1982, a retreat with an old Jesuit priest. "Don't screw him," the priest warned from the podium. Jay S. didn't understand the warning then, but he spent the next few decades learning how to stop the performance. For Jay, the wreckage of a first marriage and the fear of scarring his daughter demanded a new blueprint. He didn't just date; he ran a sexual inventory, filtering for women who sponsored others and had a "spiritual panache." He approached his current wife with a proposal to play for keeps, intentionally slowing down intimacy to strip the power exchange out of sex.
Jay describes the "blue collar" nature of meditation—simply putting one's fanny in a chair for three minutes to watch the mind. He recounts a "white light" experience in a church where the room vanished, leaving only the sense that everything is connected. From building a house for the poor on the Guatemalan border to managing his own ego, Jay views his scar tissue as his only real utility.
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