The Gardener

There is a euphemism in the BDSM community of "The Gardener," referring to the dominant or master -- he or she who tends the garden, provides the food and water, shapes the straightness of the growth of the blossom.  He or she who over-sees. And, by extension, the euphemism includes the tended plant's similarities to the submissive:  he or she who responds to the care, who takes nourishment and grows taller for it.

I note with amusement that this euphemism has nothing whatsoever to do with sex, kinky-sex, sadistic-sex, masochistic-sex, three-way sex, or tied-up sex.  The euphemism involves the practical relations between a dominant and a submissive: the dominant acts, and the submissive reacts (philosophically-speaking).

Of course when people who love each other collide and their wow-factors combust and the engines roar in triumph for having found each other, it is a natural progression in a relationship to explore the thousand playful ways of sexual intercourse.  And, of course, during sexual performance the dominant dominates and the submissive submits just as in other daily life-events.  But even a year later after beginning my journey of learning about real submission and domination, I am still amazed at the sexually-charged atmosphere of the BDSM communities I peek into.

Frankly, I don't see very many gardens.  The J2D sim is the closest I come to there being garden, nature, tree and blossom.  Water.  Growth.  Opportunity and potential.

I know, I know -- birds and bees are everywhere, and they pollinate and cross-pollinate and there is always the yawning genitalia of wide-open flowers just waiting for the penetrating probe of the next insect, everywhere one looks.  The fragrant perfume of such blooms attracts me and changes my state of being.  I love to immerse myself in a beautiful garden, and it is equally pleasing to surround myself with devoted and delighted submissive personalities.  Interested, aware, mannered and cultured, the submissive personality has the potential to achieve the heights of intellectual and emotional bliss.  There are fascinating people with unique experience, in this particular realm.

And yet, it is a rare find, that sweet person devoted to growing taller and shedding thorns.  So often, the submissive feels incomplete without a dominant at the other end of this conversation so that they grow distracted, unsatisfied, unreasonably sexually-charged and nearly violent with anxiety.  It is not another submissive she wants to speak with or to wander through the park and look at birds -- it is a dominant, ready to spank her and then sexually use her, half-clothed, without asking.

This, I am learning, is not a problem of submission and domination: this is a problem with emotional well-being in general.  This is a problem of mental health.  This is a problem of coming-online-only-when-horny, so that we never get to know the real person, sated and in equilibrium.  This is a problem of nymphomania -- a manic need for sex that, for as long as it goes unsatisfied, continues to grow in intensity and perversion.  This, I am learning, has nothing whatsoever to do with domination and submission, and frankly it should!

People cruelly-use other people not because the world is populated by cruelty and evil laughter, but rather because there is an epidemic of uncontrolled, unmastered emotion in the world.  Domination and submission is perfectly -- honestly, ideally -- suited for the self-mastering of emotion that is required to practice safe, sane, consenting performance.  This lifestyle is precisely where it should be (and can be) fixed.

Mastering and self-mastering are words that, outside of the BDSM universe, become diluted with overuse and inaccurate use.  Mastering and self-mastering are sorely needed in the general population so filled with anger and quick-to-judge assumptions.  To follow one who has the ability to discipline and to focus another person's energy into higher learning and higher understanding, zen-like peace and beneficial living habits -- oh how I wish this were a widespread practice among dominants and submissives!  To tend to gardens literally, and to prune and eliminate the weeds, these are behaviours that would make people and the world beautiful.  BDSM must be -- surely, it must be -- more than spanking and seeing how long we can hold our breath.

This is my journey, of course.  For those that need a spanking, I am overjoyed when you get it. For me, though, it is a garden that I wish to explore, and to get back to learning of the unique and interesting ways gardeners do their work with the beautiful flowers they labour around. I definitely need to get out more, like I used to.

Shame, Part One

The reason why it is so easy to associate "shame" with "submission" (and, therefore, one reason why submissive personalities are often so vulnerable to unexpected bullying) is that the idea of shame depends upon the victimization of one's character -- the lowering of a person's self-esteem and the fragmentation of a person's ego.  It strips away the person's self-pride.  When used as a weapon by a bully (or a dominant personality who also happens to be a bully) the potential for long-term damage is enormous.  The submissive is at risk because this imbalance of power resembles power-exchange (in the same way that Cinderella in her ballroom gown resembles her evil sisters in their ballroom gowns).  A person who does not have the critical thinking skills to see this -- that power imbalance is not the same thing as power exchange -- will not see the damage, or the potential for damage, or even the problem in general.

