Spiritual Business – Anais Nin On Sex without the Poetry

When the flame burns out inside a human chest, the spirit disappears and there, at work, an empty shell attends to their duties. It’s not the end of the earth, they may actually do their job well and without the emotion of many who experience depressions and emotional swings – bipolar. But day by day, these individuals are being replaced by computers. What can be done at work without heart or spirit can be done by machine, and will be done, better.

So keeping the heart and soul alive at work may sound rather self indulgent at first, but when we look to the future, it’s this ability to innovate, create, dialogue and communicate that will differentiate between the winners and losers during the next, and not too distant massive global meltdown.

This is way more than the clowning of the entertainer who, in a corporate sense is engaging positive emotions, warm fuzzy feelings and describing a work nirvana that only companies in the technology field can afford. We are talking here about real genuine human genius, the ability to sell, create and stay on track.

There is also a dramatic effect of spirituality at work in the home.

Love is a lifestyle and a person who cannot bring their spirituality awake at work, and separate it from emotion, stress and task, will not come home in a way that makes love thrive for family or friend.

Sex and Business

It may be a far stretch to imagine the synergies between sex and business but in this writing from Anais Nin, you will see her tear shreds from a man who wanted her to write about sex and leave out the romance. That, in the greater part is like asking someone to work without spirit.

Anais Nin.

In the 1940s, at which point she — along with a collective of other writers that included her lover, Henry Miller — was earning $1 per page writing erotic fiction for the private consumption of an anonymous client, author Anaïs Nin wrote the following passionate letter to the “Collector” and made known her frustrations — frustrations caused by his repeated insistence that they “leave out the poetry” and instead “concentrate on sex.”

Incidentally, some of those stories written by Nin were later published in the book, Delta Of Venus.

(Source: The Diary Of Anais Nin, Volume 3; 1939-1944; Image: Anaïs Nin, via.)

Dear Collector:

We hate you. Sex loses all its power and magic when it becomes explicit, mechanical, overdone, when it becomes a mechanistic obsession. It becomes a bore. You have taught us more than anyone I know how wrong it is not to mix it with emotion, hunger, desire, lust, whims, caprices, personal ties, deeper relationships which change its color, flavor, rhythms, intensities.

You do not know what you are missing by your microscopic examination of sexual activity to the exclusion of others, which are the fuel that ignites it. Intellectual, imaginative, romantic, emotional. This is what gives sex its surprising textures, its subtle transformations, its aphrodisiac elements. You are shrinking your world of sensations. You are withering it, starving it, draining its blood.

If you nourished your sexual life with all the excitements and adventures which love injects into sensuality, you would be the most potent man in the world. The source of sexual power is curiosity, passion. You are watching its little flame die of asphyxiation. Sex does not thrive on monotony. Without feeling, inventions, moods, no surprises in bed. Sex must be mixed with tears, laughter, words, promises, scenes, jealousy, envy, all of the spices of fear, foreign travel, new faces, novels, stories, dreams, fantasies, music, dancing, opium, wine.

How much do you lose by this periscope at the tip of your sex, when you could enjoy a harem of discrete and never-repeated wonders? Not two hairs alike, but you will not let us waste words on a description of hair; not two odors, but if we expand on this, you cry “Cut the poetry.” Not two skins with the same texture, and never the same light, temperature, shadows, never the same gesture; for a lover, when he is aroused by true love, can run the gamut of centuries of love lore, What a range, what changes of age, what variations of maturity and innocence, perversity and art, natural and graceful animals.

We have sat around for hours and wondered how you look. If you have closed your senses around silk, light, color, odor, character, temperament, you must by now be completely shriveled up. There are so many minor senses, all running like tributaries into the mainstream of sex, nourishing it. Only the united beat of sex and heart together can create ecstasy.

Anais Nin

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