I’ve been blessed with big hands and long, strong fingers.

A healthy love and appreciation of the female form, and enduring curiosity. I love to create and witness orgasm.

My God, what gift, right?

When I’m fingering my sweet lover, I approach with a mix of receptivity and certainty. She has given me the gift of her pleasure many times. She is open to me. This allows me to vary tempo and pressure from a realm of confidence. My play in the curves of her beautiful legs leads us gradually to that deep inside place. Easy slaps and teasing are welcome and shared. I seek her moaning sounds with a lightly curved finger, describing tiny circles inside my lady. Listening. Feeling her. Exploring. It feels like I’m finding something. It feels like she is happy.

Hearing her pleasure sounds is my arousal. Her sexual pleasure is mine. I have no idea if I am finding her G spot or if they even exist. But I value the search with all of me, and if it’s wrong to look for something that doesn’t exist, I’m a deeply grateful partner in this delicious sexual crime.

The other G spot is even harder to find. The search for it is fun. You know the object. The 24/7 orgasm. God. Bliss. Love. You look for it every day of your life.

No amount of ritual reveals it to you. It is there, but seeking it presupposes that you haven’t found it.

While you are looking for it, a croaking toad moans at the side of a pond. She doesn’t think about jumping into the water, but does. This is important.

You look, while a graffiti artist in Germany paints a momentarily beautiful piece on crumbling grey cinderblocks. It matters.

Is someone painting graffiti less at prayer than a monk on a cushion?

On the veldt, a gazelle falls to a lion’s enormous joy. Subatomic particles surround you and compose you. Birds are wordlessly dumbfounded by your earthbound nature.

The other G spot is right at your fingertips. With a wide-open heart you look for it as an old man on a street corner holds up a picket sign reading “We are all gonna die! It’s a Temporary Gift!” You know you’ve seen that sign before, and recognition plays with discovery in your squishy liquid brainpan.

An ancient alligator, nine feet long, presses herself up on tiny legs to cross a road they built in her swamp. She does not fear the cars, but is wary, from her own un~purchased instinct.

Suddenly you notice me crying to you from across the room; I am begging for something. Neither of us knows at this moment what that is.

The search takes you deep within yourself and you explore relentlessly. Poets and philosophers have pointed towards it, monks, pirates, and porn stars have led the way. Dharma Mittra said it is located in the left ventricle of the heart, just barely off center, smaller than an atom. Nina Harley tells you it’s found within the joys of sexual activity.

“Sex is my tea ceremony. It is my martial art, my meditation.”

~ Nina Hartley

People are seeking the other G spot all around you. You are not alone.

I was at a table full of recovering people one day and Randy, an ex-monk, said “If I could change the text in the 12 steps.” And you have to understand, oh my deeply beloved reader, that when he voiced this unspeakable premise, silence like you wish for in meditation descended. Attentiveness flashed from two or three to 65 and climbing. You just don’t say that. The room was suspended in a gel of startled quiet. You could have heard a fish fart. Wait, that was me.

“If I could change the text in the 12 steps.”

You might as well say “If I could rape baby monkeys in a crowded elevator.”

“If I could change the text in the 12 steps, it would be at step 11.”

Here of course my love I will edify you, and paste in the proverbial 11th step:

“Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood God, praying only for knowledge of God’s will for us and the power to carry that out.”

Step 11. The meditation step. A lifesaver for so many of us clumsy beautiful whack job recovering people. The step that can be so daunting. It sends the more twisted among us out on Vipassana retreats.  It gets completely overlooked by some. It is a tool. Practicing it can stop you from blurting out things like “Ha Ha!   Yeah and your mom is a cunt!” at the wrong moment. (Being clean and sober can get so awkward.)

Randy went on.

“It would be the 11th step. Where it says ‘God as we understood God.’ I wish it said  God as we don’t understand God.”

And then everything got quiet and that same recognition you felt when your little sister kicked you in the balls and ran away clean as a whistle and you grabbed yourself and fell down curled like a ball and laying on your side and then suddenly felt self-nurtured and loved in the middle of so much fucking pain. It was that recognition that overcame you. I mean if you were at the meeting. It happened to us. We all felt that. I could be projecting a little.

