I’ve been thinking about her again lately. My brain/ego/whatever uses these moments to insinuate there is a cosmic game at play.
That I am an antenna picking up her far away distress signal, and that’s why I am suddenly consumed by thoughts of her. But really it’s the other way around. There is no signal being received.
Just a lonely pirate broadcast from my remote mental mountaintop.
I know this now.
It all started last week during a Kundalini meditation group. The night’s topic was brahmacharya and how to properly focus sexual energy and addiction.
The guide spoke about the wisdom of the pituitary gland, the master gland that regulates all other glands in the body. Being the control center, it’s a natural target for bio-hacking.
Every addictive substance – from sugar to alcohol to drugs to sex to video games – stimulates the pituitary.
Meditation, according to the guide, creates a link between it and the pineal gland establishing a karmic firewall that blocks the tendency towards negative external desires.
The discussion closed with the comment, “trust what you smell, the pituitary gland knows.”
This triggered me.
I couldn’t focus. During the warmup exercises and breath work I was overcome with visions of making love to her. Scent was always an intimate stimulant for me. She was always present in my nose.
Her hair, her neck, her armpits and all the bits that were my privilege to inhale. It was a wonderful bouquet.
It’s interesting now to think about how little I actively noticed her scent back then.
Granted, I was passively addicted to her underlying essence, but there was never a time I can remember where the odor of her breath, armpits or between her legs ever offended me.
People are often accused of not being able to smell their own body’s aromatics.
But what does it mean when you can’t smell another person’s? It’s as if hers were my own, and I was blissfuly ignorant to the offensive potential.
If I could smell with my eyes, her scent was colorless, invisible. If I could smell with my ears, her scent was a frequency too high to register. But I was in tune with it.
I recognized it’s presence. Sometimes I would rub against her in the morning to take some with me. And then I would go about my day with her signature tattooed on my body.
It made me smile that nobody else in the world could read it.
Thinking back, I wonder what my pituitary gland knew.