Reflecting on Dr. King

     One of my earliest memories is sitting on the steps going up to the attic of our house, I was looking down on the landing below as my mother frantically ran between the phone, and the radio, and the TV shouting, “They shot Dr. King! They shot Dr. King!”  Even at 5 years old I knew who they were.  And I knew we were at war.

     When I was a young man, Dr King didn’t have a lot of juice in my circles.  This was the early 80s and everyone was wearing X caps.  That is, if you dug baseball caps which I didn’t, but the idea was Malcolm X was way more popular than Dr. King.  I had spent some time in a revolutionary organization started by Kwame Ture, who used to be called Stokely Carmichael.  He had argued the desirability of non-violence with Dr King in the 60s.  I was personally with Brother Ture on several occasions and felt it was a great blessing to be with one who had worked with and had the courage to disagree with Dr King.

                  Dr. King and Kwame Ture (aka Stokely Carmichael) during a Freedom March

     As I got older, I started to appreciate Dr. King more.  His straight up courage, creativity and discipleship impressed me.  I now see him as an example of faith in action; a demonstration of how to attune to a high level of consciousness and to transform society from that elevation.  Albert Einstein said, “Our current problems cannot be solved at the same level of consciousness at which they were created.”   Dr. King created solutions to some of the most intractable problems we have, inspired by a high level of consciousness.

     There is a famous photo of Dr. King taken inside his Southern Christian Leadership Conference office in 1966.  In the photo, Dr. King is standing in front of a photo of Mahatma Gandhi.  Think about it, for a Black Christian pastor in the U.S. South to have a photo of a Hindu holy man in a place of prominence in his office is a miracle of sorts, albeit of a lesser order than desegregating the Birmingham public transportation.  One can read a lot into that photo and I choose to focus on its ecumenical flavor.  It says to me that Truth can be found in many faiths traditions and I honor Dr. King for being courageous enough to not only learn from Mahatma Gandhi but to acknowledge he was affected by the great Indian spiritual leader.

                       Dr. King in his Southern Christian Leadership Conference office

     This is especially relevant to my life because I’ve spent the last two decades studying meditation and yoga with an Indian spiritual teacher.  As a Black American man I’ve definitely been in a minority on this quest.  As a child, I was introduced to my neighborhood Episcopal church under my mother’s tutelage.  One of my first victories in the quest for independence was convincing my mother to let me out of their Sunday school program I hated.  Apparently, she wasn’t very committed to the church either because she and my sisters also left not too long after I did and never found another.  My father didn’t do church.  

     Although, years after my church defection, as a young man, I read Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramahansa Yogananda and decided this was the life for me.  Several years later I met a meditation teacher, Mata Amritanandamayi, I remain with to this day.  I mention this because my meditation practice created another connection to Dr. King.  In 2003, I took my family on a pilgrimage to India for a meditation festival.  We read in the program guide that Dr. King’s daughter, Yolanda, would be giving a talk.  We knew that Yolanda King had met our teacher in the U.S. so this wasn’t a big surprise.  

    Yolanda King placing a garland around humanitarian and spiritual leader, Mata Amritanandamayi

    However, my wife and I were surprised one afternoon when we left the meditation festival to get our shopping on in the local business district and ironically on Gandhi Boulevard, we spotted Yolanda King walking with an African-American female friend.  They were by themselves.  Now catch this, here we are four African-Americans together on the other side of the world, all there for the same event, and my wife and I certified groupies.  We’ve created opportunities to talk with KRS-1, Angie Stone, Lenny Kravitz, and other minor stars.  We are not shy and do not shrink around Stardom.   

     Yet, there was something so different about Dr. King’s daughter that neither of us approached her.  We just watched in awe as she looked over some Indian clothing on the boulevard and we hold that memory in our heart as more evidence of the family’s ecumenical spirit.  Given that Ms. King died at a relatively age a few years after this encounter, it reinforced for us that you have to grab life when you have the chance because you may not get another opportunity.

