Sex, Love, & Death

A funny thing I've been noticing for a few years now; I see the number 420 almost every day. I thought maybe this is a sign from the universe. Is the universe telling me I should start smoking weed again? Because that's the first thing I think of when I see the number 420. I dismiss that theory, thinking it too simple and too frivolous. I look into 4+2=6, and 6 symbolizes balance and harmony. That's a lovely theme, but it isn't exactly an instruction. And for how often I was seeing this number I felt there must be a bigger sign here.
Well I decided to start smoking weed again. I did it a lot in college and I stopped when it started giving me anxiety, which was about when I started living with my partner, Dennis. I figured now that I'm not stressed out by his presence and I am being more mindful and aware, maybe I can utilize marijuana.

And maybe that's exactly what the universe wanted me to do. I started smoking with the intention of opening myself to divinity and awareness. I started having even more ego death experiences, intense every time. Sometimes it was painful and other times I was able to quickly move past the pain into a state of absolute peace. I was downloading and processing so much insight that I didn't know how to express it. I became very quiet, observing and learning and deconstructing and rebuilding.
I felt safe doing this because I recently became very close to an old friend. He's been there for me, checking on me as I have gone through my trials of grief. He's been exactly who I needed. I opened my heart to the love he has. We fell quickly and we fell hard. I could have easily let my trauma become a wall around me, to close me off from relationships like this. But I want love. I know pain comes with it. I know fear of loss and loss itself comes with it. But love is worth that pain. So I let him love me and I love him. No expectations. Only love.

I suppose here is where the theme of death and ghosts comes in.

My new boyfriend never met my late partner, but he was aware of him. When he stayed the night with me, he had dreams about Dennis, felt his presence. Other things happened too; unexplained noises, like the sound of a guitar strumming (Dennis was a great guitar player), and clattering sounds that were investigated and turned up nothing. Things were moving that shouldn't; like the hanging plant that suddenly bumped against the window. One day my boyfriend and I were in the kitchen and he told me he'd had a weird dream again. Something he said had me recounting the time Dennis broke a phone in half in a rage. My boyfriend said, "Wait, stop. I dreamt about that last night." He told me how he'd never dreamt in first-person point of view before, but that night he had. And he'd broken a phone in half and he was angry about something, but didn't know what. And someone beside him had been upset. He was describing the exact scene; the day I almost left Dennis for the first time.

This memory brought back a flood of emotions; intense feelings of guilt and failure. My boyfriend held me while I cried and it was a release I hadn't known I needed.

There hasn't been any more strange activity since then. Not that I noticed anyway.

I don't know how to segue back into talking about what weed is doing for me, but that's where I'm going next.

Skip these next three paragraphs if spiritual/transcendent sex is not something you want to read about.

I'm pretty shocked by how much weed facilitates my sensitivity to stimulation. The first time I realized this, my boyfriend was massaging my chest after we smoked. I had top surgery years ago, so I lost a lot of sensation in that area. But this time it felt incredible. It wasn't so much a topical sensation. It felt "under" the skin. And I felt so grateful to receive pleasure in a part of my body that I thought was numb forever that it led to an earth-shattering full-body climax.

I had a very intense high last night that led me to realize I've been practicing spiritual/transcendent sex without knowing that's what it was. This came up after I experienced an ego death so powerful that I was choked with anxiety. But I made it through and my energy flowed in the direction of a soul-deep orgasmic journey. It was a fantasy I played in my head, but wrapped in the theme of my personal ethos and inspired by my preferred spiritual practice. I felt self-conscious, but then I felt a divine permission to enjoy every bit of creation in a sacred way. Even non-sexual imagery like sunsets and the ocean were churning up pleasure.

And I remembered that there were a few times with my boyfriend that I employed these practices and it led to intense orgasms. I would imagine us as divine beings. Not really imagine; there is imagery involved but it's more a state of mind I think. I see our sex as sacred and part of the ongoing, never ending orgasm between the sacred polarities (god/masculinity/outward flow energy and goddess/femininity/inward flow energy). I accepted everything in my life as part of that orgasm. Everything had led to that moment. Every depressive episode and anxiety attack, all those moments of darkness and lows were part of the build up to this perfect pleasure. The pain is part of the sacred union and it was a very long journey, so we deserve this pleasure we're experiencing. And I see sex as creation magic; so us being divine beings in this scenario, our sex gives breath to every story ever told, making us Gods.

I woke up today feeling wonderful. That divine connection was still running in the background. But something changed when I sat down. Suddenly, all I could think of was my late partner. The "veil is thinner" they say about this time of year. Maybe he wanted to communicate with me. I closed my eyes and thought of him. First, it was good. I remembered my head on his shoulder, my fingertips in his beard, his hazel eyes, and how he had the cutest ears and nose. I remembered his laughter and making love to him. I remembered the good times that seemed so long ago.

The more I remembered, the more it hurt. I began recalling my own shortcomings. I felt extreme guilt and regret over everything I ever did without love. I remembered yelling at him for breaking so many things in anger. And I placed blame on myself for focusing on my own pain over his in that situation. I knew I was being too hard on myself. But he's not here. So I'm the only one left here to place blame on. He must have been in so much pain to do what he did. He must have been in unbearable pain to take his own life.
I became consumed with pain. I felt mine and I felt his. I felt his feelings of loss and abandonment and hopelessness. I understood why he took that exit. The pain was so great. I failed him. "I'm supposed to be good with words; I'm a writer," I mock myself. Yet I had no words to help him. "I love you," wasn't enough. The pain of that failure consumed me, knowing I did not save the person I committed myself to loving.

I saw his face in my mind's eye, and felt him near. And I knew he wanted to take my pain away, the same way I wanted to relieve his. How though?

How?

Forgiveness, I realized.

I needed to forgive myself. I needed him to forgive me. To receive that forgiveness, I also needed to give it to someone else. I needed to forgive him.

We loved each other so much. We hurt each other foolishly, unknowingly. We didn't know how to respond better at the time.
Jesus' words came to me; "Forgive them for they know not what they do."

I thought of the delusions Dennis suffered under shortly before he left. He thought he was the second coming of Jesus. And in a way he was right.

Jesus is an example of the Sacrificial God archetype. He died, not wanting to, but willingly, to bring radical change. Because he loved so completely.

And in a fucked up way that's exactly what Dennis did. He died willingly, not wantingly. I knew that's not what he really wanted. But he felt he had to.

He died. And I changed. Everything about my world changed. I see so much I didn't see before. It hurts. But the depths of understanding and love I have reached are indescribable. And that pain is part of it. I feel that pain as a contraction, part of the larger movement of energy that flows into sublime expansion.

And I wept to the point of hardly being able to breathe. I said "I forgive you, I forgive me" over and over like a mantra. An affirmation. I repeated it, sobbing, my eyes shut tight as the building tension sent small lightning strikes of pain lancing through my head.

"Help me," I asked. "Dennis, please, help me."

Behind my eyes, I saw Dennis' face again. He looked at me with love. "Feel it," he told me. "Feel the forgiveness. Allow it. Don't resist."
I trusted him. I desperately needed his help. I released the tension in my face and my body, and I felt a soothing relaxation overcome the pain.

Blissful, overarching love filled me; a warm embrace that assuaged my headache. The only pain that remained in that moment was the pleasurable pain of the knowledge that love and loss cycle over and over again. But I know that in that loss, love remains and it will support and hold me up when I need to let go.