be a ‘reciprocal’ relationship between love and sex, where reciprocal is defined by cyclical causality, alternating asymmetry, meaning each variable can be both cause and effect (in a sense of speaking).
How can casual sex and masturbation ever replace sex with someone you want to wake up to everyday, someone who fulfills you emotionally, someone who turns you on without even trying? I can’t imagine. They’re a short-term gratification that only amplifies the deep hunger for a meaningful satiation.
I like meaning. I think an ugly painting can be rendered beautiful when you discover there was a meaning to it and a beautiful painting just wouldn’t please me if there was no reason to it other than sheer mindlessness. Of course, finding the meaning is another story altogether.
Oh sometimes I think it is like how Douglas Adams put it in Hitchhiker’s Guide. Maybe we can only know one and not the other.
“There is a theory which states that if ever anyone discovers exactly what the Universe is for and why it is here, it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable.
There is another theory which states that this has already happened.”
(Hitchhiker’s Guide is incredibly wise at times. And bizarrely funny as well. I’m trying to finish asap, Divy! Keep getting waylaid by schoolwork.)
Or, it’s like Schrödinger’s cat. Something like if we know there must be a reason, we won’t be able to find the reason. Not thinking there should be a reason might reveal a reason that we don’t know what for. A sound articulation of my thoughts seems to elude me. I think I stopped making sense after ‘Idiotic.’, right?
No no, I think I do make sense. I keep trying to find this deep meaning and grandiose reason to why we should stay together because I refuse to settle for superficial reasons like he takes my shit and embraces my compulsive peculiarity and he never refuses my requests. What is the big point of it all that justifies the humdrum of dating and talking and blah blah? And it just pissed the crap out of me when I realized last night I may never understand the big point of it all. And despite that I snapped a curt goodnight to him and hung up because I got so pissed at something whose importance to me perhaps eludes him, he still loves me all the same and with that enduring patience. Maybe, I should stop chasing the abstract. Maybe the real meaning is just that, plain and boring. I should stop taking apart everything.