Surrender
There is an error for which men suffer when they approach a woman, when they approach sex, bringing with them so much effort, anxiety and strain. Their fucking is infused with stress, and we all suffer for it.
Their bias for action and obsession with speed work against them here, in the realm of touch and connection.
Their minds are gone.
They are senseless, blind to sensation.
Though their cocks be hard, their presence is weak. Their attention is divided until it becomes like dust. They have become lost.
They penetrate nothing.
Mindless, their bodies act in a frenzy upon a woman. They become like zombies. And the carelessness they pour upon her inspires my fury and tenderness.
I wish to slow them, to collect them, to gather them again into being and whole-ness.
This is my healing work.
There is a ceremony.
A man approaches and kneels. He asks to be relieved of his burden, and bows his head to rest at my feet. Willing, at last, to offer himself fully and without reservation to the present. To me.
He allows his clothes to be removed. He is laid on his back upon the altar, so that I have full access to his cock. I attend to him as I feel the Spirit move me. My intention is to bring him to a new depth of presence, of deepest satisfaction, to inspire his deepest relaxation and most complete release.
His orgasm is an offering. Men journey for this. The seekers.
They come to me as others to the grotto and spring of Lourdes. It is powerful. There are reports of miraculous cures and healings.
Their minds return, clear. They feel whole again. At peace.
They had forgotten how it felt. Now they remember.
This is an act of surrender.
What is given up?
His stress, the cares that weigh on him, the burden of his desire. Even, for a moment, his identity—there is no title or fortune behind which to hide now. He surrenders all up on the altar, surrenders his cock to my care, surrenders his cum and his concerns, his past and his future — so that he may release and be flooded with the pure love in this present moment.
It is the same Divine essence that resides within all of us, only now, the layers of clutter swept away and his attention gathered, it flows freely and fills him again.
The foolish ones, the careless ones, the arrogant and insecure ones, they return to their frenetic lives without pause. The forgetful ones quickly lose sight of what they’ve learnt on the altar.
No matter.
We are all, each, on our own path. And I am not called to save him, nor anyone — it is beyond my means to do so. I am only called to serve him. And by that, I mean to be of service to the Divine within him that longs to be remembered and released.
The choice to surrender is his.
Which means the only way he might be saved is if he chooses it himself.
