Safety, Safe Haven

Everybody has her idea of a safe haven, right?  The place where one goes and there is no threat of anything "wrong."

There are many versions of the safe haven in Second Life.  The Journey to Domination and Submission sim is one of those safe havens, a beautiful and natural setting with plenty of outdoor space and indoor shelter.  Pictures, art, reading, discussion areas, or a simple bench to occupy while listening to the radio and fishing in the pond.

I was thinking this week how grateful I am that such a place as J2D exists in the world.  Everybody needs a safe haven, even if they didn't realize it until they get there.

I spent time this week also making sure that I had my own house in order, my own safe haven, a retreat I share with Tasdron whenever he needs a safe retreat.  Cleaned, landscaped, tidied and organized.  It is a mental exercise to put my house in order and to see to the wee details, all the corners dusted, all the walls steamed and breathing right.  This is a nod to my history with Tasdron: the early, early days of 2007 when my job was to make sure his house was prepared nicely.  It is an act of submission on my part: I do not throw down objects in a room and call it "decorated," but, rather, each piece is carefully placed and coordinated with as much "realism" as I can orchestrate.  I take time.  I look at it from all angles.  I want it to look as though every inch of it was meant to be that way.  I want there to be no evidence of the effort that I put into it: as though the placement, the value, the functionality of everything are self-evident and their own form of perfection.  The least-adorned wooden stool has the value of perfection if it is in the right place, performing the right function.  Perfection is only ever that.

It is the same with my photographs: the picture is the truth of what I see, and the effort that goes into depicting the image must never be obvious.  That is, at least, what I strive for.  That all the elements were born to be that way, just so.  That the colour and texture and perspective and focus and distance-from, etc... were all meant to be that way, just so.  As though there could never be another way to see this story, and I have submitted my senses to show the nature of this thing as it was meant to be.

And the effort that I put into creating a haven safe from the abuse-of-power that runs rampant through the world; the effort that I put into erecting, defending, and adorning the boundaries; this is effort that I submit myself to and that I enjoy.  It is work that I do to gratify my own nerves, of course, but it is also in the service of Tasdron.  In the walled garden behind the house, there is a patio with flowers and refreshment.  The walled garden does not keep out the sound of birds and crickets; but it keeps out prying eyes and negative voices.  Only goodness, encouragement, and hope may thrive in the sturdy old house surrounded by fragrant flowers.  This is my submission to Tasdron, one of many petals in the blossoming flower.

I remember reading The Story of O, and the Fifty Shades trilogy, and seeing a few movies including The Secretary and also O:  the homes are decorated beautifully.  With discipline.  With care and thought for the proper placement of everything.  The homes are not littered with ball-gags and chains and crops and blindfolds.  A candle whose wick has already been lit several times before may be the only clue that "something else" happens when the lights go down.  To any casual observer, the furnishings are tasteful and functional, full of consideration and care.  The basic needs of human comfort and rest, of feeding the body optimal nourishment, of cleaning and hydrating the body, of adorning and warming the body are all tended to.  To any casual visitor, this is a comfortable place, a safe place.  Only when the lights go down, only when consent is established, will the place become more than what meets the eye.

And because consent is established first, the place -- one's favourite place in all the world -- one's safe haven is never tarnished with the abuse of power.  One's safe haven thrives as it comforts.