Sex.

If only the subtractions of various leeches; in forms even more varied than leeches - was possible, that would be sufficient to neutralize conceptions that embarrass one’s speech and blaze one’s loins. There’s a certain rule that most opinions followed invariably, and invariably bent by some, and by me – I would be pleasured. When one feels excitement, condemnation tails along, when one grasps joy, it is wrenched out, leaving scars that aren’t forgotten too easily. Tired minds resolve to stealthy actions, and from stealthy actions, springs guilt more heavy than tireless stone, more expanding than ink in a puddle of clear water.

When one thinks of union, one sheepishly discards the thought as undeserving, which stems from a potent yearning, a muffled scream. A coward would do better to dismiss the thought as foreign and supply substitutes to his mind, in hope that he hasn’t sinned. But, when one thinks of a thought to be thought, one finds that the thought is already thought of.

What makes this barrier appear on a human mind is not the conscience, but a mutilated perception, which is sowed and heavily enriched by endearing adults in some form of sullen advice, in breathless whispers and low, warning voices. But one finds that even through the thick shell that was gradually self-built, the thought remains – ever existent, ever alive, and ever thriving.

To what sensitivity this thought is produced is, to an obvious extent, a link to one’s knowledge of oneself. A description of oneself is easily attainable to what one is attracted to. Sexual taste reflects heavily on what principles one is lead by and to what extent those principles are upheld, and, if they are of sufficient reasoning - or not. To be aroused by multiple, or rather any link to sex in context of conversation or sight; proves one to be a false-saint, one who rummages sexual heights to loot a short time of acknowledging self-importance and self-respect.

When one is attracted to the pinnacle of adoration of one’s own principles reflected in another's presence that is the guiltless pleasure of a merriment that justifies itself – of its cause, of its action, of its peak.

For such a noble act of self-salutation: of two individuals cheering their own ego, their own spirit, for such an act to be tossed in the revolting and conflicting ideologies that cancel it’s purpose, and hold dear only the steps to creation – is to be given naught but cold indifference. And like ink, such ideologies are filthy and hasten in spreading.

Sex and sexuality are intensely debated, those discussions that include frequent cupping of one’s groin in a suspicious fear of one’s thoughts revealed, and also include two sides that are most common, most found, and most dangerous: one which opposes sex for pleasure, which condemns the act as unholy and justifies its stand referring to animals which mate only for the continuation of species, and the other which promotes it without respect, whose reason leans safely on human desires, that reduce humans to copulating animals which by law are entitled to find pleasure and find joy, and find one’s purpose through the sole act of seeking happiness – the seeking glorified and made man’s only reason for existence.

Morality is dependant of existence, and existence is celebrated by joy. A morality preaching otherwise is a failed code. Sex, therefore, is neither a stern necessity nor a yearly gift. It is a product of love for oneself and a complimentary love for another, regardless of gender or age or any of the unimportant veils that some have created. It is action that is propelled by unbounded attachment to one’s importance and one’s self. It is a union of two bodies to fulfill not just physical desires but also intellectual workings that require each other. It is foolish to denounce it, to disregard it, to take it lightly.

~ Ielfphil Raven.