     As an advocate for social justice, I love that famous line from Dr. King’s 1963 Letter from a Birmingham Jail.  For the young folks who missed this in history class, Dr. King was in Birmingham, Alabama leading protests against government and retail segregation he was arrested one of the 30 times during his 39 years visiting Earth.  While incarcerated he wrote an open letter to some white clergy who had been suggesting he chill with the rabble rousing. One sentence frequently lifted out of that letter states, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”

     I want to remind you, however, of the less talked about corollary to that law: 

     Justice anywhere is a threat to injustice everywhere.  

    Injustice may have seemed starker in Dr. King’s day.  Evil appeared more exposed.  Now issues of social justice seem to have proliferated like the 600 stations on cable TV as opposed to the three channels in the 60s. Today, it may be easier to get paralyzed by the choices of where to confront injustice.  Do you get involved with the Occupy Movement, fight school inequalities, support refugee networks, promote antiwar activities, join the movement to end sex trafficking?  It can be overwhelming.  A simple approach to the problem of injustice that everyone can take on starts close to home; in your relationships, at work and in the home.

     For years, I’ve organized groups that help fathers explore and understand their family relationships.  These programs have caused me to look at the issue of interpersonal patriarchy and the right use of power with my wife and children.  Dr. King’s legacy will be forever intertwined with all the other movements for social justice that grew out of the Civil Rights movement.  Social justice struggles for women, immigrants, gays, even on behalf of children.  When Dr. King was writing his letter from the Birmingham jail, it was unlikely that a man would be arrested for what we would commonly call wife or child abuse today.  

     As a society, we’ve learned to live in greater intimacy and harmony not only across diverse communities, but also in our homes.  One of the keys to Dr. King work was the practice of forgiveness.  One can’t imagine Dr. King employing the strategy of non-violent civil disobedience if he didn’t have a strong belief in forgiveness.  As a Christian pastor he came by it honestly.  In the Book of Matthew, Jesus instructs his followers, not to forgive seven times, but 77 times.  Dr King echoed that idea two millenia later when he said, “Forgiveness is not an occasional act, it’s a permanent attitude.”  

     My dictionary defines forgive as, to grant pardon; and pardon, to release from penalty for an offense.  You see how potentially problematic and powerful this notion of forgiveness is.  The rational part of our mind rebels, thinking, if we don’t punish the evil doers they will never learn.  However, as Christ and Dr. King taught, forgiveness is a powerful strategy for transforming others and ourselves.  We may not be strong enough to forgive those who thwart our human and civil rights.  But what about those closest to us, who we profess to love?

     If I didn’t mention this my wife, son or daughter would probably tell you that I haven’t mastered the forgiveness attitude.  I live with two late adolescents, i.e., young adults and their teenaged years were the most frustrating years of my life and we’re still working it out.  But, if we can’t learn to forgive the penalties of even a loved one in our family, how will we manage to forgive all the other less related people doing stupid things out there? Forgiveness comes easier when dealing with a loved one.  And it's still hard.

     As of this past Sunday, I’ve been married for 23 years and that has not always been a walk in the park either.  But as difficult as my wife and children can be to live with, the person I have to work most on forgiving is me.  I still make a lot of mistakes and it can be painful for me to look back at all the major blunders I’ve made over the decades.  With myself and others, I have clearly experienced that forgiveness; releasing myself and others from the penalties of the offense is liberating, literally it’s freeing for the person who does the forgiving, as well as the person who is forgiven.  It gives a relationship space to start fresh and new, in a healthier place. 

     I’d like to thank Dr. King for echoing this truth around the planet in my youth.  

 This blog is based on a talk I gave at Dr. King's 2012 Birthday Celebration in Arlington, MA.

I Got Invited to the White House!

     So, I was invited to the White House.  Yes, I know, to quote the vice president from another context, “it’s a big fucking deal.”  I am grateful to my colleague in the Responsible Fatherhood community who arranged for me to be on the guest list for the Champions of Change event.  I am also grateful that the current Head of State does not embarrass me so much that I would refuse the invitation.  Those who knew me in my youth are probably surprised that I would ever be invited to the White House.  As a young man I was radical enough to advocate the overthrow of the United States government.  I wasn’t thoughtful enough to visualize clearly what would take its place, but as I looked at the legacy of injustice to Native Americans and African Americans, the people I most closely identify with, I had little patience for the hypocrisy of the country that declared itself the home of the free.

