So, why does good sex so often fade, even for couples who continue to love each other as much as ever? And why does good intimacy not guarantee good sex, contrary to popular belief? Or, the next question would be, can we want what we already have? That's the million-dollar question, right? And why is the forbidden so erotic? What is it about transgression that makes desire so potent? And why does sex make babies, and babies spell erotic disaster in couples?
Zakaj dober seks tako pogosto postane medel tudi za pare, ki se imajo še vedno tako radi kot prej? Zakaj dobra intimnost ne zagotavlja dobrega seksa, kar nasprotuje splošnemu prepričanju? Ali, kar bi bilo naslednje vprašanje, si lahko želimo tega, kar že imamo? To je vprašanje za milijon dolarjev, kajne? Zakaj je prepovedano tako erotično? Zakaj prekoračitev mej tako zelo okrepi poželenje? Zakaj pri seksu nastanejo otroci, ti pa pri parih povzročijo erotično katastrofo?
(Laughter)
To je nekakšen smrtni erotični udarec, kajne?
It's kind of the fatal erotic blow, isn't it? And when you love, how does it feel? And when you desire, how is it different?
Kadar ljubimo, kakšen je ta občutek? Kadar si želimo, kako je to drugače?
These are some of the questions that are at the center of my exploration on the nature of erotic desire and its concomitant dilemmas in modern love. So I travel the globe, and what I'm noticing is that everywhere where romanticism has entered, there seems to be a crisis of desire. A crisis of desire, as in owning the wanting -- desire as an expression of our individuality, of our free choice, of our preferences, of our identity -- desire that has become a central concept as part of modern love and individualistic societies.
To so nekatera izmed vprašanj, ki so glavna za moje raziskovanje narave erotičnega poželenja in spremljajočih dilem v sodobni ljubezni. Potujem po svetu in opažam, da povsod, kjer najdemo romantiko, obstaja nekakšna kriza poželenja. Kriza poželenja, kar pomeni priznati, da si želimo poželenja -- da bi z njim izrazil svojo individualnost, svojo svobodno izbiro, svoje preference in svojo identiteto -- poželenje, ki je postalo osrednja zamisel in del sodobne ljubezni v individualističnih družbah.
You know, this is the first time in the history of humankind where we are trying to experience sexuality in the long term not because we want 14 children, for which we need to have even more because many of them won't make it, and not because it is exclusively a woman's marital duty. This is the first time that we want sex over time about pleasure and connection that is rooted in desire.
Veste, to je prvič v zgodovini človeštva, da poskušamo doživeti spolnost na dolgi rok, ne ker bi hoteli 14 otrok, ker bi jih morali imeti še več, saj jih večina ne bi preživela, in ne ker bi bila to izključna dolžnost poročene ženske. To je prvič, da si želimo dolgotrajnega seksa zaradi užitka in povezanosti, ki je zakoreninjena v poželenju.
So what sustains desire, and why is it so difficult? And at the heart of sustaining desire in a committed relationship, I think, is the reconciliation of two fundamental human needs. On the one hand, our need for security, for predictability, for safety, for dependability, for reliability, for permanence. All these anchoring, grounding experiences of our lives that we call home. But we also have an equally strong need -- men and women -- for adventure, for novelty, for mystery, for risk, for danger, for the unknown, for the unexpected, surprise -- you get the gist. For journey, for travel.
Kaj ohranja poželenje in zakaj je to tako težko? Mislim, da je v središču ohranjanja poželenja v dolgotrajnem razmerju uskladitev dveh osnovnih človeških potreb. Na eni strani je naša potreba po varnosti, predvidljivosti, zanesljivosti, gotovosti, trajnosti, kar so vse prizemljujoče, trdne izkušnje v našem življenju, ki jim pravimo dom. Poleg tega pa imamo enako močno potrebo -- tako moški kot ženske -- po avanturah, novostih, skrivnostnosti, tveganju, nevarnosti, neznanem, nepričakovanem, presenečenju -- saj razumete -- po potovanjih.
So reconciling our need for security and our need for adventure into one relationship, or what we today like to call a passionate marriage, used to be a contradiction in terms. Marriage was an economic institution in which you were given a partnership for life in terms of children and social status and succession and companionship. But now we want our partner to still give us all these things, but in addition I want you to be my best friend and my trusted confidant and my passionate lover to boot, and we live twice as long.
