Chapters filled with pebbles

 "The division of one day from the next," writes Iris Murdoch, "must be one of the most profound peculiarities of life on this planet. It is, on the whole, a merciful arrangement.  We are not condemned to sustained flights of being, but are constantly refreshed by little holidays from ourselves. We are intermittent creatures, always falling to little ends and rising to little new beginnings. Our soon-tired consciousness is meted out in chapters, and that the world will look quite different tomorrow is, for both our comfort and our discomfort, usually true. How marvelously, too, night matches sleep -- sweet image of it, so neatly apportioned to our need.  Angels must wonder at these beings who fall so regularly out of awareness into a fantasm-invested dark.  How our frail identities survive these

chasms no philosopher has ever been able to explain."

     I live in a world I helped create with You; and I live there for as much of my life as I can mete out without letting the whole architecture of everything crumble, taking with it all of my daydreams. The world I create and inhabit with You, this is my constant refreshment.  This is my beginning to beginning to beginning, separated by the angel-envied sleeps.  

     The world of BDSM has unlocked new aspects of what I believe to be a powerful identity, not so frail as described by Iris Murdoch.  To feel like an adventurer and an explorer is a feeling unparalleled. To feel as though the adventure could be perilous and yet remains safe at all times from any real harm because of the arms that hold and support -- this is paradise.  The world of BDSM, too, has shone the God-light upon a person I love so truly; whose path I may never otherwise have crossed. For whom the blessing "Safe Paths" called into being, day after day, like pebbles thrown down to settle into The Way Forward, a future together bound by similar refreshments and similar language and similar connection.  All made possible in the virtual world of magic, controlled by smiling, benevolent gods. 

     I have written for years about the normalization of the secret languages contained within a BDSM lifestyle; how the service of breakfast or the service of companionship or the service of rememberances were as much a part of the connection forged, link by link, as any solid steel chain, ropes, or blindfolds. But it is time to check my privilege.  Mine is a story of tremendous good luck; of tremendous good fortune; that there are participants in this story who understand the maturity of controlling appetite, the discipline of containing emotions, and the wisdom of perfect timing.  Because, it doesn't always work that way.  We are all walking woundeds, after all; the scars from battle colouring the tender flesh that still remains to be touched and loved.  Mine is, indeed, a story of extraordinary good luck.  One must be careful out there.  One must look both ways, twice, before exploring the tempting path. 

     "Pebbling" is a curious pastime and it seems as though I have adopted it. Isn't it wonderful how (more than one) species give stones to each other as tokens of the solid and enduring love they feel?  I lay pebbles like Easter eggs, as much for me to re-collect as for You; and the great adventure through the universe we make is really just a collection of pebbles meaningful to us; meaningful to me because You will see them and know them to touch them.  This is half of an almost-incredible life. (I won't say 'miracle.')  The other half is realizing that You who see, collect, recognize all the pebbles is the You whose arms control the ropes that bind me.  I think there could be, now, no full enjoyment of one without the other.  I am all gratitude. 

Counting all different ideas drifting away
Past and present, they don't matter
Now the future's sorted out