     After a short stint as a political revolutionary, I tired of the contradictions in radical circles as well, i.e., revolutionaries not treating other revolutionaries with kindness and respect, radicals not living up to our own ideals about equality in relationships and progressive leaders abusing power through their own human weaknesses.  I began devoting myself more to personal development through yoga, self-reflection and relationship building.  But I never forgot the legacy of genocide, slavery and Jim Crow that provided the foundation for the success of the United States.  And even as the country evolved through the Civil Rights and other movements for social justice and I personally evolved through my self-improvement studies, I still maintained a bit of a chip on my shoulder regarding America’s troubled past and present.

     That chip did dissolve to some extent when Barack Obama was elected the first African-American President of the United States.  In fact, I visited DC more than half a dozen times before his election, but the first time I went to see the home of the nation’s chief executive was in 2009.  I was in the city for a meditation retreat with my 16 year old daughter and we made the pilgrimage to stand outside the wrought iron fence with the other tourists getting high off the power flowing from the mansion.  The fact the nation’s first Black president was in residence took some of the sting out of viewing the executive mansion.  However, I was not ignorant to the realities of politics and governance.  I greatly preferred Obama to McCain, but I knew that all politicians at that level are beholden to corporate interests not fully aligned with my own value system, to put it mildly.

     When I was invited this month to visit the White House for a briefing on the Responsible Fatherhood movement, an old friend who has spent the last two decades as a federal bureaucrat graciously agreed to host me the night before.  His perspective helped to open my eyes to the vastness of the federal government.  Seeing it so closely, I am left even more stymied for a vision of what to replace this system of governance with if I miraculously had the opportunity.  Three decades ago, I abandoned radical politics to work on myself and that still seems like the best solution to societal malfunction.  Continuing to work on the relationships I maintain with my wife, children, colleagues and most of all, with my higher self still strikes me as the best way to improve the world. 

     We all have an inner compass that guides us and lets us know when we are out of integrity.  We all ignore that guidance at times, but politicians as a group are held in low regard because they become expert at ignoring that voice.  Politics is the art of compromise and requires bending one's values to make progress. Habitually bending one's values may distort the inner compass. To me, it's still amazing that 150 years ago the man who was 43^rd President of the U.S. could have literally owned the man who is the 44^th President, raped his wife with impunity and sold his children to a pedophile with legally binding contracts.  The occupants of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue regularly signed off on such madness.  Don't even get me started on their interactions with the native people of this continent.  

     But, we have come a long way.  It was awe inspiring to walk the corridors where so many momentous decisions were made and powerful leaders strode.  I am grateful for the opportunity to walk on that stage.  President Obama operates from a position that is in greater alignment with my own values than many of our national leaders and his presence in that mansion truly inspires me.  Yet I realize he is a figurehead for a massive organization with competing interests.  In every great social advance, politicians have followed people of conscience.  By studying and modeling the champions of change who developed the inner vision, fortitude and persistence to live a life of integrity and goodwill, by transcending our own pettiness and insecurities, by truly being the change we wish to see, the planet will continue evolving toward relationships based on love, harmony and success.  And politicians will follow.

Thinking About Sex

I think about sex a lot. 

I’m 49 years old, and I’ve spent much of the past four decades years thinking about sex.  I’ve also spent too much time in Men’s Circles to think it’s just me.  I accept a biological basis to these thoughts: I’m hardwired to think about procreation. I love my family, I love nature, I love to write.  But thoughts of these and other joys don’t catapult into my mind with the frequency and intensity of sexual thoughts.  Sexual thoughts are a category all their own. 

Our lives are shaped, however, not so much by what happens to us, but by how we respond.  My sexual thoughts haven’t diminished much since I was a young man, but what I do with them has changed.  In the past, it was common for me to use my imagination to undress and sex women throughout the day. At school, work, on public transportation, in the street, all I needed was to see a pretty hairdo, face, breast, stomach, ass, leg, foot, and the sexual visualization was on. 

