Beyond The Word Sex
Reclaiming The Language Of Connection
The word sex once described both a joining and a division—from the Latin secare, to cut or to separate.
It was a term of relation, not of act.
Over time, it became narrowed to mean performance, release, or reproduction—a moment judged by outcome rather than presence.
In that narrowing, the mystery of connection was lost, replaced by measurement: how long, how often, how good.
The same distortion overtook love. What was once an orientation of care—the quiet act of being for another—became tangled in ownership, expectation, and self-definition.
We stopped seeing love as a way of attending and began treating it as a prize to be won, a contract to be maintained.
In this practice, both words are set gently aside. This not about sex, nor abstention; not about love, nor its denial.
It is about relation—the living space between self and other where intention softens, and presence takes precedence.
In that space, touch is not foreplay; it is acknowledgement. Silence is not withholding; it is invitation.
Even laughter, spontaneous and bodily, becomes a kind of honest contact—an unguarded vibration shared without motive.
When laughter rises between two men in stillness, it is proof that peace can be playful.
This is why the practice does not forbid arousal, or touch, or humour.
Each belongs when it arises naturally.
What matters is intention: not to take, but to meet.
To meet without purpose is to rediscover the lost field between sex and love—a field of communion, where two beings recognise one another not as roles, nor as functions, but as whole, alive, and momentarily unguarded.
In this way, communion restores what language divided. It allows connection to be felt again without apology or defence.
It welcomes warmth, laughter, even tears, as evidence of being fully present—not as distractions from peace, but as its living expressions.
