Illusions, Changes, and Merry-Go-Rounds

There is a picture that I took once of Sir Will on a merry-go-round.  As I considered this picture, I considered also a conversation that I had with the lovely man (and we have not had many, but those that we have had I do cherish).  "Why do you take pictures," he asked me, and he was not satisfied with a pat answer.  Digging a little deeper, it comes out:  because of my anxiety to preserve.  I know, and I have known for a long time, that if I do not preserve the moment, I risk losing the moment.  "Living" is moment-to-moment,  but "a life" is a collection of moments.  I collect, therefore I am.

There is something they don't teach in "slave schools" and "submission classes" (in Second Life, you're expected to take classes from those who declare themselves qualified to teach the same old tired ways -- unless you're smarter than that and, instead, find yourself a valiant and good mentor for the learning process).  And that is, even though this rigid structure exists in Dominance and submission; that even though this architecture of honesty, transparency, vulnerability, and surrender exists for how a submissive person relates to her dominant; that even though this architecture of honesty, transparency, and broad-shouldered care-taking exists for how a dominant person relates to his submissive -- that even though there is something solid around my neck welded to link after link after link of attachment to the loving leash held by Him, things still change.

All the more reason to take more pictures, I say.

Because that moment at Loch Haven where the fire-dance enchanted (and that moment I try to recapture from time to time by venturing out there on my own, taking more pictures of a marvellous virtual reality, and that's silly because you cannot step twice into the same river -- I know that...), that is a moment I am determined never to surrender, and so my pictures testify.  It was a healing time.  And that moment when Genny produced two lawn chairs out of her pocket and plopped them down on the grass and began a mentoring session on a hill in J2D sim (near a raunchy parrot that spoke its mind), that is a moment I am determined never to surrender.  And that moment when I made a Tibetan singing bowl of my very own, and I made it sing, and I gave it to Tasdron, and he used it at the Bell Tower, that is a series of moments worth keeping.

There is something reassuring about the steel of chain links, to me.  I love them.  And I love a collar that is obvious; thick and rude and sturdy, in fact.  I love how a rude, spiked collar clashes with the ruffles of a princess neckline and empire waist.  I love how, when the dress comes off, the collar is still there, and the submission has lessened not a bit.  I love how, when the hair comes down from a tightly-knotted pull, and it flows freely in cascades, the collar still doesn't move.  The collar speaks of solid determination regardless of fashion and time.

And I love how I can take it off to symbolize change, as though that change is celebrated and remembered and not ignored or relegated to oblivion; changes that only I know about; changes that are of nobody else's concern.  The illusion of eternality; the change of moment to new moments; and the way things go around and around and around, posing for pictures for safe-keeping.

Today is Easter Sunday, and there are eggs for the rebirth, and in fact there is even a wild rabbit that uses my back garden for the family-path.  It is spring, here, and it is a time for gazing at the sun and for considering what comes next in my journey around and around and around.