The truth is, when you do it right, sex is not all that different from church. Yes, that’s right. Falling to your knees to pray and asking God to help you is not that different from lying on your back with your legs spread, saying, “I love you. I want to taste the nectar of Divine consciousness through you.” We’re just small human beings, after all, and physical love allows us to dance a special magical dance that is both part of our destiny and larger than ourselves.
The world is a dangerous place. When we make love, we’re acknowledging, Yes, even my family doesn’t really know me. So I, this strange swan in this big, strange pond,* choose to hook up to you and allow you to be inside of my body. I trust you, and I’m transparent, and through this vulnerability and mutual sense of adventure your consciousness and my consciousness will intertwine like strands of DNA to create a song of magic and sensory heightening that is one of the closest things to God and the Goddess on this earth. This oneness is an offering—an acknowledgment and expression of the Divine’s magic. And trust me, it has rarely been adequately captured in sex drugs, rock ’n’ roll, film, or fashion.
When you explore sex and love with someone, you’re agreeing to enter into a new type of yogic teaching—one in which you have a lot to give and a lot to learn (it’s like having a child). I promise that you will hate your lover sometimes. You’ll also laugh with each other, cry with each other, fuck each other, and fuck each other over. Being truly yogic with another means offering up your whole self, just like you do when you pray in church. And let me tell you, making love with someone you love is a much more powerful thing than sitting in a church that doesn’t let women speak. You’re basically saying, This is our love, our song, our vibration of love and ecstasy that we send out into the universe. Making love, like making war, creates a powerful and totally unique vibration.
A warring lovemaking session—now that’s a fucking great vibration!
Chapter Three
Holy Daze (Holla, Days Off!)
Illegal aliens have always been a problem in the United States. Ask any Indian.
—Robert Orben
Years ago, in my twenties, when I was reading tarot cards on the beach in Venice for a living, I was hearing a lot about the end of the world. I remember thinking about what it would be like to experience the apocalypse. One year, it occurred to me that I already was experiencing the apocalypse, and that it was Christmas! You know, the holiday where everyone runs around buying ridiculous and unneeded gifts for $19.99 in the name of their God as they trip over homeless people on the street wearing signs like “Hungry. Please help” and ignore Santas ringing bells for the Salvation Army. I mean, wouldn’t it be wonderful if there really was an army for salvation? Instead, there’s just one big long line outside the UGG store.
When my daughter was born, I was adamant that I did not want to bring her up with lies. I was willing to celebrate Christmas and even have a tree, but I wanted to tell her that Santa represents the spirit of giving, not that he was literally someone who lived at the North Pole and brought presents to kids. Similarly, I’d tell her the Easter Bunny represented spring. As for the Tooth Fairy, well, she’s such a great creation that I figured I’d just give in and go along with that one. (I mean, whose idea was it to make having a tooth fall out in the middle of the day something to get excited about?)
So I told my mother I was not going to do the whole North Pole, Santa thing with Ava. I mean, we spend so much time and money getting our kids all wound up about Santa and the Easter Bunny, making them think these fake apparitions are going to appear and make life magical, when everyday human kindness can really do the same thing.
“Are you crazy?” my mom said. As soon as Ava could hold the phone to her ear, my mom could barely wait to shriek, “Santa Claus is married to Mrs. Claus, and they live at the North Pole, and their reindeer are Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen, Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen! And the elves make all the presents! Santa’s very modern now, you can e-mail him!” Last year she even topped herself, convinced this would be one of the last years when Ava would believe in Santa. She literally bought Ava a copy of The Night Before Christmas that came with a voice recorder into which she’d programmed herself reading the text aloud. Ava is a pre-tween at this point, and my mom’s still trying to give her one last hit of Christ-mess!
Why have we all been suckered into celebrating a holiday that very few of us actually believe in?
Wouldn’t it be great if we all just decided we didn’t want to do Christmas one year? What if, instead, we found things that do matter to us to celebrate, or at the very least just took a really great
