Of What is Our Bed Made?

     Penelope famously asks the question of Odysseus when he returns to Ithaca after a long, troubled journey home from war: of what is our bed made? They are the only two people in the world who know the answer.  She suggests the bed may be moved outside for the stranger; but he disagrees: the bed is carved out of and within a giant olive tree's trunk, its roots still deep underground and living.  To move the bed would be to destroy it.  It is a question posed as a test; but it is an answer revealing a mighty endurance of the private lives of two people.  Odysseus and Penelope are the only members of their bed because they are the only ones who know what the bed actually is.  

     Of what is our bed made, then, mine and Yours?  You who know exactly how and so; You who have known since we began; You who have taught me, led me, shown me the painstaking construction of it -- You know what.  I know only that it will take years of articulating and minute-by-minute understanding of the instant flashes of experience we are capable of.  A single picture frame contains multitudes, years of explicating.  A flower is comprised of many, many petals.  

     Recently, it is comprised of a lot of grace:  your patience as I get up to speed again forming words and thoughts, creatively, impulsively, instinctively.  Your patience as I remember who I am.  Your indulgence as I feel my power and extend it a little bit, here and there.  If I call, you will always be there; if I beg, you will always use the time well for us; if I muse, you entertain it; if I blurt out extraordinary things, you will marshal and harness them rightly.  I suppose that is what "testing" means, when a submissive tests her dominant.  If this, will that? Yes, always.

     Recently it means, too, that we have learned the rules of engagement all over again.  That we have created a space wherein it is safe to return, day after day, and wherein it is a perfect bubble of blameless honesty.  Where imperfections are allowed (not that I have seen a single one) and where we laugh at bugs (because in a virtual world, bugs are as ubiquitous as in the real world).  That there must be rules of engagement in a virtual world; that this is how we stay safe, and how we maintain sanity, and how we keep it all perfectly consensual.  And how, fundamental to it all, the will to love and protect carries the whole load.  Is there any other place in the world where this holds true?  Is there any other place where the flaws of vulnerability are in fact beautiful and cherished, not flawed?  Is there any other place in the world where two people can hold that bubble of honesty without it ever breaking apart?  One supposes it is age that brings this kind of gentleness to a relationship; but in fact it is simply the will to love and protect that does it.  One must will it.  

     Finally, recently it also means that I have found my power and am beginning to see how it is useful in the exchange.  I feel like I never properly articulated my power or my needs, my wants or expectations, or put words to the things that I felt or lacked, before You.  I feel like in recent months, I have grown exponentially in that regard, now able to better articulate. And what is a relationship if not "articulation" of those wants, needs, lack or surplus to share.  

     And recently, a certain "eureka" -- that this articulation, this D/s dynamic, this will to love and protect, this list of ingredients determining our relationship, this does not depend on erotica (though it certainly enhances it), nor does it depend on ropes and chains (though it certainly enhances those).  This list of ingredients feels like common decency, more than anything else.  And with that foundation, the other things may bloom and grow at their own pace. 

     So, there are certain days when it's just hang around on the deck, staring at the waves.  There are certain days when it's just decompressing, drinking slow hot coffee, and people watching.  There are certain days when it's a feast for the senses, the erotica exploding like intergallactic fireworks.  And there are certain days when it's alone time, going through the photo albums, running through the transcript logs, preserving the nuggets for posterity.  It's a multi-faceted relationship nourishing all the parts of the human creatures we are.  

     Therefore, of what is our bed made?  That's the whole point: to answer that question, You and I will simply have to live it out and collect all the strands and see them all together finally.  It is a bed only You and I will know or understand.