By all means you should have kept on digressing Sitara, your description had its own motion, no pun intended. Isn't it funny though that the thing you carry in your pants can raise such awe and reverence, well awe it still does inspire I suppose, but reverence? There is a certain tongue and cheek kind of attitude when you talk about sex, especially when you are talking carvings, drawings, positions what not. I mean, may be you could get away with it, if you were a silk robe donning, perfumed oil rubbing orgy type of guy who owned a rotating bed, oh wait that's still funny. Or you could be Sting, touting your eight hour long orgasms But kind of a beautiful idea ain't it, that rather than you worship some abstraction, you super heighten your own physical attribute and worship that. That's where the reverence comes perhaps? until you get wound up in all your reverence and unless some one said "Ha Ha" things could go awry. like that guy in tv said, "imagine the faith of our enemies, those guys who want to blow themselves up, to kill us. They believe that when they die they will be greeted by 75 virgins at the gates of heaven. Imagine that kind of faith, When I search high and low and I have meet One in this earth." I digress too Not exactly a perfect analogy, but kind of like walking into a strip club- outlandish displays, the frilly transparent moves to attract your attention, keeping your gaze enlessly rolling up and down the curves but then sometimes you get that peace, almost meditative, a surge of epiphany that lasts for a fraction of certain duration, even as kaboos may be shaking frantically few feet away, directly in your line of vison..."This is it. This is what keeps the damn thing moving" But for how long, before long the utter banality of the whole deal gets to you, and you have to laugh. Not only at the dancers but yourself too because you bought the package, no sense in seeking a moral highground then. Look at the dancers, what may you, laugh, get turned on, scheme whatever, do not touch, that's implicitly known. Because the Mahankal of a bouncer can bear down upon you with great vengeance if you do. This is the shadow you live under. The vaudeville. Kind of like the same juxtaposition of the ever yearning and soaring spirit of yours in the temple vicinity, of a god who could be a penis! of a god who revels in offering of blood. yet on the columns, just a glance away, blissful copulation, but you can't laugh at least not heartfully, the mood of worship puts you down, and no one else seems to be looking up at this hedonistic orgy going on few feet above their heads, deliberately not acknowledging it....just like the implicit deal you strike in a strip club, that you will not laugh.....but what to do, if not laugh at this set up, of what appears to be a complex set up for a dark comedy