In marriage, husband and wife wage the subtle, satisfying war of sex
upon each other. It gives a profound satisfaction, a profound intimacy.
But it destroys all joy, all unanimity in action.
On Sunday afternoons the uncomfortable youth walks by the side of his
maiden for an hour in the public highway. Then he escapes; as from a
bondage he goes back to his men companions. On Sunday afternoons and
evenings the married woman, accompanied by a friend or by a child--she
dare not go alone, afraid of the strange, terrible sex-war between her
and the drunken man--is seen leading home the wine-drunken, liberated
husband. Sometimes she is beaten when she gets home. It is part of the
process. But there is no synthetic love between men and women, there is
only passion, and passion is fundamental hatred, the act of love is
a fight.
The child, the outcome, is divine. Here the union, the oneness, is
manifest. Though spirit strove with spirit, in mortal conflict, during
the sex-passion, yet the flesh united with flesh in oneness. The phallus
is still divine. But the spirit, the mind of man, this has
become nothing.
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