Agape: In Search of Universal Love
from the novel, The Lodging for the Rose
Rolf. A. F. Witzsche

Story 11 - Coffee Sex and Biscuits
page 66

      She simply nodded. As it was, my deeply honest answer to her had startled me so much that I awoke.

      Why did I say these things? I pondered, when I opened my eyes. What does it all mean? I suddenly realized that the whole dream was more related to Indira, than Sylvia. She had used similar words that morning on the balcony in New Delhi, asking, "Do you love what you see?" I knew that my response to her would have again be a yes, without reservation and hesitation, and I knew that this response would have stood on a foundation that was as rich than the the entire manifestation was rich, that eventually unfolded from it. There hadn't been a trace of a vertical relationship between us, ever. I was puzzled about my dream, therefore. Could the same be said about what had been offered to me in my dream? Or was the regret, which I had admitted to Sylvia later on, the regret of a beggar who had bungled a great opportunity?

      When Sylvia and I were having our morning coffee in the bright light of a new and gentle spring day, I decided, totally contrary to all my fears of being thought ridiculous, to tell her about the dream, and about my puzzle.

      We were sitting at a small glass topped table, as we often did when I was at home and the weather allowed us to enjoy our sunrise porch in the morning. The is nothing like enjoying a coffee in the morning sunshine, looking out onto the sea.  We called the porch our sunrise porch, because one side of it faces almost directly east, and the other west towards the highway. The porch, of course, was accessible from our bedroom, which also faced east towards the rising sun. I loved the sunrise over the sea awakening us. The curtains always remained open, because of that, and the windows as well.
      It turned out that the highway never became a problem for us as I had feared, because of the traffic noise. The highway turned out to be too far away for the noise to reach us, except on those rare, still nights when not a breath of air stirs the leaves of the forest.
      The view from the porch was towards the ocean on one side and towards a sea of tree tops on the other. The green of the tree tops merged in the distance that morning with the white and gray pattern of cumulus clouds. A whole flock of these, like so many sheep or giant puffed pillows, drifted slowly towards us from the horizon, all brilliantly white, contrasting against the dark blue of the sky above them. It seemed as though Sylvia and I, on our little porch, were the center of the universe, and the universe understood that and was on a parade to present itself. The rays of the sun, the movements of the clouds, all seemed directed in a line towards us to enrich our day.

      "I had a startling dream last night," I said to Sylvia over coffee. "Maybe I shouldn't tell you about it, but somehow it fits into the beautiful atmosphere of this morning. It sparkled in its own way, as embarrassing as it was. Also, it relates to all the political stuff we had talked about last night."
      "That's a paradox," she answered.
      "No it isn't," I said with a smile. "Scientifically speaking, it was a beautiful dream, in a way, although you may not agree."
      I told her what had happened in the dream, and what my reaction to it had been, and how my reaction changed as the dream progressed. "I had been dishonest with myself, so as not to offend you?" I concluded when I finished the story.
      "That's not a paradox," Sylvia agreed. "The only paradox that I can detect, is the paradox that you believed I would be offended by your honesty with yourself. That's a paradox. In this case you were dishonest with me too, were you not? You had rejected out of hand the possibility that I might love to be involved in this happening, in this human dimension. And why should you be embarrassed to talk about it? Sex is the most natural thing in the world. It is deeply anchored in our humanity that is a part of us. We are not sexless worms. To the contrary. We are at the highest end on the scale of the development of life, where the most ordinary element becomes the most extraordinary. Instinct becomes intellect, discovery becomes a process science, sound becomes a language that portrays ideas, ideas become industries. We human beings have uplifted everything that is naturally primitive to a height of unfolding that is absolutely extraordinary. Sex shouldn't be an exception, and it wouldn't be if it hadn't been artificially stomped back into the ground as something filthy by the bigotry of religion that invalidates the entire human dimension as a sacrifice to a god image that doesn't even exist in the real world. That little, harmlessly seeming game is perfectly suited for isolating humanity from itself in order to swart its self-development. I am not surprised by your dream. That dream was a protest declaration, was it not? Also, I think there was nothing daring about it."
      She paused and began to laugh. "I should congratulate you for brining this subject up," she said. "It is about time that somebody protests. I felt like protesting for a long time, about our stupid hypocrisy. We tolerate sexuality as a necessary feature for procreation, while everything else about is shunned as immoral. I am sick and tired of it. We are not breeding machines. We are human beings. We are spiritual being. We are spiritually defined. All that we are is beautiful. I want to get away from this constant focus on mortality that expropriates our sex and makes it its own instrument, an instrument of mortality wrapped in the grave-cloth of a beginning and an end. We count the years, we count the birthday, we put candles on our birthday cake, one for each ear. We light them, and then we blow them out ceremoniously, in a grand celebration of our mortality. That's what's really disgusting. We should celebrate our moving away from mortality and take sex right out of the mortality domain and give it a higher meaning that reflects the beauty of our humanity and it immortality and boundless development. I am a woman. I love to be recognized as woman, and to be appreciated and be loved as a woman, rather than being looked upon as a sexless worm, or worth yet, to be segregated."

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 (c) Copyright 1998 - Rolf Witzsche
Published by Cygni Communications Ltd. North Vancouver, Canada