All the wackiness of our mating ritual is gently folded into our terrifying survival mechanisms providing us with ample fodder for rationalization of behavior heretofore considered unbecoming. Aye, there is the rub. Primordial goo aside, the decorative aspects of these mindless glee fests almost seem to overwhelm any connection to any spiritual process.
But for what we dream
We're simply light streaming
Between what has been
And what must come into being
It seems as much a sin
As a reason for believing
To end and begin again
Simply by perceiving
This thin tissue of existence
Flutters through time and space
Amid attraction and resistance
We will always find our place
"It is often hard to determine whether a clear, open, and honorable proceeding is the result of goodness or of cunning."
- François, Duc De La Rochefoucauld (1613–1680)
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