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What If Sex Really Controlled Your Life?
I think Carl Jung wasn’t entirely wrong.
Have you ever stopped to think, like really think, about what’s actually pulling the strings in your life?
That force whispering in your ear during the dumbest and most crucial decisions, like an invisible puppeteer commanding every step, every desire, every impulse you swear is your own?
I’m not talking about angels or demons, but something much more down-to-earth, much more… carnal. Something that lives inside you, in a dark corner of your mind you’d rather not visit too often.
This force, my dears, has a first and last name: sex. And no, don’t get all prudish on me or start talking about the physical act itself, the fleeting pleasure, or even the desire that makes us drool. I’m talking about sex as a symbol, as a psychic impulse, as the silent engine behind almost everything we do, even if we swear up and down it’s not.
Stop for a second and think: why do you dress a certain way?
Why do you choose your words so carefully when talking to certain people? Why do you work your ass off to be admired, validated, accepted?