Usklajevanje naše potrebe po varnosti in naše potrebe po pustolovščinah v enem razmerju, kar je to, čemur danes pravimo strasten zakon, je bilo nekoč v protislovju. Zakon je bil ekonomska ustanova, v kateri ste dobili doživljenjsko partnerstvo v smislu otrok, socialnega statusa, nasledstva in družabništva. Danes pa želimo, da nam partner še vedno nudi vse te stvari, poleg tega pa želimo, da so naši najboljši prijatelji, zaupniki in povrhu še strastni ljubimci, živimo pa dvakrat dlje.
(Laughter)
(smeh)
So we come to one person, and we basically are asking them to give us what once an entire village used to provide. Give me belonging, give me identity, give me continuity, but give me transcendence and mystery and awe all in one. Give me comfort, give me edge. Give me novelty, give me familiarity. Give me predictability, give me surprise. And we think it's a given, and toys and lingerie are going to save us with that.
Pristopimo do človeka in jih pravzaprav prosimo, da nam dajo, kar nam je nekoč nudila celotna vas; daj mi pripadanje, daj mi identiteto, daj mi doslednost, a obenem mi daj tudi izvrstnost, skrivnostnost in spoštovanje. Daj mi udobje, daj mi ostrino. Daj mi novost, daj mi poznanost. Daj mi predvidljivost, daj mi presenečenje. Mislimo, da je to samo po sebi dano in da nas bodo rešile igračke in perilo.
(Laughter)
(aplavz)
(Applause)
Zdaj smo prišli do eksistencialne resničnosti v zgodbi, kajne?
So now we get to the existential reality of the story, right? Because I think, in some way -- and I'll come back to that -- but the crisis of desire is often a crisis of the imagination.
Mislim, da na nek način -- in k temu se bom vrnila -- je kriza poželenja pogosto kriza domišljije.
So why does good sex so often fade? What is the relationship between love and desire? How do they relate, and how do they conflict? Because therein lies the mystery of eroticism.
Zakaj dober seks tako pogosto postane medel? Kakšno je razmerje med ljubeznijo in poželenjem? Kako sta povezana in kako si nasprotujeta? V tem leži skrivnost erotike.
So if there is a verb, for me, that comes with love, it's "to have." And if there is a verb that comes with desire, it is "to want." In love, we want to have, we want to know the beloved. We want to minimize the distance. We want to contract that gap. We want to neutralize the tensions. We want closeness. But in desire, we tend to not really want to go back to the places we've already gone. Forgone conclusion does not keep our interest. In desire, we want an Other, somebody on the other side that we can go visit, that we can go spend some time with, that we can go see what goes on in their red-light district. You know? In desire, we want a bridge to cross. Or in other words, I sometimes say, fire needs air. Desire needs space. And when it's said like that, it's often quite abstract.
Če zame obstaja glagol, ki je povezan z ljubeznijo, je to "imeti". Če obstaja glagol, ki je povezan s poželenjem, je to "želeti". V ljubezni želimo imeti, želimo poznati ljubljenega. Hočemo zmanjšati razdaljo. Hočemo premostiti vrzel. Hočemo nevtralizirati napetost. Hočemo bližino. V poželenju pa si po navadi ne želimo nazaj na kraje, kjer smo že bili. Ne zanima nas več predvidljivi izid. V poželenju si želimo nekaj drugega, nekoga na drugi strani, ki ga lahko obiščemo, s katerim lahko preživimo nekaj časa, pri katerem lahko obiščemo njegovo rdečo četrt. V poželenju si želimo vrzeli, ki jo je treba premostiti. Včasih povem to drugače; ogenj potrebuje zrak. Poželenje potrebuje prostor. Ko to rečemo tako, pogosto zveni abstraktno.
But then I took a question with me. And I've gone to more than 20 countries in the last few years with "Mating in Captivity," and I asked people, when do you find yourself most drawn to your partner? Not attracted sexually, per Se, but most drawn. And across culture, across religion, and across gender -- except for one -- there are a few answers that just keep coming back.
Potem sem to vprašanje vzela s seboj. V zadnjih nekaj letih sem bila v več kot 20 državah s "Parjenjem v ujetništvu" in ljudi sem vprašala, kdaj se jim njihov partner zdi najbolj privlačen. Niti ne spolno, ampak da jih najbolj privlačijo. Ne glede na kulturo, vero, spol -- razen enega -- so se pogosto pojavljali nekateri odgovori.
