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Listen, I don’t know Jesus. Never met the guy and do not go to church save for the occasional wedding or funeral although I would guess the dude didn’t have blond hair and blue eyes. Nothing against people with those physical traits, I’ve dated quite a few of them and am married to a redheaded guy with the most delicious color of blue eyes. Anyway, I sometimes like to think of Jesus, Muhammad and Buddha somewhere out there in the ether smoking some fatty cones over a campfire musing upon how humans went wrong with all the chaos and repression.
My impression as a person raised by a Roman Catholic dad, a Thai Buddhist mom, an atheist stepfather as well as having attended several different sects of Christian churches, was that Jesus was supposed to be a really nice, compassionate and empowering guy who apparently and miraculously came out of a virgin mother whose husband seemed totally okay with The God Guy impregnating his wife with some kinda white light (please, no one ever use that to describe your pale dick or “magic”, it sounds so corny). Anyway, this Jesus fella, borne of an omnipresent but curiously absent father and Mother Mary might just be okay with women of all faiths being happy and free by being able to have some pleasure in life.
Take orgasms for instance — they are the closest natural thing that has made me feel closer to a “God-thing” physically that I can achieve on my own. Sure, I’ve taken a fewwwwww psychedelics that helped me feel like I broke through some sort of locked up part of myself but that was different. I don’t require any psychedelics or entheogens to get to climax, and yet still I can be found writhing around like people at revivals speaking in tongues or twitching like a live wire when they’ve had an “epiphany”. After those first few moments of orgasm, I am filled with an appreciation for all things good and conciliatory but am glad I have enough foresight to not pick up the phone and call everyone who hurt me to exclaim, “Mmmmmmm, it’s alllllll gooood, honey. Ohhhh, it’s soooo goood, we can be friennnnnndssssss again. Don’t even worrrrry about itttttt…!” Maybe Jesus would actually want me to really call those people. Sorry, bro, not gonna do it. However, what I will do after having an orgasm or three or five, is have a much better day by being a helluva lot more patient and pleasant. Thanks dopamine!
I know this all might sound like conjecture but it’s not like we can ask Jesus Himself what he really said or did not say, we just have two different versions of the bible supposedly translated by millions of humans who apparently have our best interests in mind. I just choose even as a person who is more of a spiritual quilt of cobbled together beliefs based on as much kindness as I can muster (although I do fail at this as all humans are prone), that my choice to believe or not believe in creatures we cannot see is the same belief that orgasm is an act of spirituality predicated by physical action except I can really feel that my body is actually here. I firmly believe that my version of an ideal Jesus would want me to come over and over and over and over again for the rest of my human life. I mean, why did His Dad put a clit there anyway?
And here’s a quote I found to prove my point as so many others have abused scripture to prove theirs (I’m much nicer though):
“She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.”
That’s from Proverb 31:26 and maybe may well inspire another article. ;)
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Feature image: “Leda uden Svanen (Svendborg) 2″ by Finn Johannessen – Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons