Fucking The New Year

There’s this author/lecturer/guru named David Deida, whose whole shtick is developing the “superior man.”  I only read about half of his most his most famous, “The Way of the Spiritual Man”, but something he said lingered with me.  He said on the spiritual path we have one of two choices about how to approach the world.  One, we devote ourselves solely to personal spiritual practice, renouncing or eschewing worldly satisfactions; this is the way of the monk or nun or renunciant.  The second actively opts into the physical world.  And if you are going to opt in, Deida says you might as well be in rapturous love with it.  If you take this latter path, you should, he says, proverbially fuck the world’s brains out.

This first proposition makes sense.  I’ve thought every now and again about being some sort of renunciant.  Every worldly thing I’ve desired has invariably let me down to a greater or lesser extent.  No amount of money has been enough, no women beautiful enough, no amount of attention great enough.  Likewise, I see that the disappointment is born from a spiritual lacking; it has nothing to do with the money, woman or praise.  It’s me, so why not focus solely on me?  Why not take care of this fixation on the material world once and for all?

The second proposition is a bit dicier.  I agree with him that if you are going to choose to live in the material world—the world of creating stuff, of trade, of flesh—why not really enjoy it?  Why not play the game to its furthest extent?  Why not make it like one orgasmic delight?

I guess the dicey part is a sort of ambivalence to adopt either way in a committed fashion.  Part of me wants to be the renunciant, ascetic, above-the-fray meditator.  The other part of me wants to be the hero-conqueror-lover.  And more often than not, I find these ambitions at odd with one another.  The meditator finds the conquests distracting and misguided; the conqueror’s conquests are undermined by the meditator’s indifference to the importance of the conqueror’s conquests—“Why bother,” asks the meditator.

Last night I hooked up with this girl.  She’s very nice and cute and the sex (both times) was pretty good and hot.  It was a nice experience.  But was did it change anything in the long run?  Am I wiser being for having done it?  Or is this even a relevant question in light of Deida’s theory of fucking life?  If I were to take the latter tack might the only important question be whether I was really fucking this girl good?  Was I fully engaged, fully present, in the act?

I suppose the bigger question is how far one can go in this dalliance with the world?  In other words, if fucking is your modus operandi—whether fucking a sexual partner, a profession, a piece of art—isn’t there always a termination point?  Is there always a climax, then a let down?  Might the real hardcore sex be transcending the climax, relinquishing any linear behavior like sex that has a beginning, middle and end?

The ultimate in linearity is our lives.  Most of us see our lives as being born, living and then dying.  The Buddhists and Hindus, on the other hand, see this as a cycle, where death ushers in our next birth.  And the enlightened one tries to get out of this zero sum game.  Question is:  if you, like me, would just assume be out of the game too, is wasting your time fucking around the way to do it?  I’m not sure, but somehow the research seems appealing.

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