Tonight, I had sex with a salmon.
I let it enter me, tease me, and seduce me all the way to the center of my guts.
I’m talking about my dinner of course.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the topic of entering, penetration, communion.
Sometimes when I eat dinner I look mindlessly at my phone. But when I think about it, if I was in bed being penetrated by a lover, I would never be checking social media.
So why should it be any different with my dinner?
I owe it to this salmon to wrap my lips around it.
To open WIDE.
To let the oxygen fill my mouth, making this a glorious threesome.
To feel the reciprocity between my taste buds leaning forward, and the salmon diving headfirst towards my tongue, offering me ecstasy in the flesh, even in it’s death.
It reminds me of when I made my first communion. I went to church for 10 days in a row just to feel the unity of my budding senses with my roaring spirit…over….and over…and over again.
I give myself to this penetration of flavor as deeply as it gives itself to me.
And in doing so, I am reminded of the reason we call it “saying grace.”