So the first group is: I am most drawn to my partner when she is away, when we are apart, when we reunite. Basically, when I get back in touch with my ability to imagine myself with my partner, when my imagination comes back in the picture, and when I can root it in absence and in longing, which is a major component of desire.
Prva skupina je bila: "Moj partnerka me najbolj privlači, ko je odsotna, ko sva narazen, ko se spet združiva. Ko zopet vzpostavim stik z zmožnostjo, da si sebe predstavljam s partnerjem, moja domišljija spet oživi in ko lahko najdem osnovo poželenja v odsotnosti in hrepenenju, kar je velik del poželenja."
But then the second group is even more interesting. I am most drawn to my partner when I see him in the studio, when she is onstage, when he is in his element, when she's doing something she's passionate about, when I see him at a party and other people are really drawn to him, when I see her hold court. Basically, when I look at my partner radiant and confident. Probably the biggest turn-on across the board. Radiant, as in self-sustaining. I look at this person -- by the way, in desire people rarely talk about it, when we are blended into one, five centimeters from each other. I don't know in inches how much that is.
Druga skupina je še bolj zanimiva: "Moj partner me najbolj privlači, ko ga vidim v studiu, ko je na odru, ko je v svojem elementu, ko počne nekaj, glede česa je strasten, ko ga vidim na zabavi in res privlači druge ljudi, ko je pod žarometi. Kadar torej vidim partnerja, ko je žareč in samozavesten, je to najbolj seksi reč. Žareč in neodvisen. To osebo pogledam -- mimogrede, pri poželenju ljudje redko govorijo o tem, kadar smo združeni v eno, pet centimetrov drug od drugega. Ne vem, koliko je to v inčih. In ne zgodi se takrat, ko je človek tako daleč stran,
But it's also not when the other person is that far apart that you no longer see them. It's when I'm looking at my partner from a comfortable distance, where this person that is already so familiar, so known, is momentarily once again somewhat mysterious, somewhat elusive. And in this space between me and the other lies the erotic élan, lies that movement toward the other. Because sometimes, as Proust says, mystery is not about traveling to new places, but it's about looking with new eyes. And so, when I see my partner on his own or her own, doing something in which they are enveloped, I look at this person and I momentarily get a shift in perception, and I stay open to the mysteries that are living right next to me.
da ga ne vidiš več. To se zgodi, ko partnerja vidimo z dobre razdalje, ko človek, ki je tako znan, tako domač, za trenutek zopet postane nekako skrivnosten, izmikajoč se." V tem prostoru med nama leži erotični elan, ta sila, ki vleče proti drugemu. Včasih, kot pravi Proust, skrivnostnost ni v potovanju na nove kraje, ampak v gledanju z novimi očmi. Ko partnerja torej vidim samega, ko zavzeto počne nekaj, pogledam tega človeka in za trenutek dobim drugačno perspektivo in se odprem skrivnostnosti, ki živi poleg mene.
And then, more importantly, in this description about the other or myself -- it's the same -- what is most interesting is that there is no neediness in desire. Nobody needs anybody. There is no caretaking in desire. Caretaking is mightily loving. It's a powerful anti-aphrodisiac.
Bolj pomembno pa je, da v tem opisu drugega, ali sebe -- to je enako -- je najbolj zanimivo, da pri poželenju ni nobenega potrebovanja. Nihče ne potrebuje nikogar. V poželenju ni oskrbovanja. Oskrbovanje je močno ljubeče. To je močan antiafrodizijak.
(Laughter)
I have yet to see somebody who is so turned on by somebody who needs them. Wanting them is one thing. Needing them is a shot down and women have known that forever, because anything that will bring up parenthood will usually decrease the erotic charge.
Nisem še videla, da bi nekoga vzburilo dejstvo, da ga nekdo potrebuje. Želeti si nekoga je druga stvar. Potrebovati pa je blokada in ženske se tega zavedajo že celo večnost, ker, karkoli spominja na starševstvo, po navadi zmanjša erotični naboj.
(Laughter)
Za to obstajajo dobri razlogi, kajne?
For good reasons, right?
And then the third group of answers usually would be: when I'm surprised, when we laugh together, as somebody said to me in the office today, when he's in his tux, so I said, you know, it's either the tux or the cowboy boots. But basically it's when there is novelty. But novelty isn't about new positions. It isn't a repertoire of techniques. Novelty is, what parts of you do you bring out? What parts of you are just being seen?
