On death,sex,love...an interesting paper found in the net

http://www.radford.edu/~jaspelme/_private/gradsoc_articles/terror%20management/terror_management_n_sex.pdf

a paper titled:

Death, Sex,Love and Neuroticism:Why is sex such a problem?

'Terror management theory posits that sex is a ubiquitous human problem because the creaturely aspects of sex make apparent our animal nature , which reminds as of our vulnerability and mortality.

People minimize this threat by investing in the symbolic meaning offered by the cultural wordview. Because people high in neuroticism have difficulty finding or sustaining meaning, sex is a particular problem for them.'

well, this IS an interesting paper.

But it is not only a difficulty for neurotic people, and the paper covers this too in reasonable depth.

it is a difficulty for all humans at our time and age to find a meaning in anything including sex.

we come out of an education and society which both tried to estrange us from ourselves.

none of us can count as non-neurotic, all of us suffer the same history.

instead of finding meaningfulness sex too was consumerized and cannibalized together with our shattered souls.

so let us just live and find joy.and have sex anyway.

and find and keep peace and breath and hope within as much as possible well knowing the restraints of our nature and of meeting each other

ps: i forgot to say that i found the introduction in this paper interesting. the techniques of a so called therapy are irrelevant in the context given above.

nobody can 'heal' this cleft in our stories and life but we ourselves, just centering in being and caring for ourselves . after all deconstruction of walls in our mind, free to another experience 

Movimiento,Octavio Paz

Motion

If you are the amber mare
              I am the road of blood
If you are the first snow
              I am he who lights the hearth of dawn
If you are the tower of night
              I am the spike burning in your mind
If you are the morning tide
              I am the first bird's cry
If you are the basket of oranges
              I am the knife of the sun
If you are the stone altar
              I am the sacrilegious hand
If you are the sleeping land
              I am the green cane
If you are the wind's leap
              I am the buried fire
If you are the water's mouth
              I am the mouth of moss
If you are the forest of the clouds
              I am the axe that parts it
If you are the profaned city
              I am the rain of consecration
If you are the yellow mountain
              I am the red arms of lichen
If you are the rising sun
              I am the road of blood

Movimiento

Si tú eres la yegua de ámbar
              yo soy el camino de sangre
Si tú eres la primer nevada
              yo soy el que enciende el brasero del alba
Si tú eres la torre de la noche
              yo soy el clavo ardiendo en tu frente
Si tú eres la marea matutina
              yo soy el grito del primer pájaro
Si tú eres la cesta de naranjas
              yo soy el cuchillo de sol
Si tú eres el altar de piedra
              yo soy la mano sacrílega
Si tú eres la tierra acostada
              yo soy la caña verde
Si tú eres el salto del viento
              yo soy el fuego enterrado
Si tú eres la boca del agua
              yo soy la boca del musgo
Si tú eres el bosque de las nubes
              yo soy el hacha que las parte
Si tú eres la ciudad profanada
              yo soy la lluvia de consagración
Si tú eres la montaña amarilla
              yo soy los brazos rojos del liquen
Si tú eres el sol que se levanta
              yo soy el camino de sangre

Octavio Paz,Entre partir e ficar

stolen with joy


'Entre partir e ficar hesita o dia,
enamorado de sua transparência.

A tarde circular é uma baía:
em seu quieto vai e vem se move o mundo.

Tudo é visível e tudo é ilusório,
tudo está perto e tudo é intocável.

Os papéis, o livro, o vaso, o lápis
repousam à sombra de seus nomes.

Pulsar do tempo que em minha têmpora repete
a mesma e insistente sílaba de sangue.

A luz faz do muro indiferente
Um espectral teatro de reflexos.

No centro de um olho me descubro;
Não me vê, não me vejo em seu olhar.

Dissipa-se o instante. Sem mover-me,
eu permaneço e parto: sou uma pausa'

'Between going and staying 
the day wavers, 
in love with its own transparency. 
The circular afternoon is now a bay 
where the world in stillness rocks. 

All is visible and all elusive, 
all is near and can’t be touched. 

Paper, book, pencil, glass, 
rest in the shade of their names. 

Time throbbing in my temples repeats 
the same unchanging syllable of blood. 

The light turns the indifferent wall 
into a ghostly theater of reflections. 

I find myself in the middle of an eye, 
watching myself in its blank stare. 

The moment scatters. Motionless, 
I stay and go: I am a pause.'

re-vision, change, tranquility

today i found a surprise in another one and i surprised myself.

from a dreary day it changed into another flow of presence,

light entered between my clouds.

happiness just can happen, this maybe one root of this word.

around Angeiras and Labruge