Over on FetLife I declared this to be cock shot week. Elizabeth found this delightful and suggested that I post over here as well. I’m taking it one step further, and inviting anyone with a cock to join me. If you’d like some of your own cock shots posted, email them to me at firstname.lastname@example.org along with how you’d like them attributed and I’ll post them here.
For now, I’m heading balls-first into cock shot week with this picture taken by TheShorty just before she pounced on me.
Someone recently started a thread on FetLife title “reconciling faith and kink.” I thought my response was telling enough about what it is we do that it merited sharing here.
I can’t tell you how to find the wholeness you seek, but I can share parts of my own story.
I am a Christian, as are both of my girls. I don’t know how traditional most would consider us (Christianity is 2000 years old and contains within it a lot of traditions, yet most often when I see “traditional” used in the context of Christianity it’s in reference to modern Evangelical Christianity, which is just not all that old), but what we do works for us.
I believe that God was so in love with his creation that he became a part of it, that his Logos was one with a 1st century Palestinian Jewish man. In him is the most complete revelation of God. The Word is Jesus himself, and everything must be seen in his light. This includes the scriptures. As much as they tell us about Christ, Christ must tell us about them as well. This hinges, of course, on believing that God is still moving and communicating in the world today, that Christ is active and alive and a part of the world around us.
I don’t believe that Jesus gave us a sexual ethic to which we should adhere. He gave us an ethic of love and that ethic can be applied to our sexual lives. God has, time and again, shown us his value of these bodies. He created us not as souls inhabiting a shell, but as bodies filled with his own breath. Flesh was so beloved by the creator that he became flesh. Our bodies are beautiful, holy things. Our loves, our passions and our desires are gifts from the creator that blessed flesh in its creation. So then our bodies are not to be overcome, our desires not to be held as corrupt. Instead we look at how we can best listen to those desires and treat those bodies within the ethic of love given to us by God incarnate.
For me that starts with recognizing each person as a loved child and creation of God, as well as a reflection of God himself, and an equal to an inextricably linked to me. (“Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” and “We, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another.”) From that, I honor the person as a unique creation and reflection of the Lord. As the voice said in Peter’s vision, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.”
So in any interaction I do not ask myself “Am I holding to the proper list of do’s and don’ts?” I ask, “Am I treating this body as sacred, blessed by the creator and of worth equal to or surpassing my own?” If I can answer that with an unqualified “Yes” then I am acting in the ethic given me by Christ.
Posted by blessed_harlot | Filed under Embodiment
Gabe and I had a complex conversation the other day, that has led to some insight for me around a whole cluster of dynamics: what kinds of poisons our culture has always sent my way, the nature of my physical my reality with Gabe, and how to balance a life of joyful resistance with a life of submission to the holy.
All my life, I’ve been told by others that they know my body *better* than I do. Doctors have assumed they knew me better than I did, both as a child and an adult. School nurses repeatedly told me that I was wrong in believing I was sick because I didn’t have a fever (I rarely get them). Both the well-meaning and the more vicious weight bullies insist they know my body’s health better than I do, and that I’m ignorant of its needs and desires. Every incident where a straight person told me I was wrong for my body loving women, or a gay person told me my body was wrong for loving men, was a denial of my body’s wisdom. Every sex-negative message is a statement that my body is wrong for finding sex holy. Advertisers constantly try to convince me of my smells I don’t know about and my ugliness I don’t see. Every problematic message has been accompanied, either implicitly or explicitly, with the demand that I need to be relinquish power in some way, to refrain from getting in the way while this other voice wields power over me: physical power in an examination or medication, or ideological power to shape my understanding of myself or reality, or some combination of the two.
All of the mechanisms that try to tell me I’m wrong for seeing sexism, racism, classism, oppression and coercion around me are telling me some of my most visceral knowledge is wrong, that my body is wrong in what it receives from the world around me. Some truths are held in deep places in our flesh, and those truths are often the ones denied most vehemently by others. Our greatest gifts as a species — our compassion, our love, our care and our connection to others — are rooted in our creatureliness, on the basic fleshly needs that echo from one body to another and call us to see others as much like ourselves. Every act of denying compassion, every act of denying clean food and water, every denial of shelter, every act of violence against another person is a negating of body wisdom — the wisdom of the body being victimized and the wisdom of all other bodies that instinctually lunge for solidarity. There’s not a day that goes by where I’m not being told by someone that they know my body better than I do. That is one of my most visceral experiences of the sick society around me. It is a basic survival mechanism for me to be constantly alert to such demands on me, and to not let the sneaky bastards in. This can effect how I hear messages, related and unrelated.
At the same time, Gabe knows my body better than any other person that isn’t me. He knows it better than anyone else ever will. I am only beginning to scratch the surface of this multilayered reality. My body is his, and his is mine: we have said that, and in speaking it we are both creating that reality and acknowledging what is already there. By virtue of the profound commitment we’ve made to one another, the exploration we do, and the ways we open ourselves, he has deep knowledge, both practical and esoteric, of my body. And this is the reality after only three years together, with many more years to come. He also knows things I don’t, by virtue of his unique perspective. He knows things about the character of my boobs and belly and ass that I do not and will not, by virtue of absorbing their existence from a different visual perspective.
But I’m the only one that knows what my body is feeling and sensing. I’m the one that has that information within me, and no one else can lay claim to that knowledge. There are some psychic spaces that are impossible – and unnecessary – to coexist within.
So my next lesson is to practice how to embody these two life-giving dynamics simultaneously: how to vibrantly resist every single demand for abdication of personal power, both mine and his, while also jumping headfirst and wholeheartedly into this fleshly connection, this sacred use of power between us.