Tretja skupina odgovorov bi po navadi bila: "Ko sem presenečen, ko se skupaj smejeva." Nekdo mi je danes v pisarni rekel: "Ko je v smokingu." Na to sem dejala: "Vedno je ali smoking ali kavbojski škornji." Pravzaprav gre za novosti. A novost niso novi položaji ali repertoar tehnik. Novost je v tem, katere dele sebe pokažete. Katere dele ste pokazali šele zdaj?
Because in some way one could say sex isn't something you do, eh? Sex is a place you go. It's a space you enter inside yourself and with another, or others. So where do you go in sex? What parts of you do you connect to? What do you seek to express there? Is it a place for transcendence and spiritual union? Is it a place for naughtiness and is it a place to be safely aggressive? Is it a place where you can finally surrender and not have to take responsibility for everything? Is it a place where you can express your infantile wishes? What comes out there? It's a language. It isn't just a behavior. And it's the poetic of that language that I'm interested in, which is why I began to explore this concept of erotic intelligence.
Na nek način bi lahko dejali, da seks ni nekaj, kar počnemo, kaj? Seks je kraj, ki ga obiščemo. Je prostor, v katerega vstopimo v samem sebi in to z drugim, ali drugimi. Kam greste pri seksu? S katerimi deli sebe se povežete? Kaj si želite izraziti? Gre za premoč ali duševno zvezo? Gre za porednost in ali je to kraj, kjer je varno biti agresiven? Je to kraj, kjer se lahko predate in ne prevzemate odgovornosti za vse? Je to kraj, kjer lahko izrazite svoje otročje želje? Kaj pride na plan? To je jezik. Ni le vedenje. Zanima me poetičnost tega jezika, zaradizato sem začela raziskovati to idejo erotične inteligence.
You know, animals have sex. It's the pivot, it's biology, it's the natural instinct. We are the only ones who have an erotic life, which means that it's sexuality transformed by the human imagination. We are the only ones who can make love for hours, have a blissful time, multiple orgasms, and touch nobody, just because we can imagine it. We can hint at it. We don't even have to do it. We can experience that powerful thing called anticipation, which is a mortar to desire. The ability to imagine it, as if it's happening, to experience it as if it's happening, while nothing is happening and everything is happening, at the same time.
Veste, živali seksajo. Vse se vrti okoli tega, je biološko, naravni instinkt. Mi smo edini, ki imamo erotično življenje, kar pomeni, da človeška domišljija preobrazi spolnost. Mi smo edini, ki se lahko ljubimo več ur, se imamo božansko, večkratne orgazme, ne da bi se kogarkoli dotaknili, ker si to lahko predstavljamo. Lahko namignemo na to. Tega nam ni treba niti storiti. Doživimo lahko to močno stvar, ki ji pravimo pričakovanje, in ki je sestavni del strasti. Zmožnost predstavljati si, da se dogaja, doživljati, kot da se dogaja, kadar se nič ne dogaja in se obenem dogaja vse.
So when I began to think about eroticism, I began to think about the poetics of sex. And if I look at it as an intelligence, then it's something that you cultivate. What are the ingredients? Imagination, playfulness, novelty, curiosity, mystery. But the central agent is really that piece called the imagination.
Ko sem pričela premišljevati o erotiki, sem pričela premišljevati o poeziji seksa. Če to pogledam kot nekakšno inteligenco, je to nekaj, kar gojimo. Katere so sestavine? Domišljija, igrivost, novosti, radovednost, skrivnostnost. A osrednji dejavnik je delček, ki mu pravimo domišljija.
But more importantly, for me to begin to understand who are the couples who have an erotic spark, what sustains desire, I had to go back to the original definition of eroticism, the mystical definition, and I went through it through a bifurcation by looking, actually, at trauma, which is the other side. And I looked at it, looking at the community that I had grown up in, which was a community in Belgium, all Holocaust survivors, and in my community, there were two groups: those who didn't die, and those who came back to life. And those who didn't die lived often very tethered to the ground, could not experience pleasure, could not trust, because when you're vigilant, worried, anxious, and insecure, you can't lift your head to go and take off in space and be playful and safe and imaginative. Those who came back to life were those who understood the erotic as an antidote to death. They knew how to keep themselves alive. And when I began to listen to the sexlessness of the couples that I work with, I sometimes would hear people say, "I want more sex," but generally, people want better sex, and better is to reconnect with that quality of aliveness, of vibrancy, of renewal, of vitality, of Eros, of energy that sex used to afford them, or that they've hoped it would afford them.