            If the woman was especially fine, I might take the memory home and work with it when I had more time and privacy.  In my mind, I’ve sexed more women than Wilt Chamberlain did in real life.

Sexual thoughts still arise spontaneously in my mind, but I treat them differently now.  It’s been a long time since I mentally undressed a woman on the train and imagined full-out intercourse with her.  It just isn’t as much fun as it used to be.  Blame it on maturity, marriage, being a father, a spiritual aspirant, or some combination, but I no longer compartmentalize my sexuality outside of other aspects of my life. I don’t treat the attraction in the same way, but as the old saying goes, I’m not dead.  I do feel it.

So what do I do when I’m on the train, or at work, and I feel that familiar pull toward a pretty face, breast, or buttock?  The first thing I do is breathe.  That sends a signal to my brain.  The sharp intake of breath is similar to, but different from, the instinctive “Oh shit!” in the old days.  You know the one.  You see a beautiful woman and your brain immediately stops and says, “Oh shit!”  At least, that was the phrase imprinted on my mind.  Depending on the time and place of your socialization, the phrase might be “Good golly!” or even “Jesus!” but it all means the same thing.  I want to fuck her.

Through years of training, I’ve reprogrammed myself to take a deep breath when I see a sexy woman.  That breath sends an important message to my brain.  It short-circuits the adrenaline rush that is pushing my reptilian brain to fight, flight, or freeze.  I need this space because after 30 years of self-reflection, 20 years of monogamy, and 10 years of men’s groups, my knee-jerk reaction to a beautiful woman is still to try and sex her.  To engage in one of the oldest fights there is: the sexual conquest. 

The breath allows my brain and my body to slow down.  It reminds me I am okay just as I am.  I don’t have to do anything.  The sexual thoughts can be very powerful.  Every day men throw relationships, careers, and happiness overboard because they followed that “Oh shit!” down a slippery slope. This initial breath gives my heart and mind time to catch up with my groin.  It doesn’t diminish my pleasure in observing a beautiful woman. Au contraire!  It actually increases my pleasure because the rush of sexual energy is circulated throughout my entire body.

Eastern systems of healing, like yoga and tai chi, describe energy centers in the body. According to these models, concentrated centers of vitality located along the spine control health and disease.  When I am in a state of sexual excitement, my awareness is focused on the lower energy centers along my spine, near my groin and belly button. If, feeling this sexual agitation, I decide to pause and consciously breathe, I can literally feel my awareness lift to the higher energy centers in my heart, throat, and head.  For folks committed to exploring only the physical aspects of sex this may be hard to believe, but I actually feel a high—similar to my old drug experiences—when my awareness rises in this manner.

Nowadays, I find pleasure in working to deliberately elevate my sexual thoughts.  Trying to repress sex thoughts can be counterproductive. It’s like pushing down on a balloon. It seems like you’re successful until you discover the balloon bulging out in another area. Pausing to take a conscious breath when I feel sexually excited doesn’t repress or deny the thought. It actually revels in and expands the thought to include something greater than just the sum of a woman’s sexy parts. It encourages connection with her spirit as well as her flesh. 

I don’t pretend this is easy. If the attraction is intense it can take two or three or many more breaths to shift my awareness.  Eventually, though, I am able to enjoy an awareness of the source that animates the sexy body part as well as the natural curve of the breast or butt or thigh.  I’ve found this is an excellent way to harness, with integrity, the sexual thoughts that constantly bombard my brain so when I gaze at a beautiful woman, the intense desire for sex can more quickly be transformed into the satisfaction of simply being. 

Walking on Fire

“When you move beyond your fear, you feel free."
 Who Moved Moved My Cheese?
 Spencer Johnson, MD

     The bed of coals burned a vibrant red-orange life in front of me.  A short wall of flames, ten inches high, licked the air lining the edges of the bed.  Escaping heat warmed the cool autumn air.  Thirty seekers of truth or thrills encircled the controlled inferno.  Our intention was to walk over the bed of burning coals, six feet across.  The temperature of the fire, we were told, was approximately 1200 degrees Fahrenheit.           