Shame, I have been researching, results in the erasure of the self.  Shame is what makes us go away.  Shame is what makes us turn away.  Shame is what makes us want to remove, erase, eliminate, sever, bury, camouflage and mask something we believe to be wrong for us personally or as a species.  Shame is the button "go" that releases behaviours we cannot otherwise explain.

Shame emerges from the self, or shame is inflicted by a third party onto the self.  I may accept the gift of shame from another just as another accepts the gift of my submission.  In that case, if I accept his shame, then I accept the consequences of his shame.  It is a condition often expected of a submissive and results in many otherwise-inexplicable punishments (according to my interviews).  And because submission resembles victimization in the same way that Dominance resembles victory to the inexperienced and very vulnerable, too often the new submissive gets the foul end of things.

Domination by bullying; the victimization of character and ego; the perceived judgment of others... there are so many reasons why it is a good idea for a submissive (and a Dom, for the love of God) to take a mentor when first exploring the D/s lifestyle.  In Second Life, it is made so simple to do.

Jealousy, Part Five

Once, during a discussion about jealousy (one of many hundreds I have had since being given the assignment to explore it and figure it out) Klaudia said to me that she felt a good kind of jealousy, a sweet tingle in her tummy, when she thought about her Master.  I was new to this idea, so naturally I kept my distance: "what do you mean there is a good side to jealousy?" I asked myself, loudly.  I thought the whole point of this exercise was to exorcise.  That jealousy is a demonic invasion plague infestation infection thing.  Akin to the zombiepocalypse.  It goes right for the brains and then leaves you for dead, or that is how I thought about it.  "It is like a predator," I came to understand.  "It is like a bully," was also a familiar refrain.  "It compromises safety and sanity, and therefore consent and submission," is my own conclusion.  "It makes my tummy tingle," says Klaudia, and that just turned everything upside down.

I tried very hard to think of a way to make jealousy come from a place of love.  Jealousy gets a bad rap, naturally, and it's difficult to reverse that trend.  But I realized, as I examined an older picture of my mentor that was still in its raw state, and as I imagined all the things that I would do to digitally manipulate and enhance and "make different" and "make new" this picture of my Genny, that I had said to myself, "My Genny."  And I thought, after that, "My Genny, who looks like only I can make her look, when I take her picture."  And then I realized, "Only I see this Genny, my Genny."   When I take the picture and when I show it on display, sure, other people can observe "My Genny" but... only I saw her.  Only I captured her, treated her, polished her, and made her shine like only My Genny can.  And when I look through that lens to shoot My Genny, I do so out of love.  It's a jealousy that comes from Love.  My mentor inspires this.  And Klaudia's tummy-tingles confirm this: it is possible to feel a GOOD kind of jealousy.  The kind that says, "Nobody else can do this for you like I can, you wonderful person whom I love and will never harm."    (And incidentally, I'm not showing the My Genny picture here, because she's mine.  Sorry.)  

How good it is to know YOU

A week's absence has not been a week idle.  As I sort through the change in my real life, I also watch as my Second Life's learnings fall into place more clearly.  And because of You, Master, I know how connected the two are; and because of You, Master, I know how connected we all are.  Because of You, Master, I know the source of joy, and also I know the source of anger (and how easily you found them, how soon into knowing You).  I also happen to know, and this is my own learning, that joy is stronger.  Joy is power.  And because of You, Master, I know that power flickers, sometimes, even with the best of intentions: power is precious, power is renewable (if we take the time to renew it), and power shouldn't be taken for granted.  Sometimes even the most reliable  'on'  button is going to need a little help.  And that is what we are here for; that relating, that strengthening, that harnessing of power to feel that joy.  Master, submissive, top and bottom, or equal friends, there is joy to have in the world, however you find it.  Master, it is so good to know You.  And I'm pretty excited about the hidden 'me' I am getting to know because of You.

