A Year Without Sex
I stopped chasing it one year ago this week.
*Cue Record Scratch* Wait –– but Why?
I didn’t consciously tell myself, “I’m not going to have sex for a year.” It was more so that after my divorce and subsequent reintroduction to human mating rituals after seven years of being in a long-term relationship, I was confronted with the stark reality of what it was like to be back in the dating pool.
I was initially excited about the prospect of being able to date again, but when older, wiser, and with a much healthier perspective on myself and where I was in life. Then I realized that while I had grown tremendously, both emotionally and spiritually since the last time I dated, the vast majority of single men on planet earth were, unfortunately, mostly the same unconscious neanderthals they were when I was 26.
Case in point:
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I didn’t want to play pretend relationships with emotionally stunted boys like the ones in that video, anymore. I wanted a man. A conscious man. One that wasn’t afraid of depth, but more importantly, one that wasn’t afraid of me, my scars, my mess, or my insatiable desire to know and express myself as authentically as possible.
I realized I had no inclination to engage in sex without that kind of deep emotional intimacy, and deep emotional intimacy is not something readily available on the market.
New York City is a lot of things, but a place where people take the time to connect with one another, it is not. It isn’t just that, though –– I’m a high-functioning, intellectual individual. Intellectually stimulating conversation is easy to come by here. Everybody here thinks they’re a sapiosexual. But I also have an extremely high emotional intelligence, and that is not something many people on the planet have, much less a steely place like New York City. The type of emotional and spiritual depth I require to feel satisfied is a rarity to find anywhere.
I stopped having sex because I became disillusioned with the inevitable disappointment of being starved for the kind of connection I needed by men who were too afraid to be vulnerable, and men who, as a result, could not be trusted to receive all of me.
I wanted to be truly seen. I wanted to be felt. I wanted the deepest parts of myself to be known, but how can I show that to someone if I don’t even know it, myself?
I stopped going to bars. I stopped spending hours on dating apps. I stopped settling for surface level bullshit. I stopped seeking something from outside myself to fill a void within me. I quit. And instead, I took all of the energy I would have normally spent in the pursuit of sex and some “other” to validate my self-worth and existence, and put it to use in the pursuit of finding myself, my own inner-worth, and understanding how that changed the dynamic of the types of people I attracted into my life. Through that process, I became crystal clear about what I wanted out of an intimate relationship, what I valued, and most importantly, who I was and what I was worth.
The result was that I consciously chose to never be with another man who didn’t truly see me. Who couldn’t meet me on my level. Who couldn’t show up with intimacy and vulnerability that set my soul on fire –– the same kind that I am capable of offering.
I would rather live the rest of my life alone than let one more person touch my body without touching my soul.
If your body is your temple, you don’t let just anyone inside. I finally grew spiritually mature enough to fully revere it with the respect it deserves.
The thought of having a one-night stand, or even sleeping with someone that I’ve only been on a couple of dates with used to be an afterthought, but it is utterly repulsive to me now. I’ve realized that sex feels like meaningless, barely-enjoyable, animalistic copulation without the spiritual component of genuine love and spiritual connection.
Most people on this planet completely miss the full breadth and depth of what sex can be. They connect on a purely physical level. The quality of sex is measured by the number of orgasms had, how many positions you tried, and how many orifices were penetrated.
Sex is not merely an avenue for physical pleasure and procreation, but rather, a doorway to the divine. A way to commune with our highest selves and the greater creative force of the universe, and I do not mean that metaphorically. Sex is a legitimate spiritual practice.
Followers of various sects of Eastern religions have practiced sex as a meditation for thousands of years. Sexual energy is considered to be the essence of our life force and maintaining a prolonged state of heightened sexual arousal can induce a state of euphoric psychic awareness, bliss, and oneness with the Universe. Sex literally becomes a shared spiritual experience.
In yogic traditions, the energy that is responsible for this is called kundalini, or shakti. Kundalini awakenings can happen spontaneously or during meditation and result in all of the things I mentioned earlier. I’ve experienced kundalini awakenings during meditation a handful of times. It feels like the universe is making love to you from the inside out.
Imagine connecting with your partner physically, emotionally, mentally, energetically, spiritually, and psychically in a state of total surrender while simultaneously experiencing the psychedelic highs of an LSD trip, merging so deeply that they intuitively know your every emotion and desire without you ever speaking a word, and your goal is not to orgasm, but rather, prolong that state as long as is humanly possible.
I think about what it would be like to experience that and, well, once you’ve had unicorn sex, everything else is just… vanilla.
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