Today's Sermon : Butterflies
(Note: This is the first sermon that I will post in SG first, and THEN put in my MySpace blog [as opposed to the other way around] I just like it here.)
Brothers, Sisters, and Lovers, the size of the namesake of this rambling monologue belies its scope and I scarcely know where to begin (and I definitely have no idea how it will end), so I will start with a simple statement:
I joined Suicide Girls because of the butterflies.
I have loved erotica for quite some time. Beginning with that first spread in Hustler when I was 12-ish. It was during the Reagan years and the pictorial was of a redhead in a suit splayed across a huge desk on a set that was meant to be the oval office, complete with a jar of JellyBellies. Didn't know what it all meant (Hell, it would be four years before I discovered what masturbation was, for golly's sake![yeah, pathetic, but true!]), but I knew I liked it. Sadly, with the discovery, there also began the decline. The concept of 'erotic' vanished, to be replaced by its stunted cousin living under the stairs: pornography. I found I would get buyer's remorse the instant I would spend money on what some were saying passed as 'sexy', and the years of internet degradation have only made it worse. I wrote my own erotic fiction, took my own photos, and found myself saying, "Why is it that I can do it better than the so-called professionals?" I am certainly not more gifted than most. What was I finding that others couldn't, or chose not to, find? It was butterflies, my friends.
After years of thinking that I was part of a tiny minority of people that would not accept 'pornographic' as erotic, I found the Suicide Girls. In a comic shop in NYC, I saw the book. At first opening, the butterflies hit. My stomache clenched, fluttered, my breath halted. I knew I wasn't alone.
The butterflies. They come at first kiss. They come at even the very sight of someone that your soul is screaming that it wants to get closer to. But what do they mean? The butterflies, though associated with happiness, are about discomfort, nervousness. They are our instincts making themselves known by saying: There is something at stake here. This is not simply lust. This is bigger and badder. They are the warning that, like it or not, there is an emotional connection brewing like spiced tea. Will you drink it hot (or ice-cold) or let it grow tepid?
But butterflies are short-lived. As unease fades, and is replaced with 'comfort' (a word I have begun to disdain, of late), the butterflies leave. And as soon as they have drifted from our garden, we miss them. In our own yard, do we mourn the loss of an actual butterfly, watching it sadly as it heads to someone else's flowerbed. Or are we sure that there will be another, knowing that the Universe makes more every year?
I often wonder about the clich of the butterfly wings. Of course, as a proverb, a nugget of deep thought, the mammoth power that a single flap across the world can contain is humbling. But the very existence of the psalm itself affects me. I cannot look at a butterfly without at least taking a moment to ponder the words. I will then think that, yes, dammit, I can change the world. The reality, though is I WILL change the world. The choice lies not in 'will or won't'. It is HOW. So, whether or not those nearly weightless, ever so fragile wings can actually spark a tsunami somewhere, they remind me that I can, and therefore they HAVE rolled the waves.
Again, the places I can go with this, as the Aries that just likes to hear himself talk, are numerous. To spare the patient new friends I have gotten in the past few days, I will reduce my thoughts to bite-size marshmallows:
1. Butterflies do not care if we pay attention to them. It is only our loss.
2. A particular butterfly will not last forever, but it will be replaced by one just as beautiful.
3. If we want butterflies in our life, we should make a garden. They will come.
4. Conversely, if we want our garden to thrive, we should treat our butterflies well.
And finally: We deserve as many butterflies as we desire.
Plant flowers.
(Note: This is the first sermon that I will post in SG first, and THEN put in my MySpace blog [as opposed to the other way around] I just like it here.)
Brothers, Sisters, and Lovers, the size of the namesake of this rambling monologue belies its scope and I scarcely know where to begin (and I definitely have no idea how it will end), so I will start with a simple statement:
I joined Suicide Girls because of the butterflies.
I have loved erotica for quite some time. Beginning with that first spread in Hustler when I was 12-ish. It was during the Reagan years and the pictorial was of a redhead in a suit splayed across a huge desk on a set that was meant to be the oval office, complete with a jar of JellyBellies. Didn't know what it all meant (Hell, it would be four years before I discovered what masturbation was, for golly's sake![yeah, pathetic, but true!]), but I knew I liked it. Sadly, with the discovery, there also began the decline. The concept of 'erotic' vanished, to be replaced by its stunted cousin living under the stairs: pornography. I found I would get buyer's remorse the instant I would spend money on what some were saying passed as 'sexy', and the years of internet degradation have only made it worse. I wrote my own erotic fiction, took my own photos, and found myself saying, "Why is it that I can do it better than the so-called professionals?" I am certainly not more gifted than most. What was I finding that others couldn't, or chose not to, find? It was butterflies, my friends.
After years of thinking that I was part of a tiny minority of people that would not accept 'pornographic' as erotic, I found the Suicide Girls. In a comic shop in NYC, I saw the book. At first opening, the butterflies hit. My stomache clenched, fluttered, my breath halted. I knew I wasn't alone.
The butterflies. They come at first kiss. They come at even the very sight of someone that your soul is screaming that it wants to get closer to. But what do they mean? The butterflies, though associated with happiness, are about discomfort, nervousness. They are our instincts making themselves known by saying: There is something at stake here. This is not simply lust. This is bigger and badder. They are the warning that, like it or not, there is an emotional connection brewing like spiced tea. Will you drink it hot (or ice-cold) or let it grow tepid?
But butterflies are short-lived. As unease fades, and is replaced with 'comfort' (a word I have begun to disdain, of late), the butterflies leave. And as soon as they have drifted from our garden, we miss them. In our own yard, do we mourn the loss of an actual butterfly, watching it sadly as it heads to someone else's flowerbed. Or are we sure that there will be another, knowing that the Universe makes more every year?
I often wonder about the clich of the butterfly wings. Of course, as a proverb, a nugget of deep thought, the mammoth power that a single flap across the world can contain is humbling. But the very existence of the psalm itself affects me. I cannot look at a butterfly without at least taking a moment to ponder the words. I will then think that, yes, dammit, I can change the world. The reality, though is I WILL change the world. The choice lies not in 'will or won't'. It is HOW. So, whether or not those nearly weightless, ever so fragile wings can actually spark a tsunami somewhere, they remind me that I can, and therefore they HAVE rolled the waves.
Again, the places I can go with this, as the Aries that just likes to hear himself talk, are numerous. To spare the patient new friends I have gotten in the past few days, I will reduce my thoughts to bite-size marshmallows:
1. Butterflies do not care if we pay attention to them. It is only our loss.
2. A particular butterfly will not last forever, but it will be replaced by one just as beautiful.
3. If we want butterflies in our life, we should make a garden. They will come.
4. Conversely, if we want our garden to thrive, we should treat our butterflies well.
And finally: We deserve as many butterflies as we desire.
Plant flowers.
motherchaos:
Ahh...butterflies. They can be the most important triggers for change in a single day. At least I know they can for me. They can also be an excellent warning if one actually pays attention to them.....