Jealousy, The Assignment, isn't going away.  In fact, it's gaining momentum.  This (above) is one of the pictures I took for my submission on jealousy, and I'm going to do something here that I should have done more clearly before: I'm going to explain in my own words why this is a picture (one of many pictures) of jealousy.  To me.  As an artist, I can see the actual art. I have to.  It's how I come up with the story.  But as a viewer, I do not spend much time analyzing the view.  And so I am going to do that here.

"Is this what I have to do to make you look at me more than you look at her?"  This is a woman who knows her partner's gaze wanders to another woman.  She feels jealous of her partner, therefore, and she begins to exhibit jealous behaviour.  The jealous behaviour:  trying to be someone else, trying to be someone she is not, trying to be like that other woman.  She part-reveals her body in a semi-sexual way.  The tentative behaviour is, therefore, revealed with this part-this and half-that.  Her eyes are shaded darkly; we cannot see the real eyes of her.  She herself probably does not want to see, either, clearly; she is ashamed of the behaviour she has reduced herself to.  There is nowhere to hide in this picture, so her hands are awkwardly placed.  A little bit shy for the face; a little bit shy for her arousal; and altogether attention-seeking, though it  might be negative attention.  Ultimately, it is a picture that frustrates a GENUINE sense of self.  And that is what I believe -- or, ONE of the points that I believe -- defines jealousy.  Jealousy frustrates a genuine sense of self.  Jealousy forbids a genuine sense of self - and the reverse is true: those without a clear sense of self are subject to jealous feelings and jealous behaviour.  Jealousy focuses too much on the 'other' rather than reassuring the 'self' that the self is still whole.  Jealousy focuses too much on 'him' or too much on the 'her' that he is looking at.  Jealousy removes the focus from the very precious power (power that I have recently felt, power that is golden, power in the belly of the woman who loves) -- this very precious power that we must never take for granted.  It is golden, this power.  There is joy, there.

The Mini-Devil Abides

The mini-devil rides!  The mini-brat abides!  This one is a special shout-out to Sir Tony and Klaudia.  I took this picture wearing my spiffy new title, "Trouble."   And, since Sir RB once said to me, "I knew you were trouble the moment I saw you on the patio..."  I suppose it's no surprise.  I must be giving the vibe.  I suppose I make people think of trouble when they see me riding and abiding.  I suppose the red horns are a good clue...

Thank you Sir Tony, and also to you Klaudia, for how you have taken me under your wings.  The devil has wings!  And so does his brat!  And they are comfortable places to be.  This mini-devil is very, very grateful.  You both know that I hearty-heart-heart you.  Thank you for this time you give to me.  I am blessed to be mentored by such a fine, fine lady as Genny, to have the shoulder of my excellent friend Sir RB, and to have the solid protection and guidance of Sir Tony and his perfectly elegant girl Klaudia all on my side as I journey ever closer to my submission.  The Journey to Domination and submission sim is the best thing that ever happened to me!  Submissives, if you see this...  I beg you, get a mentor you love.  It changes everything.

Jealousy, Part Two

The fundamental premise of my study of jealousy was that feelings of jealousy contradict feelings of belonging (from a submissive's point of view) and feelings of being the significant voice in the life of a loved one (from a dominant's point of view).  By that I mean to say, the extent to which a person feels like she belongs, or feels like she is the primary influence, is the extent to which a person is not feeling jealous at that moment in time.  Jealousy is defined as an anxiety over the possibility of losing someone (or, from a dominant's perspective, losing someone that we feel a type of ownership over).  The feeling that we will be replaced by someone else, in other words.  The feeling that, even though it hasn't happened (and may never happen), the possibility is undeniably and damnably distracting.

Feelings of jealousy contradict feelings of belonging.  Feelings of jealousy contradict feelings of significance.  Where this leads to is the "imaginary" part of jealousy.  It is an anxiety: if it were a wholesale loss of someone, then the feeling would be properly termed as "grief."  If it were the wholesale deception and adultery proven, then the feeling would be properly termed as "rage."  But it is neither; jealousy exists in the nebulous realm of the imagination, especially if nobody is talking about it.

