At this point in my life, I should be more aware of who I am, shouldn’t I?
According to my father, this should be the prime time of my full participation in the social hierarchy of my local subculture, being politically active, socially responsible and philanthropic.
It’s like what a person said — it doesn’t matter how despotic, chaotic or caring you might be or have been — your great-great-great grandchildren aren’t going to know who you were in real life, just that you were around to help conceive at least one of their great-great grandparents.
So it is that I look at my thoughts and my body’s rhythms, sensing the guilt-ridden thoughts and the internal shaking of worry that often racks my body to its core.
I realise the years of guilt I felt when I masturbated about the female figures in my life, raising a wall between us of my guilty self-pleasuring thoughts, objectifying me and them at the same time.
[On the window screen this afternoon is a stick insect, silhouetted against the backdrop of yellowing green leaves in the tree canopy of our front yard.]
For all the joy of freedom and liberty I say and think I believe, my life has been more a prison holding back my sexual desires than it has been sexually liberating.
With a universe to explore, my earthly desires ground me and make me realise I am all too human here in the 13th year of the 21st century.
In times past I have used this blog space to explore my thoughts because I have had no close companion with whom I could talk about these subjects.
Lately, I have stopped holding back my thoughts and started sharing them with my wife, letting her know that I have feelings for other women besides her and frankly, when those feelings are sexual in nature, I no longer desire to dissatisfyingly relieve them through masturbation.
I used to be able to channel those thoughts into sexual action with my wife but that path has become less available as I’ve resigned myself to the fact my wife’s body is settling into the aches-and-pains matronly, grandmotherly shape that is not as conducive to the activities we once frequently enjoyed.
Life is what it is. If you’re not with the one you love, love the one you’re with.
The word “love” is one of those symbols that carries us throughout the day — it should never threaten one person at the expense of another.
For me, love means helping another person — a set of states of energy that is distinguishable from mine.
The act of helping takes many forms.
The person being helped may be a key that opens a lock, may be the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle, may be the catalyst to start a snowballing action to help even more people…
My wife loves me and wants to help me. I love her, too, and want to help her but do I only want to help her help me? No, I’m not completely selfish — I enjoy watching her help others and encourage her to do so.
[What does a stick insect eat? When does it eat?]
Today is one of those days when I’m not able to fall deep enough into a meditative state to contemplate my current conditions and discover within myself a new personality trait to share.
What happens when my love for my wife and my love for others conflict? When the conflict is unresolvable because of financial priorities, then what?
Does love have a price? What are reasonable expectations when one spouse is financially logical and the other is not?
And from these questions, how will the storylines in the other blog(s) progress?
I put off working on my yard art sculpture today to allow these questions to simmer in my thoughts.
Love is not always about sex and I’ve spent decades trying to understand the difference.
I cannot both be a meditative celibate free from sexual desire and a libertine living on the edge of chaos and anarchy.
But I am a person who can contemplate both sets of thoughts at the same time.
This is who I am today and the days to follow: I spend time freeing myself from testosterone-driven thoughts of sexual desire for women in my life who would have no reason to reciprocate those thoughts, while focusing my thoughts on projects and art/ideas that will outlive me.
I ask nothing more or less of myself.
On a side note, I have asked myself out loud several times in front of my wife, should I take her home when she’s tired and return to the dance club to have fun now that I know I can dance with other women and don’t need the false comforting confidence of alcohol which used to lower all of my inhibitions, meaning I can actually enjoy dancing and not worry about taking action I might later regret?
I used to fear growing older but now I don’t because I see that growing older means I’m growing wiser, too, which is really and truly a lot of fun!