Da bi lahko razumela, kdo so pari, ki imajo erotično iskrico, kaj ohranja poželenje, sem se morala vrniti k izvirni definiciji erotike, skrivnostni definiciji. Čez njo sem se prebila tako, da sem si pogledala travmo, ki je bila nekaj drugačnega. To sem si ogledala tako, da sem raziskala skupnost, v kateri sem odrasla, to je bila skupnost preživelih holokavsta v Belgiji. V tej skupnosti sta bili dve skupini: tisti, ki niso umrli, in tisti, ki so ponovno oživeli. Tisti, ki niso umrli, so pogosto bili zelo pobiti, niso mogli izkusiti užitka, niso mogli zaupati, ker, ko si pazljiv, prestrašen, zaskrbljen in negotov, ne moreš dvigniti glave, da bi odletel v vesolje in bil igriv, varen in iznajdljiv. Tisti, ki so ponovno oživeli, so bili tisti, ki so razumeli, da je erotika protistrup smrti. Vedeli so, kako same sebe ohranjati žive. Ko sem začela poslušati o pomanjkanju spolnosti parov, s katerimi sem delala, sem včasih slišala: "Želim si več seksa." A ljudje si po navadi želijo boljšega seksa in boljše pomeni, da ponovno vzpostaviš vez z živostjo, živahnostjo, obnovitvijo, vitalnostjo, libidom, energijo, ki jih je včasih nudil seks, ali za katere so upali, da jim jih bo nudil.
And so I began to ask a different question. "I shut myself off when ..." began to be the question. "I turn off my desires when ..." Which is not the same question as, "What turns me off is ..." and "You turn me off when ..." And people began to say, "I turn myself off when I feel dead inside, when I don't like my body, when I feel old, when I haven't had time for myself, when I haven't had a chance to even check in with you, when I don't perform well at work, when I feel low self esteem, when I don't have a sense of self-worth, when I don't feel like I have a right to want, to take, to receive pleasure."
Zato sem začela postavljati drugačna vprašanja. Vprašanje je postalo: "Zaprem se vase, ko ..." "Svoje poželenje ugasnem, ko ..." kar ni enako kot: "Ohladim se, ko ..." in "Moje vzburjenje ugasneš, ko ..." Ljudje so začeli govoriti: "Ohladim se, ko se znotraj počutim mrtvega, ko mi ni všeč moje telo, ko se počutim starega, ko nisem imel časa zase, ko nisem imel niti priložnosti, da te pokličem, ko mi ne gre v službi, ko imam nizko samozavest, ko ne cenim samega sebe, ko mislim, da si nimam pravice želeti, vzeti in dobiti užitek."
And then I began to ask the reverse question. "I turn myself on when ..." Because most of the time, people like to ask the question, "You turn me on, what turns me on," and I'm out of the question, you know? Now, if you are dead inside, the other person can do a lot of things for Valentine's. It won't make a dent. There is nobody at the reception desk.
Nato sem začela obračati vprašanje. "Sam sebe vzburim, ko ..." Ker po navadi ljudje radi sprašujejo: "Ti me vzburiš, kaj me vzburi," in nisem več del vprašanja. Razumete? Če se znotraj počutiš mrtvega, lahko druga oseba stori mnogo stvari na valentinovo, a to ne bo imelo učinka. Nobenega ni na recepciji. (smeh)
(Laughter)
So I turn myself on when, I turn on my desires, I wake up when ...
Sama sebe vzburim, ko ... Prižgem svoje poželenje, zbudim se, ko ...
Now, in this paradox between love and desire, what seems to be so puzzling is that the very ingredients that nurture love -- mutuality, reciprocity, protection, worry, responsibility for the other -- are sometimes the very ingredients that stifle desire. Because desire comes with a host of feelings that are not always such favorites of love: jealousy, possessiveness, aggression, power, dominance, naughtiness, mischief. Basically most of us will get turned on at night by the very same things that we will demonstrate against during the day. You know, the erotic mind is not very politically correct. If everybody was fantasizing on a bed of roses, we wouldn't be having such interesting talks about this.
