I know that many of you (you know…many of the millions that read my blog. All…*counts on fingers* two of you. 😛 ) hold a different worldview than I do. Please understand that I am not writing this to sway you or condemn you. I am simply writing this to convey my own thoughts and share my own experience.
Earlier today, I read the article The Problem With Sexual Compatibility. I agree with this poster wholeheartedly, and now I have my own experience to understand the depth of why. Michael and I love each other very much. When he and I were dating (including throughout engagement), we did not have sex in any form. It was exceptionally difficult because I had never been in a relationship like that before. This built in both of us an immense amount of patience and self-control that would otherwise be lacking – qualities that are crucial to withstanding 50+ years. This also forced us to get to know each other very, VERY well. This is because if you can’t have sex, you HAVE to find SOMETHING else to do. So we spent a LOT of time really getting to know each other – not just each other’s bodies. We knew that we truly wanted to marry each other because (among other reasons) for the first time in our lives, sex wasn’t important. We asked ourselves, “What if – for whatever crazy reason – the day of our wedding, I realized that I could never have sex with this person? What if marrying this person means never having sex again? Would I still want to be with him (or her, in his case) for the rest of my life?” The answer was a definitive “Yes.” So if you’ve resolved that you’re ok with NO sex, then BAD sex is really no issue at all! As far as bad sex is concerned, part of being married is growing together and working together. If you can honestly communicate with and work with your partner, great sex inevitably follows. That isn’t to say that there may be some special situations where…training…is required, but rather, that the willingness to love and serve your partner would naturally render a desire to please…which may result in the aforementioned training.
Quite a while ago now, I had a dream. There isn’t anything unusual about that in and of itself – I have dreams every night and I almost always remember them – but this one shook me to my very core. I don’t know how many weeks it’s been now – perhaps even months – but the dream about Kaji still bothers me. Never has any dream haunted me for so long. I have a friend who has been gifted in the understanding of many mysteries, and he frequently is given the meanings and reasons for dreams. I often tell him my dreams because I tell them to everyone who will listen. Sometimes, he only listens. Sometimes, he says not to worry about it because it has no significant meaning. Sometimes, he inquires of the Lord and the Lord will answer him. He said that Kaji means something very important (which brings me to an even greater disturbance), but that he is not allowed to know what it is. This was the dream that I had:
I am an old Samurai, in my late seventies or early eighties. My name is Kaji. I have lived in quiet peace for many, many years now, happily running a tea shop with my loving wife and family. I walk with limp because I have an old burn wound on the very center of my left foot which still bothers me every time I step. Suddenly, my enemy comes into my shop, ready to kill me. I (the dreamer) do not know if he is a former student of mine, or who he is, but I recognize him immediately because of the strong rivalry between us and he is young (forties, as opposed to seventies). He caused my wound many years ago in a previous battle. He strides in confidently with his sword, but I have no weapon with which to defend, because I removed all of my weapons when I “retired.” All I have is a wooden staff, which he cuts up quickly. I try to evade him, but simultaneously, I need to keep him at bay to protect my family. He attacks me with these tiny daggers – only about two or three inches long in entirety – which work like boomerangs, whirling past me, then coming back toward the back of my head. These are easy to duck away from, but little do I know that my enemy is using them to study my movements. He hurls one toward me, which I move to evade, but my movement puts me in its path back to its owner and goes through my head. I fall to my knees, dying. During my last few moments, I BEG him to at the very least bring honor to my wound by acknowledging it. Instead, to dishonor my wound, he refuses to acknowledge it by skinning the bottom of my foot. This also brings great dishonor to my family. My wife enters the room, wailing. The dream ends with my fallen soul wailing in agony over my dishonored body and the shame of my family.
For those who may have struck an interest in me, but do not already know me: I am one of the many who have chosen to migrate from the sinking blog site Xanga. I didn’t originally intend on doing so, but found that I couldn’t simply let myself go down with the ship and still be healthy; I still needed a blogging outlet. So here I am to blog. Style is tertiary. My intent now is to continue to blog here as if I never stopped blogging, and as if I’ve been here since the beginning.