If jealousy exists in the nebulous realm of the imagination, then it suggests to me a very interesting thing: jealousy also contradicts the three tenets that hold up the D/s lifestyle, those being safety, sanity, and consensual relations.  If the dom or the sub (or the Master or the slave) are in the wrecked throes of a jealous rage, all inside their imagination, it calls "sanity" into question and the mental preparation required to properly command or obey.  It calls "safety" into question and the trust one requires to come face to face with a man with a whip (so to speak).  It calls "consent" into question because, well,  is the person really here and present when she agrees to the scene if she is mentally occupied with sorting out her jealous reactions and stifling her jealous behaviours?  Is her consent valid if she is preoccupied with trying to figure out how to confront you - appropriately -  about her fears and anxieties?  Jealousy begins in the mind, but it ends in behaviour: everyday actions that look like everyday actions (baking, shutting a door) but are, in fact, the body's reaction to what the mind cannot ignore.  The body cries out when the mind is in pain, after all, and the jealous wife who bakes a little more furiously and the jealous husband who slams the door a little too loudly are just begging for some good, heart-to-heart and face-to-face communication of the "please listen" and "please focus on me" variety.

Jealousy, Part One

I've spent so much time working on this assignment, and it's nowhere near finished.  Instalment one will be turned in, though, on Tuesday morning.  It's a lot of information.  I have so many people to thank for helping me accumulate all this good information; but I have Klaudia and Sir Tony to thank for helping me process all this information.  The process has been gorgeous.  The process is as enlightening as the subject matter.  I feel the caring; and as I get to the source, I feel it even more.  So, besides jealousy arising from an anxiety over the possibility of losing someone, regardless of whether it is a feeling, a motivation, or a behaviour all of its own, I have separated nine traits so far that help characterize jealousy when it is in action.  Sometimes the behaviour of jealousy cannot be distinguished from other feelings and other scenarios; sometimes the mask is very clever indeed.  But as I study it, the separation of traits becomes a fascinating study.  And it is a study that I wish to capture in photograph, and so I have been doing so.  The first trait I captured was silence.  Jealousy is a dangerous form of silence.  The picture of a woman with her back turned to the camera, with her body language and not her words declaring, "I will not tell you why I am angry."  This is the biggest dilemma because, ultimately, communication will be the antidote to feelings of jealousy: and so, to withhold communication is to pour fuel into the already-blazing flames of jealousy.  She turns her back and will not say what made her angry; but it was only a tiny little detail.  A very small thing, possibly: the kind of detail that topples geographical boundaries.  But she is in pain and surrounded by shadows; and the wounded retreat to solitude, in nature.

Another trait: loneliness.  It comes from the solitude of retreat, sometimes, but also it is important to realize that jealousy contradicts feelings of belonging.  This contributes to loneliness.  Those who feel as though they belong do not feel the pangs of jealousy.  (Those who feel like they belong in a group, or belong to a special lover, or belong to their one and only... etc.)  And it is tragic to imagine how those who feel the jealousy in the first place are those who are already self-alienated.  The jealous one is already lonely, in other words, regardless of whether she is invited to belong.  The jealous one already does not belong in her own mind, regardless of whether her lovers or her friends claim or disown her.  Persuading her that she belongs is not the antidote to jealous feelings: such persuasion is easily denied and easily proven to be false.  It takes a lot of understanding and a lot of care to figure out that the argument flows deeper -- has a source more profound -- than what is immediately visible.  The antidote to loneliness is not company, and the antidote to jealousy is not persuasion.  The source is darker, more mysterious, and was dug long before the lover looked askance the first time.  The antidote will, eventually, be long, difficult communication, increasing comfort zones and defining clear boundaries concerning acceptable behaviours and tolerable limits.  But it will work for the long term only if ........

