Sins of intimate nature appear irresistible. No matter how prolific the swimmer, he cannot fight high tide. One confronted finds himself torn. He put forth all resistance but the pressure is too high, pull too forceful. He surmises that to succumb is to find relief, however temporary.
Therein lies the paradox.
Yes, letting go may lend some short-lived respite, but it is no more than the swimmer who finds anchor on slippery, moss-covered shallow ground. It is only a matter of time till the next tide sweeps him away again, every time dragged farther away from inland. To save himself, he must swim against tempest waters, persevere till he reaches the banks of sandy shore…and still then force his weary legs to carry his battered body home. He will collapse on his bed – in safety. By perpetual abstinence in the tempest-tossed waters of an over-sexualized society, one eventually returns to equanimity and safety.
The waters quiet. One returns home.
