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Some things are better left undone, better left unsaid, better left unknown, better left alone. Pithless naysayings that keep the fear pot bubbling. The latter one precipitates an endless stream of pungent doeth nots: Stop, No trespassing, Go Away, Beware of Dog, Beware of Crazy Man with Gun, Beware of Crazy Lady with Shotgun, Beware of Crazy Kid with Machine Gun, and FuckOff (which I wouldn't know how to do) and PissOff (which I do). At the epicenter of "Better left alone" is not the malingering concept of privacy, it is the malevolent concept of purity and its happy bedmate, impurity.
What is "pure", besides being a lovely word in English (pyo͝or) and not so lovely in German or Chinese? The great god Oxford defines it as: "Wholesome and untainted by immorality, especially that of a sexual nature." Out of this meanders the word "virgin". From the beginning until today, when the possession of females was and is a mainstay of evolution and "profit", "virgin" twirled on a pole of penetration. She could kiss and be kissed, fondle and be fondled, but as long as she was not penetrated, she was pure.
The alleged 2000-year old Immaculate Conception of the alleged Jesus' mother, Mary, has only dressed her as a virgin for nearly 200 years. How this morphs with her alleged other children remains an impure conundrum. It's hard to be a Catholic these days.
Virginity. For many, the pre-marital deflowering (whatever that means) of girls/women often brings disgrace, shame, even death. She is impure. And impurity is the happy bedmate.
Purity vs Impurity vs...
When I was 15, I was offered an early exit from high school via a full scholarship to a university that reflected my young career as a state champion junior tennis player and a bridling young actor with a 4.0-gpa. My family was against it and so were most of my friends. Neverthemind, they threw a celebratory party allegedly celebrating my early escape from schooldom which was just another excuse to get together and play. After all, they were teenagers (adolescents really, there weren't any "teenagers" then). They were a harvest of hormone-raging boys and hormone-staging girls (all allegedly virgins) and they loved to play games.
There was the old-timer, "Spin the Bottle", sit in a circle, spin it, kiss the one it points to. There was "Blindman's Bluff" or as it was reincarnated by this bunch, "Blindman's Touch". And there was "Lights Out!" This was their favorite. Boys lined up on one side of the room, girls on the other. Lights Out! Do what you will!
There was laughter, screeching, grunting, groaning and bemoaning. After a forever long time, the lights flashed on. There were couples entwined everywhere, on the sofa, behind the sofa, under the table, on the table... no hardcore stuff, just sweaty disarrangement except for one bizarre scene. Still at the wall were four girls, three standing, faces lipstick-smeared, holding hands (like the twins in Kubrick's "The Shining") and sitting splayed on the floor was the fourth, gasping for air, and holding, of all things, a spoon. A spoon! In front of her was me, lying flat on my back, in total disarray, my legs at her sides also with a spoon in my hand.
Don't ask, because... I won't tell. Some things are actually better done, better said, but still... better left unknown, better left alone.
Make of this tale what you will. Just consider this:
Impurity (imˈpyo͝orədē) is in the mind of the beholder, and purity
is not.
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