I was at Karma Triyana Dharmachakra for a teaching with Lama Kathy Wesley. I asked her “What about God?”

And let me pause here to mention that you should take a weekend with this lady only if you want to feel carefully nurtured into a deeper understanding of yourself and meditation. She is highly aware about how she presents her teachings. There is a simmering, just barely-tamed intelligence at the helm. Kathy teaches in Woodstock and at Columbus Karma Thegsum Choling in Ohio.

She said:

“That is so hard to address,  because as soon as you say the word ‘God,’ really, you are saying a million different things to a million different people. Literally everyone has a different idea of who, or what, God is. But if you’re asking, do I believe in a God who is a person, with a personality, who has likes and dislikes, and who lives somewhere—then no, I don’t believe in that. But if you define God as the ineffable essence of everything—then, yes, I do believe in that.”

Well yes on wheels, Lama Kathy. Not a God who would punish, has expectations, or prefers certain activities. Just the god that simply exists. Through us in us and as us. Which would make, let’s see, life, the gift.

So: human behavior. A turtle walks on the shore of a tiny pond. Me, alone in the house. Action menu. Do the dishes my roommate left behind? Bless him happily, enjoy my upper hand and remain quietly smug? Ot trash his room and spray paint “Die Whore Pig” on the walls?

The one that will bring me higher self esteem is probably the former. So I do the dishes. But does God give a rats ass which one I do?

The one thing we can really rest in, the one thing all of us, if we are honest, each of us really really knows, is this:

We don’t know.

And that’s a gift. It is unknowable, and all can change in a moment. The one-armed midget blackjack dealer has an ace up his missing sleeve for you. Bet on it. I believe (scary words) that the other G spot is everything. Feel me?

Let’s go to Chris Grosso, whose new book “Indie Spiritualist” is taking the planet by storm and pelting it mercilessly with love bombs. He said:

“My personal search has led me to resonate most deeply with the non-dualistic approach, which asserts that we’re actually safe at home in the Godhead at this very moment, while experiencing an illusionary nature of this day-to-day material world as it is projected from our mind (which is something quantum physics, our most contemporary and accurate form of science, supports.”)

Notice the singular form “mind.” The whole book is poetic.

Chris helps people maybe like me, who are dead curious but at the same time more than a little put off by piety. You know? He quotes Sri Aurobindo, whoever that is, here:

“To listen to some devout people, one would imagine that God never laughs.”

And if you are ready for some laughs on this subject, get “Foreskin’s Lament” by Shalom Auslander. This is a brilliant, honest exploration into the madness of faith, as hand delivered by our parents. Substitute in the misguided heretical bullshit you were taught and drink in his story like water. At one point he speaks of a working title:

“God walks beside me with a .45 in my ribs.”

This is a magnificent memoir with a genuine gut punch to the superstitious angry claptrap many of us still live under. (Even the “lapsed” and the “non-practicing.”) I am assuming you’ve already read Sam Harris. His “The End of Faith” is a fantastic on-ramp to meditation without constraints.

I am in love with this search, this discovery that there is nothing to discover.

“Life and Jah are one in the same. Jah is the gift of existence.”

~ Bob Marley

So talk to me—what is your take on God?

There is real comfort in believing that we cannot know. That our brains are simply too limited to fathom God. While otters play in streams wildly, running up and floating down the current as it their lives depended on it, we literally beat our heads on walls.

“I just want to say to these Orthodox Jews ‘God wouldn’t mind it if you wore a light cotton print!”

~ Sarah Silverman

Viewing this life as a gift and God as ultimately unknowable allows for unapologetic seeking. Prayer and meditation not to “be good” or rack up points. Being wholeheartedly reverent, not to curry favor so you are positioned for an upgrade in the next life, but because this gift of life is the balls.

Because you are curious.

So do it. Finger that girl. Find where she loves you most, and play there. Bring your whole heart to the practice of raw discovery that you invent. Embrace everyone who is in the conversation, and by that I mean all living beings.

And let me know what you find. And what you don’t find.

Love elephant and want to go steady?

Sign up for our (curated) daily and weekly newsletters!

Editor: Bryonie Wise

Photo: courtesy of the author; elephant archives