     Fear held me back.  I had decided weeks ago that I would take these steps.  After all, it was only six feet between me and my destiny as a firewalker.  I knew it was possible.  I talked to people who had done it.  I had seen pictures.  I believed walking over the fire without being burned would help me conquer fears in other areas of my life.  I knew it wouldn’t kill me.  But I was afraid of burning my feet.

     The first person stepped bravely across the coals surrounded by applause and cheers.  The part of me that wanted to go first was disappointed.  Seeing the sizzling flakes of red-hot coal sticking to his feet didn’t improve my state of mind either.  The second and third person walked without visible anguish. 

     Finally I was ready.  I ratcheted up my courage, took a breath, a step and confronted my fear.  My first contact with the coals was liberating.  One small step for man, one giant leap for my mind.  I was walking across a bed of hot coals!  I knew if I breathed and stayed focused I would not be burned.  Each step was fully conscious.  My body felt like a lightning rod hit with a burst of electricity.  Tremendous energy circulated through me, yet I was safely grounded in the earth.  I reached the other side of the burning coals safe!  It felt so good that I turned around and did it again.

     The Firewalk Seminar began two and a half hours earlier when Dan Brule, the seminar leader, came out of his house a few minutes past 7 pm and called us together.  Dan’s one of the original therapists from the American breathwork revival of the 1970s.  He’s been teaching spiritual breathing techniques for 20 years and firewalking almost as long.  The group made a circle around an unlit pyre six feet high and introduced ourselves by stating our name and intent in coming to the firewalk.

     People spoke of how crossing the fire would help them overcome fear in other areas of their life.  A joker said, “Firewalk? I’m here for the smores.”  One young man said he wanted to add substance to his life.  I said my intent was to “experience a miracle and write an article about it.”  Then, focusing on our intent, each of us lit one of the thirty wicks, twirled pieces of newspaper, inching out of the pyre. The human circle widened as we stepped back to avoid the roaring blaze.

     A discussion of walking over hot coals began.  Dan told us many cultures around the world engage in the practice and said the number one rule was to remember to breathe.  He described several theories about why people are able to walk over fire.  There’s the sweaty feet theory, that the moisture on the bottom of the feet prevents burns.  The low conductivity theory, the idea that wood is a poor conductor of heat so walking over wood coals doesn’t burn a person.  This theory was dispelled when people at the Firewalk Institute for Research and Education (FIRE) placed metal grills over the coals and walked on them, leaving footprints in the malleable metal. 

     Dan was obviously disdainful of these incomplete theories.  He believes most scientists disregard the element of consciousness when studying firewalkers.  Consciously using the breath to relax turns fear into excitement and positive energy.  He said achieving the appropriate psycho-physiological state allows an individual to surpass many previous expectations including being able to walk on fire. 

     On a recent firewalk Dan led, several people burned their feet.  He attributed this to their state of mind as they crossed the fire.  He claimed that even folks who were burned received valuable lessons from the experience.  One woman was burned so badly the blisters kept her off her feet and out of work for two weeks.  But, during those two weeks she had the time to reflect and decided to pursue a long desired move to another part of the country.  Possibly, one where firewalks aren’t so common.

     I felt a morbid satisfaction at the fact that people had been burned in previous walks.  If no one ever got burned it would seem less heroic to get across unscathed.  I marveled at the fact that no releases indemnifying Dan were signed in preparation for the walk.  In our litigious society, all it would take is one person to think, “Damn, I like this yard . . .” and linger on the coals a bit too long. 

     Four others in attendance had done firewalks before and were asked to talk about their experiences.   Louise completed multiple walks safely, but picking up Dan’s thread said the walk when she burned her feet “was the most powerful experience” of her life.  She had the realization that the fire wasn’t burning her.  She was burning her.  At that moment, she jettisoned a large chunk of victim mentality.

     In order not to be burned, she suggested we surrender and become one with the fire.  Her belief that all life is made from the same basic elements and fire is simply energy vibrating at a higher frequency than flesh has kept her safe walking over 1200 degree coals on several other occasions.  Dan added we could consciously vibrate our bodies at a higher frequency by using our breath to match the vibration of the fire. 