Pri tem paradoksu med ljubeznijo in poželenjem je begajoče, da prav te sestavine, ki hranijo ljubezen -- skupnost, vzajemnost, zaščita, skrb, odgovornost za drugega -- so ravno te sestavine, ki gasijo poželenje. Poželenje spremlja skupina čustev, ki niso vedno priljubljeni v ljubezni: ljubosumje, posesivnost, agresija, moč, dominantnost, porednost, nagajivost. Večino izmed nas bo ponoči vzburilo to, proti čemur bomo protestirali čez dan. Veste, erotični um ni politično korekten. Če bi vsi fantazirali o postelji prekriti z vrtnicami, ne bi imeli teh zanimivih pogovorov.
(Laughter)
Ampak ni tako. V naših možganih
But no, in our mind up there are a host of things going on that we don't always know how to bring to the person that we love, because we think love comes with selflessness and in fact desire comes with a certain amount of selfishness in the best sense of the word: the ability to stay connected to one's self in the presence of another.
je ogromno reči, za katere včasih ne vemo, kako bi jih omenili človeku, ki ga ljubimo, ker mislimo, da je ljubezen nesebična. Res pa je, da poželenje spremlja določna mera sebičnosti v najboljšem pomenu besede: zmožen ostati povezan sam s sabo v prisotnosti drugega.
So I want to draw that little image for you, because this need to reconcile these two sets of needs, we are born with that. Our need for connection, our need for separateness, or our need for security and adventure, or our need for togetherness and for autonomy, and if you think about the little kid who sits on your lap and who is cozily nested here and very secure and comfortable, and at some point all of us need to go out into the world to discover and to explore. That's the beginning of desire, that exploratory need, curiosity, discovery. And then at some point they turn around and they look at you. And if you tell them, "Hey kiddo, the world's a great place. Go for it. There's so much fun out there," then they can turn away and they can experience connection and separateness at the same time. They can go off in their imagination, off in their body, off in their playfulness, all the while knowing that there's somebody when they come back.
Rada bi vam to prikazala nazorno, saj se rodimo s potrebo, da bi uskladili te dve skupini potreb. Naša potreba po povezanosti, naša potreba po ločenosti, ali naša potreba po varnosti in pustolovščini ali naša potreba po skupnosti in samostojnosti. Pomislite na otroka, ki vam sedi v naročju, udobno je nameščen in zelo varen. Slej ko prej moramo vsi iti v svet, da raziskujemo in odkrivamo. To je pričetek poželenja, potrebe po raziskovanju, radovednosti, odkrivanju. Nekega dne se otrok obrne in vas pogleda, in če mu rečete: "Hej, mali, svet je krasen. Kar daj. Zunaj je obilo zabave," se lahko obrne stran in doživi povezanost in odtujenost obenem. Lahko odpotuje z domišljijo, s telesom, z igrivostjo in ves čas ve, da ga nekdo čaka, ko se vrne.
But if on this side there is somebody who says, "I'm worried. I'm anxious. I'm depressed. My partner hasn't taken care of me in so long. What's so good out there? Don't we have everything you need together, you and I?" then there are a few little reactions that all of us can pretty much recognize. Some of us will come back, came back a long time ago, and that little child who comes back is the child who will forgo a part of himself in order not to lose the other. I will lose my freedom in order not to lose connection. And I will learn to love in a certain way that will become burdened with extra worry and extra responsibility and extra protection, and I won't know how to leave you in order to go play, in order to go experience pleasure, in order to discover, to enter inside myself.
A če je na tej strani nekdo, ki reče: "Skrbi me. Živčen sem. Depresiven sem. Moj partner že dolgo ni poskrbel zame. Kaj je dobrega tam zunaj? Ali nimava vsega, kar potrebuješ, skupaj, jaz in ti?" Potem se zgodi serija malih odzivov, ki jih lahko prepoznamo skorajda vsi. Nekateri se bomo vrnili, smo se vrnili dolgo časa nazaj in ta mali otrok, ki pride nazaj, je otrok, ki je zavrgel delček sebe, da ne bi izgubil drugega. Izgubil bom svojo svobodo, da ne bi izgubil povezanosti. Naučil se bom ljubiti na način, ki bo še bolj otežen zaradi dodatnih skrbi, dodatne odgovornosti in dodatne zaščite. Ne bom te znal zapustiti, da bi se igral, da bi doživel ugodje, da bi odkrival, da bi vstopil vase.
