TANTRIC JIHADThe pious Muslim bathes himself
Prostrates five times from dusk to dawn
Submits himself to Hidden Mystery
That can be neither named nor drawn.
At home Omar recites the verse
of Rumi and Hafeez
And after Fate cuts short the little life he leads
He'll rule a harem full of virgins:
at least ten times seven
Or so the editors of Time
would have us all believe.
To me a few score virgins seems so paltry
We're talking about heaven after all
Where absolutely nothing is impossible
And anything you wish--it will befall.
So here's the tantric Challenge of Two Cultures
Here's one place where West and East come home.
Can you invent a sexier Heaven than the Muslim?
Can you design a more voluptuous pleasure dome?
O Western he-man, show me your hottest fantasy
What turns you on so much you've got to scream
And sophisticated Western woman also
Step forth, show off your deepest sexual dream.
And Eli Lilly, Sandoz, Merck and Pfizer
Please motivate your captive PhDs
To invent new sex drugs so hot and pleasurable
They'll even bring Dick Cheney to his knees.
Challenge our Western artists,
cooks and courtesans,
Physicists, tailors, engineers and dharma bums:
Dream us a heaven, we can build it.
If we can build it, they will come.
Rise up!
Cast off your chains, creative friends,
WAGE TANTRIC JIHAD!
Unleash your deepest dreams of heart's delight
We'll show those benighted
Grandsons of the Prophet
What a truly joyous Western paradise is like.
2 comments:
What I’m about to share is not well known, but Dr. Nick Herbert was not always the worldrenowned Quantum Tantra celebrity that he is now. There were the years of doubt, the years of crying, O let me taste and see, come in my mouth O mother life, the years of wondering, was it all a dream? All a phantasm and a spasm of the mind? All the acid trips, all the ejaculations, all the portents and auspices of Something Profound and Wonderful, was it all a shining chimera? Or is it as Real now as it ever was?
What I’m about to share is the night that became the turning point in Nick’s faith in the redemptive powers of science, and in particular an irrefutable belief that the power of quantum tantra is real, and a real game changer.
It began as most don’t in the evening, when a priest and a nun knocked on the door of Nick’s redwood mountain retreat lab. The priest, a Jesuit, was in his mid-fifties, and exuded the air of calm, celibate sublimation that members of his profession must master to progress. The nun, on the other hand, was fresh out of the nunnery. What little Nick could see of her face revealed soft, glowing c heeks, and luscious lips, now consecrated only to God in the form of his Earthly Son.
“We can’t take the chance, you must see that yourself,” the Jesuit, Don Rico Renaldo, explained to Nick. “We, and by that I mean the entire Catholic church, cannot afford to take even the smallest chance that a breakthrough in Quantum Tantra could threaten the careers of millions of loyal Vatican employees. We’re shutting you down.”
As Don Rico continued to list the many ways quantum tantra could spell ruin for the Church, Nick allowed his attention to rest warmly on Sister Lola, smiling not only at the stunning beauty that had materialized before him, but also knowing that the Jesuit and the nun were now unwitting participants in Nick’s latest quantum tantra designer drug experiment. Nick had just filled the air of his cabin with a stunningly fast acting MDMA analog when his visitors arrived. And so now the three of them were about to melt down together.
“and you,” Nick interjected, turning to Sister Lola, after Don Rico had finished explaining god’s reasoning when He outlawed nature worship long ago, “how long have you known this man?”
She looked at the older man. “We just met.”
“you just met?” nick said, as he felt the warm swamp of emotions coming on.
“well, that’s not quite true,” Don Rico said, the muscles in his face relaxing, pupils dilating like black holes of desire, “there was that time at my nephews confirmation”, turning Sister Lola’s face away from Nick to face him. “I must confess, I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
“And yet”, Nick challenged him, “you allowed her to finish her studies at the nunnery and take her final vows?”
“I was a fool, I know, Lola,” he said, tears welling in his eyes as Nick and Lola helped him off the floor and into a chair. “I should have told you, then, I know…”
“It’s alright, Don Rico, really, it was for the best,” Lola said, gently cradling his head between her breasts. “We’re both in a better place now.”
“Exactly,” Nick confirmed. There was silence for a good long while after this, and Nick watched in fascination and even sacred awe as Don Rico and Sister Lola gradually disrobed each other and made passionate, abandoned, even blasphemous love on his carpet, as he read the words of his latest poem over them,
“The pious Muslim bathes himself,” Nick read, as Don Rico lapped at Sister Lola’s nipples emerging through her habit,
“Prostrates five times from dusk to dawn
Submits himself to Hidden Mystery
That can be neither named nor drawn.”
At one moment during their loveplay, they both gave Nick their full attention, who, even in this moment of supreme psychedelic, quantum tantra release, faithfully recited the challenge to them,
“O Western he-man, show me your hottest fantasy
What turns you on so much you've got to scream” he hurled the challenge into Don Rico’s liquid eyes, and then turning to Sister Lola,
“And sophisticated Western woman also
Step forth, show off your deepest sexual dream.”
When he spoke the words “sexual dream”, a literal shudder went through the joined, throbbing bodies of the priest and the nun, sweating like stuck pigs before him,
“WAGE TANTRIC JIHAD!” Nick thundered above their prostrate, exhausted bodies,
“Unleash your deepest dreams of heart's delight!”
The turning point I mentioned, that I’m about to share, happened the next morning at Nick’s place. The priest and the nun were gone. Nick’s first thought was that it had been a dream, until he remembered that he had videotaped the whole thing (as part of the experiment, of course). Next, the deeper question emerged. What had it meant? Had anything really changed in the fabric of reality, or the species possibility? Or was he only fooling himself, and by extension, the world, with his ridiculous notions of licking and tickling mother nature’s secrets from her?
His first inkling that the experiment of the previous evening had borne fruit, had dented the universe, even, was when he logged onto the Internet and discovered that they were installing the first female Pope in the Vatican. His next clue was turning on the tv news and learning that Annie Sprinkle had just been elected President, having run as a Green. The clincher was the crowd of escapees from the nunneries, milling about his property, forming a line in front of his door, waiting patiently in hopes he would choose them for his next quantum tantra experiment, and so he did go to the door, and appraised the first young woman for her potential, kneeling before him, repeating softly, “fuck me, father, for I have sensed.”
First of all, they didn't stand in line. They swarmed and moaned. And they all brought gifts.
Each woman claimed to have received in a dream, in a vision, or in a fit of inspired copulation, one puzzle piece of the Great Erotic Equation.
While others were channelling on the spot fragments of a blueprint for a Quantum Soft Machine that promised to open up the cosmos to a new and more intimate kind of exploration.
With tears of gratitude filling his eyes, Nick recited the classic hadith:
"I was a Hidden Treasure/And desired to be known."
And invited the women into his laboratory.
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