A book I read recently made me rethink. A lot.
Yes, the book was by Paulo Coelho. I gather I am not the only one on whom he has this sort of an effect.
The book is titled Eleven Minutes, and focuses around the eleven minutes of sexual pleasure around which, or so it seems, the world is centred nowadays.
From literature to art to pop culture, there is always a separate theme titled 'erotica' or 'sensuality' or something similar - always to draw in those most fascinated by this particular aspect of human life, which, timewise, occupies very little of our lives.
I speak generally. I do not know how many of my imaginary readers spend their lives like someone affected by a death-by-sex faerie. (In simpler words, like a sex addict.) (Reference to: the Fever series by Karen Marie Moning.)
Unfortunately I happen to be a part of the sex-is-just-sex generation, where no actual love or affection is required to complete this act that was once considered divine-ish. Call me pagan, but that made much more sense than what we have these days - 'random fucks' to use the common lingo.
But it makes me ponder the basis of everything - love, sex and everything in between.
What is love, really? Mr Coelho insists that true love is having but not possessing. Fine lines.
He also says that reciprocation for true love always exists - there is just the little matter of how blind people can be, or how much is needed for the realisation.
I am not going to go into the specifications or definitions of love - that differs according to who you are.
But once you love someone, and they love you too, what do you expect of it?
I've always thought that when I fall in love, when I meet The One, I will be with them forever. Or as long as forever is for our sad little mortal lives.
But is that right?
It's hard to set someone free. Even harder to wait for them to come back. Not knowing if they will, or if there's some other pretty little bird around the corner.
Because the whole bloody world is filled with thieves who feel half and fake half. I would know.
Point being, if love is giving someone all of you, gift-wrapped, then...
Well that's a major risk - what if they don't value all of you?
But if you can't give someone all of you, do you trust them? Isn't trust essential to love?
We're living in a time of parodies - to everything. Faithfulness is no longer being true to someone lifelong, it's having affairs you feel guilty about later, or decide that it was merely 'passing' and meant nothing. Selfishness reigns supreme, and people who fail to keep up get trampled. Used.
This is the bizarre era where people have sex before thinking about whether or not they even like their partner.
Wanted, a person with appropriate sex organs, preferably good-looking, in bed tonight. No character or personality traits required.
Prostitution was, is and always will be for the overflow that apparently cannot find solace in their respective partners; they need someone 'new' in bed.
Appalling. So we no longer control our urges, they control us. How long before we turn into right animals that go around sleeping with the 'better specimen', under our Pradas and D&Gs?
Sophistication covers a lot of vile things.
And then of course we have various torture devices like S&M and what not - apparently we cannot find satisfaction without experiencing pain of some sort.
So we're pain addicts now. Why? Has it become part of our genetic programming, suffering? Or is simple sick-mindedness, where we've just experienced too many good things in life and are afraid of the bad that must come to balance it out, and just seek to inflict pain on ourselves than leave it to karma or nature?
I can't make head or tail of the reasons, rituals and pure paradoxes of our world.
Argh. I suppose it's a good thing I'm easily distracted.
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