Translate this into adult language. It starts very young. It continues into our sex lives up to the end. Child number two comes back but looks like that over their shoulder all the time. "Are you going to be there? Are you going to curse me, scold me? Are you going to be angry with me?" And they may be gone, but they're never really away. And those are often the people that will tell you, "In the beginning, it was super hot." Because in the beginning, the growing intimacy wasn't yet so strong that it actually led to the decrease of desire. The more connected I became, the more responsible I felt, the less I was able to let go in your presence. The third child doesn't really come back.
To prevedite v jezik odraslih. Začne se pri mladih letih in se nadaljuje v naše spolno življenje, vse do konca. Otrok številka dve se vrne, a se kar naprej ozira čez ramo. "Ali boš tam? Ali me boš preklel? Ali me boš okaral? Ali boš jezen name?" Morda ga ni več, a nikoli ni zares odšel in to so pogosto ljudje, ki vam bodo dejali, da je bil začetek res vroč. Ker na začetku ta rastoča intimnost še ni bila tako močna, da bi pripeljala do zmanjšanega poželenja. Bolj kot sem se počutil povezanega, bolj sem se počutil odgovornega in manj sem se upal sprostiti v tvoji prisotnosti. Tretji otrok se pravzaprav nikoli ne vrne.
So what happens, if you want to sustain desire, it's that real dialectic piece. On the one hand you want the security in order to be able to go. On the other hand if you can't go, you can't have pleasure, you can't culminate, you don't have an orgasm, you don't get excited because you spend your time in the body and the head of the other and not in your own.
Če torej želite ohranjati poželenje, ste postavljeni v protislovno situacijo. Po eni strani si želite varnosti, da bi se lahko sprostili. Po drugi strani, če ne morete oditi, ne morete izkusiti užitka, ne kulminirate, ne dosežete orgazma, ne vzburite se, ker svoj čas porabite v telesu in glavi drugega in ne sebe.
So in this dilemma about reconciling these two sets of fundamental needs, there are a few things that I've come to understand erotic couples do. One, they have a lot of sexual privacy. They understand that there is an erotic space that belongs to each of them. They also understand that foreplay is not something you do five minutes before the real thing. Foreplay pretty much starts at the end of the previous orgasm. They also understand that an erotic space isn't about, you begin to stroke the other. It's about you create a space where you leave Management Inc., maybe where you leave the Agile program --
O tej dilemi o usklajevanju teh dveh skupin osnovnih potreb sem ugotovila nekaj stvari, ki jih počenejo erotični pari. Prvič, imajo veliko seksualne zasebnosti. Razumejo, da obstaja erotičen prostor, ki pripada vsakemu izmed njiju. Razumejo tudi, da predigra ni nekaj, kar počnemo pet minut pred pravo zadevo. Predigra se začne na koncu prejšnjega orgazma. Razumejo tudi, da se erotičen prostor ne začne z dotikanjem drug drugega. Gre se za ustvarjanje prostora, kjer pustijo ob strani službo, kjer lahko pustijo ob strani fitnes,
(Laughter)
(smeh)
And you actually just enter that place where you stop being the good citizen who is taking care of things and being responsible.
in vstopijo v prostor, kjer prenehajo biti dober državljan,
Responsibility and desire just butt heads. They don't really do well together. Erotic couples also understand that passion waxes and wanes. It's pretty much like the moon. It has intermittent eclipses. But what they know is they know how to resurrect it. They know how to bring it back. And they know how to bring it back because they have demystified one big myth, which is the myth of spontaneity, which is that it's just going to fall from heaven while you're folding the laundry like a deus ex machina, and in fact they understood that whatever is going to just happen in a long-term relationship, already has.
ki poskrbi za zadeve in je odgovoren. Odgovornost in poželenje le tolčeta z glavami skupaj. Ne znata dobro sodelovati. Erotični pari tudi razumejo, da strast narašča in pada. Je kot luna. V presledkih obstajajo mrki. A zavedajo se, kako jo obuditi. Vedo, kako jo pripeljati nazaj in to vedo, ker so razkrili velik mit, namreč mit spontanosti, ki govori, da jim bo to padlo z nebes, ko bodo zlagali perilo, kot deus ex machina, in pravzaprav razumejo, da karkoli se bo zgodilo v dolgotrajnem razmerju, se je že zgodilo.
Committed sex is premeditated sex. It's willful. It's intentional. It's focus and presence.
Predan seks je premišljen seks. Zavesten je. Nameren je. Je osredotočenje in prisotnost.
Merry Valentine's.
Veselo valentinovo.
(Applause)
(aplavz)