To know and to love

This is a picture of my journey.  I wish the sim were still open, where I had taken this photograph.  Interesting to note that there was nothing to change about it.  I added a frame, my name, and called it pretty. (Sometimes the photographs that I take in Second Life are just perfect on their own.  Sometimes I feel like a good photographer, not just a good digital artist.)   I have been waiting to see what to do with this image: and now I realize, this is a picture of my submission.  I walk an unfamiliar landscape: unfamiliar, even alien-looking to what I am used to on Earth.  Some of the planks are rickety and old (values that are worn-out and under-examined for their relevance today); and some of the planks are strong and sturdy (lessons, fresh thinking, and small victories along the way that prop up the process).  In the top right quadrant, I wander.  I am in no hurry.  I look at what is around me and I learn.  Bottom right quadrant: the butterflies, the metamorphosis.  The change.  The beauty that awaits.  The bottom left quadrant: green foliage, green space, organic growth that represents life and living and the symbiosis of relationships.  Upper left quadrant:  the elegant, elaborate, carefully-constructed screen that follows me -- blocks my view of certain things, shields me from certain things, protects me from foul winds, or reveals things to me slowly at the right pace.  That shield is valuable.  It is not a hindrance.  That shield is human-constructed and elegant.

This is also a picture of my journey.   It is a picture of contemplation, experimentation, and tests.  (The toes in the water test like no other test...)  The crossed arms love like no other love.  The reflection in the water shows myself to me.  And I have learned in the last 48 hours to love, love, love the good person looking back.

Most of my journey is intellectual.  A little bit -- more and more -- is emotional.  When I began the journey, I had no idea what scope, what vast acreage of landscape, there would be to learn and explore in the D/s lifestyle.  I had no idea it was more than kneeling, devotion, and prayer that I would "be enough."  I had no idea the fulfillment would be so intense; nor the emptinesses that become more pronounced.  I had no idea that, when I finally asked, I would finally receive.  I've been told -- and it's been proven -- that I'm allowed to ask, and I'm allowed to receive, and that it's more than okay:  it's gratifying.

Backwards, Frontwards, Side to Side

It's been quite a day.  And there's nothing like talking to a real friend on a real kind of ... strange day.  I wanted to know about the role of love in submission, especially in the virtual world.  "Can you give yourself and still be independent?" my mentor asked me, challenging me to enjoy the feeling of a man without giving myself away.  And I enjoyed the feeling of a man.  And it feels like so long ago, but it is only just over a week, now.  "One more thing," she says to me, "do not fall in love with him."  That must mean that love is a part of submission.  Love can be a part of submission, rather.  It must mean that love risks being a part of submission, and that a person risks falling in love when perhaps love is not the bargain domination negotiates.
I started this journey, as I was reminded today by Sir RB, with the directive of "no love, please."  And I remember vividly saying to many people, "It's not  your love I'm looking for."  And I don't think that's changed, to be honest.  I do not think it is love that I am missing: but I do know that I am not cut out for a casual arrangement.  I do expect to be somebody's priority, because when I submit I make that man my priority.  I clarified today (thank you Sir RB, the conversation was precisely what I needed) that I spend a great deal of time erecting defenses against the possibility of being hurt (which would be a regular occurence if I did not erect these defenses; there are cruel people in the world), instead of privileging the aftermath of experience.  To privilege the guard-against means that I shall never really experience.  To privilege the aftermath means that I shall, in time, equip myself with the tools required to heal and to mend and to repair and to enjoy.  I have been doing things backwards, in other words.  I'm still not convinced that by doing the opposite I will actually be going forwards; I feel like I'm staggering to the side a little.  I know, however, that I am still on the right path towards You, mighty You, the You I know knows me.  Forgive me, I beg, if I take a little longer to get there.

It's not necessarily love that I need.  In fact, I'm sure it is not love that I need. It is love that I feel, though; and I'm now beginning to clarify things in my mind.  It's not love that I need; it's time and privilege.  It is love that I have to give, when I submit.  And what I need is consistency: time and privilege, dedicated time and dedicated priority.  I do need to be somebody's priority.  I do need that.  I have needs, and that is one of them.  Priority when he is here.  Priority when we have established a routine of inviolable time to share.  Not a monopoly but a scheduled priority.  My submission and my love are not very far different from each other; and I do not expect a virtual dom to understand it or reciprocate it -- but I do expect it to be valued, consistently, as part of who I am.  I think it is what makes me a desirable submissive.  And to that end, a consistent one.  Which means, it's time I communicate  a little bit now.  And so I shall.
*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *
In other news, in my frenzy to try to understand the mind of a dom, before I was lucky enough to score Sir RB's attention, I started reading notecards from a library in Second Life.  I was instantly disheartened, but then I realized "Hah, it's not really surprising."  Check out the first line in one of the notecards, and I quote:  "Dominance is a primitive part of the human psyche.  To plug into this primitive role, you have to appear strong.  So be as strong as you can.  Then fake the rest."   And then it goes on to say, "Strong people have wants, but not needs."   There is another notecard from the same library, "How to be a good top."  I turn my attention to that.  It poses the question, what do you do with a submissive you have tied up?  "You can be stern and commanding, sympathetic but nasty, jolly yet sadistic... anything you please."   My initial reaction to reading this?  "Not with me, you can't."  Whoever wrote these wrote them with absolutely no forethought about what it means to engage meaningfully in a long-term negotiated D/s relationship.  And now the highly questionable experiences I have endured in this world make a lot more sense, given what is out there instructing people.

