Seratonin

Beyond all wrong-doing
and all right-doing
is a field.
I will meet you there.

- Jalaludin Al-Rumi



What is “sin” for a mystic like Rumi? For anyone who takes it upon themselves to pursue spiritual enlightenment in ways that disregard and often offend religious dogma?

Sin is whatever distracts one from the path of edification. Accordingly, it is impossible to pinpoint what sin is prior to identifying where this path lies. I have many times gone through life like a zombie, satisfying my body without really trying to take that satisfaction and turn it into an energy that can transform my life.

But, what if sin leads to an awakening or an epiphany of sorts? Does that not make it part of the path? Who unleashed the snake Satan into the garden of Eden? Was it not God? Adam and Eve were destined to fail, and so are we. But, one hopes, failure is part of the process.

I am a sinner, and my sins are many. I have hurt, but mostly myself, and as a result the need for change has not been immense. I say, the only sins that remain so are the ones you have not learned anything from.

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I danced my heart out on Saturday. My body swayed and thrusted to the heavy bass and crisp vocals of Lady Gaga as she opened her Monster Ball with the words “Silicone. Saline. Poison…Inject me”. It was all I could do not to collapse from exhaustion, from my severely low levels of seratonin, and it took a few Irish coffees for me to be even standing meters away from her gyrating body under the dome of the O2.

Rewind, it’s Thursday.


By 8pm I was feeling a little anxious. Going out in London on Fridays and Saturdays can be unpalatable. The city is crawling with out-of-town drunken revelers and mad locals alike. Understanding this, and since both Jared and Rodrigo were visiting from NY and Rio respectively, we decided we’d take them out whilst the city is still in good shape. I blamed my anxiousness on the fact that I had a lot of work the next day and didn’t want to stay out too late. But perhaps I should have rethought the guest list in light of this glaring fact.

Most of us 'pre-gamed’ at my place. This is where the madness begins, and as of late the magnitude has been steadily rising. The bottles of Belvedere and Goldwasser came out, but so did the neat packs of cocaine and mephodrome. Drugs have always been around. They always will be. The same can be said for the social stigma surrounding them, for which I care very little. What concerns me, above all else, is my safety. Knowing very well that I am a sinner, I draw a balance between enjoyment and cautiousness, one that I have maintained very well.

But, that night, I began to loose track of how many lines I’d had. Maybe it was my exhaustion, or the need for escape from some of the harsh realities that surrounded me at the time, but I did not stop. At 3am, on the dancefloor with some of my girlfriends from high-school who have been equally indulging, I was on a plane I’d never been before. My confidence was extreme, my awareness heightened. In a moment, I saw him from the corner of my eye, the person I would drag to my cave tonight and consume like a lion ravaging a zebra. I wasted no time in walking up to him and, as I approached him, I realized that I already knew him (Derek). I’d always been interested, but he’d been dating someone up until recently. He saw me coming and beamed a smile. I wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

Back at my place the pace was slow and intense. We both kept doing lines as our hearts raced and eyes took in the vibrant colors. We had sex for hours, sex of an intensity and sensuality I have very rarely experienced. The cocaine delayed our orgasms for at least an hour at a time, allowing us to make the most of every single touch. When we were finished, the sun had come up, for the first time in weeks, there were no clouds smothering it. That’s when I remembered work.

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“Silicone! Saline! Poison…Inject me baby!” Gaga hollered at the sea of people and flashing cameras. I had survived the Friday at work, productively even, but more than ever I felt like a monster. I had no intention of seeing Derek again, though he had consistently called me since that out-of-body experience in the first hours of Friday. I wasn’t going to call because I  felt like a cheap, coked-up stereotype, and all he would do is remind me of this. When did I become this person? Serial sex, extreme indulgence, leaving people hanging in tandem after I promised them the world?

I have sinned. But it remains to be seen whether this sin will be a lesson that justifies all harm or another evening under-rug-swept, eating away at my soul.