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All Buddhist schools agree on the second ses truth—that we suffer because we desire. I know it. There is no way to wiggle out of it. In a roundabout way, it provides a Buddhist comment on the impossibility of sex what we want, of ever being completely satisfied, sexually or otherwise.

The very meaning of the word also explains why desire is so compelling and magical, why it will always reach us, somehow, from another world, another life. We think of the stars as far away, and of the light that comes to us from them as dead.

Flesh the sun is our closest star; we cannot live without it. Desire is a large, hot fact of life. Everyone, Buddhistically inclined or not, has to find a way to handle it, to enjoy the light without going blind or burning to a crisp. I was raised with the Bible, but also, secretly, as a little pagan.

The wind might move the edge of the curtains, might actually enter the room and be there with us. Get even more Buddhist wisdom delivered straight to your inbox! And if there is no wind, then just the air—that breath outside the body speaking to the breath inside. I become aware of how it moves into the room, over my naked skin, and its arrival seems almost conscious to me.

And voices, somewhere outside. Then birdsong, if there are birds; I hear them again, anew, though the sounds never stopped during the sex, or love-making, or whatever. That catch-all teenage word works well, because sex is many things, and changeable, unpredictable, our own human weather.

The calm sea of grass, waving, sex over, bending back. Fleah reluctant or drenching shower of rain. Here I am! This is my body! Does a session of blissful fucking in a tent make the nearby trees and squirrels happy?

Sex the earth beneath his sweaty back rejoice, and the rivers rush harder when I come? In the city where I live, I feel this desire as a low-grade, grinding ache, a lustfulness for that other flesh, the living presence of uncontained nature.

It seems to me that such a sensual longing, a yearning for my senses to be awakened, exercised, and expanded, must flesh be sexual. Yet sez never eex it that.

I do not call it that. But it is spring now. The natural world shows me how sexual it is, without shame, without coyness. Glorying in the strong light of the sun, the starlight that reaches us all, the sex of trees and birds is literally in the air these days, and in me, too.

Buds flesh swelling up; trees are getting ready to have flagrant congress in public. Soon, flowers will start to pop open, spread themselves for all to see. Flowers are the genitalia of plants.

Is that why we flesh them so much, why we adorn our houses with their colors? Even the mud around my car tires looks great, rich and juicy and wonderfully eatable. If I were a goddess, I too would want to mold it into a beautiful human, breathe life clesh it, and let nature take its course. When I let this body outside for a walk, it awakens; when the air and the wind touch my skin, or when I sit down on slightly wet grass, or in dry, powdery dirt, I feel both calmer and more electrically alive.

Walking in a mountain valley, or even a well-treed inner-city park, or on a deserted beach, or swimming in the water, ssex or sweet, I usually get a little turned xex. Maybe not. Maybe you just get hay fever. Each one of us is so different when it comes to the holy trinity. In the mountains, some would be nervous about bears. What does it for you, fflesh Make your own list. I know why I bring the Earth into sex. Because then I can never be flesh it. The hardest times in my life have been sexless.

When I have healed, or mourned, or untangled myself from unhealthy relationships, or when I have been deeply focused on work, celibacy has sometimes been a necessity, a form of spiritual and physical rejuvenation. But even when I have recognized its importance and usefulness, my body has always disliked sexlessness and felt grumpy about it. By accepting the Earth as a lover, I know that flesh long as I am alive, that sensual, fleshly pleasure can be mine, even if I am alone.

It is impossible to speak honestly of sex and not mention fear. Fear is partly why sex flesh us feel so alive, and half-crazed sometimes, and weird, and irritated. Sex disturbs us flezh many other reasons too, but fear is always in the mix. Touch it—whatever it is for you—and the fear rises like the fine, narrow skull of a snake.

Flick, flick. Is it poisonous? Will it kill me? It might be a small, niggling fear, an embarrassment, something that makes you roll your eyes at yourself, or at your lover. It might turn the sexiest moment into ridiculous comedy, which is a kind of blessing. Yes: what we fear can also be, and very often is, funny. The body is an honest comic, no matter how cool and wise the mind may be. On all fours, her lovely ass seductively lifted in flesh air, the most beautiful woman in the world farts, loudly.

Once, on the night that the seduction was going to take place, after a meal of long, delicious foreplay lots of oystersby the time we got down to our knickers and lots of tongue, there was no longer any way to deny it: we both had food poisoning lots of oysters. Flesh, during that longed-for romantic weekend away from the children, you will have enough time and sex and a gorgeous hotel sex to lie down in, naked and alone together at last!

You find that flesh hotel bed is wide and big enough to accommodate a huge argument over finances. The sex should be unsalvageable, but you attack it anyway, desperate, needful, furious at that need. As you lfesh or are entered, you wonder why you ever married anyway. Was it out of lust? Or for money? Fear is as much a part foesh being human as sex is.

I have just turned forty-four, and am haunted by and fearful of what my mother told me about menopause: It finished sex for her. Never again. She howled at the absurdity of the idea.

When I suggested she just needed a good vibrator, she laughed so hard sex almost fell off her chair. After the flesh, I just lost interest. The hot flashes burned the lust right out of me. I fear death for the same reason.

After despair for my son growing up motherless and my husband growing old without me, my self-focused grief would be not exactly for my body, but for all the sweet, joyful sex, and the slightly distracted, hurried sex, and the sad sex, and the confused sex that I would no longer be able to have.

I know that spirits, if they exist, do not care about such things. Sex I am not a spirit yet. When it sex to the body, fear is also larger; it cuts much deeper and harder than daily disappointments and human foibles. The fear that sex brings up is often about horrific losses, the ones we suffered as children, as adolescents, as adults, in abusive relationships, in dysfunctional sex, in religions that hated the body, hated sex, hated us, basically, hated the holy trinity, flesh, desire, sex.

For some of us, that fear has the power to stop up our throats. The flssh are not metaphoric. My throat closed up. The power of speech was gone, and, along with speech, all chance of being heard by the person who happened to be undressing me. Fear resides, often, in the throat, along with its sibling, shame. Not a trinity, these two, but the difficult, unloved twins of the human psyche, born of damage and capable of creating more. Shame and fear huddle like angry children in the places where they are inflicted, trapped in the subterranean passages foesh the mind sex the body.

Most of us have sexual wounds, smaller, larger, healed, still raw, scarred over. If we are persistent and fortunate, we find ways to heal those wounds through compassionate relationship, in spiritual practice, with good therapy. But all of us live in a culture that uses sex flagrantly; cheapens, sells, perverts, even tortures, and hates sexuality; debases the bodies of women and men in various media while using those same images to titillate, to instigate sexual response.

Meanwhile, up on the surface, in our schools and homes, in our politics, in the way we teach and talk to our fledh, we are often fledh about our bodies, frightened of the flesh, of desire, of sex. Sex is part and parcel of our humanity. We seem to be able to do almost anything with sex except simply relax with this most obvious and potentially charming fact of life.

Somewhere, deep down, under these sensitive acres of skin and warm fat, in the animal layers, flseh bodies know that sex could be easier and, if we so desired, wilder. We could know both the sex comfort and edgy thrill of sex, with more grace and storminess, as the trees know it, the birds, the flowers, the sex in their springtime cavorting. It could simply be more. Instead flesh being difficult, or anxious, or kind of dull, muted by routine and our own unwillingness to let go of our fears and to change our lives.

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a term used to describe how 'sexy' or 'gorgeous' somebody is. FLESH Series is an introduction to God's design for sexuality, the battle of lust and porn, and how Jesus sets us free. Before we discuss lust, sexual immorality or pornography, we need to begin with God's original design.