     At this point the sharing was momentarily interrupted as emergency vehicle sirens blared in the vicinity.  The fire had grown at a good clip and was periodically throwing off majestic clusters of sparks in the hundreds that floated 10 to 20 feet high.  I thought the fire department was going to interrupt our walk.  Dan looked uncomfortable.  Then, as if to prepare us, asked aloud, “I wonder if they’re coming for us again?”    

     He explained, “Sometimes the neighbors call when the see the fire through the trees and think someone has set a fire in the woods.  Last time the fire department couldn’t find us and had to come through the woods.”  Fortunately, the sirens moved out of our vicinity in about a minute.  However, the frightened part of me regretted that the fire department hadn’t  ended the walk. 

    We were invited to share our fears about walking over the fire. Obviously the fear of getting burned was high on most people’s list.  One man wanted to know where the nearest hospital was.  A woman questioned what was the procedure if we did get burned.  Dan suggested treating the wound with the opposite of fire: cold water.

     I was concerned about the conflict between seriousness and silliness.  On one level, firewalking is a dramatic self-improvement technique; in another way, it seems an egotistic waste of time and money.  I wondered, “How is this going to help me with my problems?”  Unless you’re a firefighter, the experience doesn’t seem to have a lot of practical value.  A middle-aged man captured the mood when he said, “You gotta be fucking nuts to do this.” 

     Need I mention that my friend who accompanied me to take pictures and I were the only Black people in attendance?  Not that Black people don't do crazy shit, but it's usually not so deliberate.

     Being burned was a horrible thought, but there was also fear of emotional pain from not walking.  The potential embarrassment of coming this far and chickening out was real to me.  Although Dan said several times that it was a valid choice not to walk the coals, there was a tacit agreement among the group that we had come to firewalk.  I think all but two of us did.  I felt like I would be a coward if I didn’t do it, but I was very aware of the razor thin line between bravery and stupidity.

     Many of us feared the emotional fall-out from walking and being burned.  Dan told us the teenaged son of the woman who was out of work for two weeks after the last walk humbled her by asking, “Jeez, mom, what did you expect?” 

     Finally, as darkness engulfed the sky and the nearly full moon could be glimpsed through the trees participants were encouraged to complete the sentence, “I am going to walk because . . .” 

     Rejoinders included: to prove it to myself; because it’s possible; to be a catalyst for moving forward in other areas; to prove I am worthy of the experience; because I’m scared to death; to understand that level of consciousness, to show other people what is possible; because I am greater than it (whoa, I felt sorry for that guy’s feet).

     All too soon, Dan broke down the raging shoulder high fire with a shovel.  He spread the glowing coals over the ground, about an inch or two deep and six-feet across.  The scared part of me thought, “Hey this is too soon.  Can’t we talk some more?”

     A man brought out a large drum to keep the rhythm and a woman started chanting songs in praise of the fire.  Most of us clapped, swayed and sang to release more energy and speed up our vibrations.  A few danced a joyous circle around the perimeter of the coals.

     My friend who came to take pictures stood on the other side of the circle with camera poised.  A thought arose to give her an indication that I was about to walk, but I decided it was unimportant.  I was full of a more serious thought.  I was communing with the fire.  My consciousness had merged, to some degree, with the flames. 

     Looking at pictures taken during the evening I was pleased to have photographic documentation of myself going into a trance.  Make no mistake; this was a self-induced state of altered consciousness capable of producing miracles.  Later, telling the story to others, my friend who took pictures aptly reported that I was “in the zone.”

      I was disappointed that coals were spread only six feet across.  It seemed too easy.  I’ve seen photos and read stories of people walking on coals up to 20 or more feet across.  I’m told the record firewalk is 320 feet.  Although I felt great fear before walking over six-feet of flames, I had to prove to myself that I could handle a greater challenge.  So as soon as I hit one end of the coals, I immediately turned around and walked back across the fire to where I started in the circle.

     My feet felt the heat as I passed.  I even felt the chips of burning wood sticking to the bottom of my feet like the tip of a match that gets stuck to your finger.  It felt delicious to reach the end of the coals and step into the dew moistened grass.  Examining my feet after the firewalk I saw no indication of blisters or burns.

