There Are Loves That Rupture the World
Some loves come quietly.
Others tear the veil.
In my life it is often the latter. I have ADHD – It is a superpower that is both a blessing and a curse. For me, it means living life amplified – Go big or go home.
Feeling it all, all the time.
The erotic, was never just about pleasure. It was never simply arousal or romance or even longing. It was, from the beginning, revolt—a sacred refusal to conform to a world that punishes the body and commodifies desire.
There is a kind of touch that doesn’t just awaken flesh—it resurrects theology.
There is a kiss that carries protest in its breath.
There is a body pressed against mine that becomes liturgy.
I’ve come to believe that every act of erotic love—when it is real, when it is vulnerable, when it is mutual and fierce—is an act of holy resistance.
The Erotic Refuses to Be Owned
Systems of power hate what they cannot control. And nothing is less controllable than a body in ecstatic surrender. Nothing more dangerous to Empire than a soul fully awake in the flesh, fully embodied, glorious and incarnate.
I was taught to suppress the erotic.
To cage it. To confess it. To starve it. To clean it up and atone for it.
But what if the erotic is not (and never was) the threat?
What if the threat is the godless machinery that teaches us to fear our skin, to dissociate from joy, to legislate desire? What if the threat resides not in the red light district but in the places of power, behind white walls and white picket fences, behind pulpits and lecterns?
What if Eros is not the enemy of the sacred—but its undeniable and ungoverned emissary?
When Love Becomes Heresy, You Know You’re Getting Close to God
There were moments I thought I was sinning.
Instead, I think I was being baptized.
Because every time I gave myself fully—not in performance, but in presence—I felt something eternal pulse through the moment. Not doctrine. Not dogma. But god. Wild and unsupervised.
The lovers who taught me the most theology didn’t wear vestments, uniforms or business suits. They wore their vulnerability. They offered me an altar I could kiss and tremble upon. And in their arms, I didn’t find transgression but redemption. They are the real prophets, the real apostles. Angelic deliverers of the divine event.
In them, with them, I found truth.
Erotic Resistance Is Not Just Personal—It’s Political
Make no mistake—this is not just about the bedroom. It’s about the town square. The classroom. The boardroom. The pew. The pulpit. The state.
To reclaim the erotic is to defiantly confront the powers that benefit from our shame. It is to stand – sometimes alone – against the oncoming tanks of ideologies and theologies that sever spirit from body, heaven from earth, love from justice.
To love erotically, in full sacred awareness, is to tear down idols.
It is to say:
My body is not a battleground.
My desire is not a disease.
My love is not a sin.
My pleasure is not your property.
It is to quietly recognize that god is here, too.
When Theology Burns With Skin and Breath
I no longer pray only with words.
I pray with tongue, hands, thighs, cock and heart.
With the unstoppable wildness of the roaring fire and the tenderness that trembles between two souls before they dare touch.
Theoerotic resistance is not academic.
It’s not theory.
It’s sweat. It’s risk. It’s the holiness of consent, the divinity of mutual need, the miracle of not holding back. It is reckless abandon to orgasmic waves.
I don’t want a transcendent theology that watches from afar.
I want one that sweats, moans and shudders with me.
Remember
Erotic love—honest, embodied, mutual—is not a distraction from holiness. It is the very place where holiness resists Empire. It is not sin but sacrament. It is not indulgence but incarnation.
To love erotically is to pray with your whole being.
To resist ideologies and theologies of shame.
To embody a god who touches, trembles, suffers and transforms.
