Prostitution is not sacred
Recently I received backlash of criticism surprisingly from some female friends in response to a random misinterpreted comment on my social media. My comment pertained to the objectification of women. I recall speaking to our complicity as women in our own objectification resulting in a download spiral culminating in many views being expressed as to the “sacredness” of prostitution as the “oldest profession” and a healing one too.
The more I sit with these thoughts, the more I cannot find a resonance with “sacredness” around the commercialisation of sexuality. I can agree on a few points such as prostitution is in many ways more integrous than most professions in that at least its participants tragically own they are being f*cked by the sh*tshow we have created known as capitalism in order to survive, unlike the rest of us who don our office attire and chain ourselves to desks calling this ‘freedom’.
I also understand how many sex workers view themselves as healers, and acknowledge how disturbingly toxic our society is that both men and women are so traumatised and in need of connection that they turn to professionals seeking it.
To describe sex as a transaction that especially serves the needs of men I feel undermines the character and moral fibre of the masculine, insinuating that men are essentially beasts who need an outlet for their sexual impulses. That without such facilities to accommodate certain men in our society a common argument is made that there would be more rape, sexual abuse, gender based violence and infidelity. Are we providing a permission slip for such behaviour with the implication that this is what we can expect of our men or are we able as humanity to embrace our higher nature?
Describing prostitution as ‘sacred’ is a concept I wrestled with for some time, and I think we need to be truthful in terms of what do we mean as ‘sacred’. How much enjoyment is there for someone who gives of their body, their “temple” to a one sided transaction, aside from a sense of altruism which I do acknowledge exists in those who view this as a healing art. Let’s also be honest though how often practitioners of this ‘craft’, regardless of intent or status, are disrespected, mistreated and often seriously damaged.
If prostitution is so sacred, the majority of transactions wouldn’t take place on dark street corners or in secret. If prostitution was so sacred, the priests and priestesses of this trade’s robes wouldn’t include stilettos, lipstick, black leather and plastic latex.
If we can shed our entitlement around sex in a culture that uses sex to sell everything from motorbikes to ice cream, perhaps we can pause for a moment and ask ourselves the question: what does sacred sexuality really look like? Is there such a thing?
And I really do believe there is.
We can choose to treat sexuality like a Macdonald’s burger, we can gorge ourselves on the next quick fix. We can pursue endless meaningless connections driven solely by the thrill of the next experience with the latest conquest. Or we can express our sexuality as an act of worship.
The God in me sees the God in you, the God in me worships the God in you. The God in me caresses your lines, your curves, your scars, your stretchmarks. I can kiss the lines on your face, trace what culture would label your imperfections with my lips, wrap my equally imperfect and yet divinely magnificent limbs around yours in the loving embrace of connection.
I can choose to objectify my own self too and buy into culture’s expectations of what a man or woman should look like and recoil in my own self-hatred, or I can reject these delusions and embrace my beingness and express my divinity as life moves through me and reaches out to touch your own.
And I do not believe that connection of this level is possible with a stranger nor when a transaction is occurring. True connection occurs when, in a place of trust, we drop our masks and show ourselves to one another in all our vulnerability and authenticity and lay ourselves bare upon the altar in surrender to one another.
And perhaps there are exceptions, who am I to say, but please understand that this is not an essay designed to condemn the prostitution profession but rather to deeply grieve the tragedy that this profession is even required by those of us who are unable to respect and love ourselves enough to meet the God within before we can reach out to worship “It” within another.