     Rare are the states I’ve enjoyed that matched the satisfaction and pleasure I derived from walking over the coals.  Various experiences with saints, skydiving and sex (not at the same time) are analogous, but firewalking was different.  This was simply me and one of the elements in deep communion.  It was definitely a peak experience. 

     Once I walked over the fire, I felt relief and excitement.  It was easier than I thought.  I realized most activities that help us grow are scary when we start, but taking action is seldom as painful as the failure of frightened resistance.  I feel a good amount of personal power – juice, as we say in the hood – from walking over the coals. 

     Sometimes I look at the photos and marvel that I had the courage to walk on burning hot coals.  Then whatever challenge I’m facing, whatever fear I’m confronting, I think, “I walked over fire.  I can handle this.”

Sacred Sex versus Corporate Sex

As I look back over my blog entries, I am happy to remember that I’ve blogged on topics not directly related to sex.  I only post once a month and the last few months I’ve felt called to write about some aspect of sex although that is not all I want this blog to be about.  Still, there are a lot of immature ideas about sex circulating in society, especially on the internet, so once I got started on the topic issues to address just seemed to keep growing.  I’m okay with that, however, because my posts on sex are never just about sex, they’re about evolution and enlightenment.  So in that spirit, I want to share some ideas that have been generated by recent activity.

If you look at my last post, you’ll still I was invited to speak at BU’s School of Public Health about my experience using porn then not only renouncing it, but also taking a public stance advocating others do the same.  The occasion of the BU talk was the screening of a documentary film to Public Health students about the dangers of porn consumption.  After the event, I posted on Facebook how I was satisfied with my talk and several men mentioned they wished they had attended.  So I decided to do a screening of the film in the men’s group I attend in Dorchester so all my brothers could see the documentary and we could have a serious discussion with mature men about how porn influences our lives.  Well, none of the three men who expressed interest on FB showed up, but nine guys including myself did and we had a great conversation.

Most of us, however, myself included, felt the film did not do justice to the complexity and diversity of porn (think of Reefer Madness for pornography) and also offered no alternative perspective for what to do rather than consuming porn.   

The film was not without its good points, in fact, watching it again helped me frame the juxtaposition that I will present to you as a motivation for this article.  First, we have to realize that (for the most part) those who create pornography do not have their consumer’s (much less performer’s) best interest at heart.  This is stone cold capitalism, designed to extract the highest profit margin for the lowest investment.  History has shown that a “free market” with no public oversight leads to human slavery, hence, the patchwork of regulations preventing conscienceless corporations and their masters from totally exploiting the Earth and enslaving her inhabitants.

I am in favor of wealth creation, but so much of what goes on in the porn industry is devoid of integrity and ethics that the products cannot help but be toxic.  So when we leave these folks in charge of the sexual education of a population, which is the de facto position that the porn industry occupies, we end up with a huge variety of sexual and relationship malfunctions.  Watching this anti-porn documentary, The Price of Pleasure, with a group of conscious brothers, I realized there was a major piece of the puzzle missing.  The film railed against the violent, misogynistic worldview perpetuated by most porn, but it offered no alternative.  So I would like to provide an alternative perspective. 

Porn can be thought of as Corporate Sex, it’s created with the simple idea of hooking as many consumers (mostly men) into watching as much as possible.  Much, if not most of the product, is degrading to women and men and certainly does not show the great potential of sex to awaken the higher virtues in humanity.  So if porn is Corporate Sex, the alternative is Sacred Sex.  Sacred Sex can be intuitively understood as that which leads to genuine intimacy between partners and greater connection to the higher, more divine, more evolved part of our being.  My wife, Radiant Jasmin, and I have been incorporating elements of Sacred Sexual practice into our lives since we first found love together in 1987. 

In 2009, we gave a talk at the Tantric Indian Bistro in Boston that laid down some fundamental tenets of this practice (her mic didn’t work which is why none of her comments are included).  So in this first video I’ve ever posted on the internet, I invite you to see why I say I’ve used porn and I’ve used Tantra.  Tantra is like Ambrosia.  Porn is like dog shit.  You decide.

http://youtu.be/0JAPVTuyWQg