With Christmas break, parents visiting, zillions of “snow” days, traveling husband, and kids who are no longer content with leaving Mommy alone to blog, I’ve been away from my precious mac for far too long. And away from you. *heavy sigh*
So I’m stealing a few moments out of my single alone hour of the week to share a moment.
Now- to pick a single thought to expound upon. . .
Okay, I pick p*rn! How’s that?
Bravone and J G-W recently posted on p*rn. I don’t have much more to say than what they have so eloquently presented. I commented on Bravone’s post about my early exploration into it, and how it has affected my life- but in case you missed it:
I don’t know how old I was, but it was elementary school- my next door neighbor came home from her Dad’s house one weekend and showed me the Playb*y magazine she found. I had seen them behind the counter at 7-eleven, barely covered for “decency’s” sake and was always intrigued by them. What I saw both repulsed and excited me. And I wanted more.
I knew looking at them was wrong, but I also really liked the feeling I got while doing it. I could deal with the residual ugliness since in the moment it felt so good.
A few years later, our family got cable, and a second television. Showtime showed all sorts of nastiness at any time of the day. I’m pretty sure that none of it was actually rated “x” (yeah, I’m that old) but it was graphic enough for my 10 year old eyes to still be burned into my brain. Then there was the family I babysat for who had a small collection of films (I use the term very loosely.)
After each viewing, I would feel worse than awful. It wasn’t just guilt that I felt. Guilt can be very powerful, yes, but what I was viewing was wrong on a very base level. My spirit knew that without any exterior provocation.
I have a very distinct spirit/body relationship. They are both extremely present, and extremely opinionated. This leads to some serious indicisiveness. Some things simply “feel” good, really good to my body- and vice versa. It can be difficult, when my body is feeling amazing, to listen to my spirit that is screaming “get out.” It takes some loud screams to get my body to listen.
My body has a different way of responding to my spiritual pleasures. It gets bored. So it is easy to want to gratify my body, because that is when my body feels very much alive, and excited. The spirit is on a different plane. A quieter, less vibrant plane. More of a low hum than a wild oscillation. When you get dependent on the wild, it is difficult to even want to take part in a hum.
I’ve been pretty successful in avoiding p*ornographic images. The ugly darkness of depression that continually nips at my heels is enough. I don’t need to add any more ugly darkness to that. I have plenty of images to crowd my thinking in the middle of the night- or better yet, in sacred moments- to want to add any more. It isn’t easy to rid my mind of them. Leaves me exhausted.
Which is why I am aghast that anyone would actually CHOOSE to look. The thought leaves me extremely disheartened. It dulls the senses, the spirits, the optimism and goodness in the world. It destroys character, it takes beautiful and sacred rites and trashes them and makes them common and ugly. I don’t care what lies have been whispered to your heart about it- it is wrong, and ugly, and debasing.
When Husband leaves the country, he usually doesn’t take his laptop with him. He also has it set up to erase the history every day. But I know. And I live with it.
However, I gave him a little present while he was gone the last time. A filter. But I also gave him the password. I know it won’t stop him, but it just *might* make him pause for a moment.
The password is: godlovesme