In still other news, the landscapes in this post are of the Journey to Domination and submission sim that Genny (my mentor) owns and operates.  I have given her a bunch of fresh landscape shots because it has been a while since I have photographed some beautiful land.  I was chatting today about how the principles of photography (perspective, light, focal point and level of interest) are also the principles of any human relationship, not just relationship between subject and beholder.  I process a great many things when I am engaged in an intensity of focus on a picture.

What is submission?

My very most excellent mentor led a discussion (has been leading a series of discussions, actually, each Tuesday evening) and yesterday was 3 of 4 on The Story of O.  Yesterday's discussion focused on "Domination" in the novel.  Genny kept asking variations on the same question, "Where is the domination?"  Systematically she made her way through every so-called dominant in the story and the behaviour of each one, posing the question:  "Is this domination?"  The quotations she pulled from the story successfully challenge the notions of domination and submission that I have come to learn about (and, given some of the reactions in the group, some of the notions that LOTS of people have come to learn about and hold as true, unshakable, and sacred).  The fundamental principle of "legitimate" D/s is that it is a safe, sane, and consensual practice, and the unspoken assumption in that dynamic is that both Dom and sub have equal voices in determining what is sane, what is safe, and what is consensual.  The complicating dynamic in The Story of O can be seen in this one passage, in part 1, just after Rene tells O that her submission will be obtained "in spite of" her, that her submission will be forced from her:  "O was on the verge of saying that she was his slave and that she bore her bonds cheerfully.  He stopped her."  This one little dynamic -- O's urge to submit herself, which would frustrate the men's intentions of slavery -- complicates the rest of the novel in terms of submission, slavery, and what domination "really" is.

I have long struggled with categorizing O's participation at Roissy:  sometimes the men say she is free to leave, and yet she is chained to her room at night removing any idea of personal freedom.  Conversely, the reader begins to understand that not all chains are visible: privately, we get the impression that there is no way O would prematurely leave Roissy anyway, even if she were unchained, because hers is a kind of love that makes her endure whatever her lover expects of her.  She is so in love with Rene that, regardless of what the men do to liberate or enslave her, her personal code prevents her from leaving Roissy anyway.  To say it another way, it doesn't matter how many chains the Roissy men equip: O would not leave.  It doesn't matter how many men it takes to force her to kneel and service them:  O doesn't require force to obey.  (Can you enslave the willing?)  She will, accordingly, endure whatever the men do to her, no matter how painful and no matter the length of time.  Whatever lines exist between slavery and submission are blurred in this novel, it's true, and speaking as a North American I would say that even the new-world's view of D/s and modern romance are also challenged.  Rene demands that for which it is impossible to consent (he says the very words himself), and yet O insists that she consents, that she loves him, that she would do anything for him.  She is determined to consent (to submit); and the men are determined to objectify and remove consent (to enslave).  The question for me now, in my journey of learning, is whether a woman can submit under those circumstances. Is it logically possible to offer submission to someone who hears (and accepts) something completely different?  Or who doesn't hear or accept at all, for that matter.

The element of the novel that challenged my preconceptions the most (last night, at the discussion, thanks entirely to my mentor) is this very idea of submission in the face of slavery.  The tension in the novel between consent and the wholesale absence of rights and freedoms* was once to me an interesting plot device, but as of last night it is now an all-engaging thought process that occupies me concerning the very nature of submission.  I wrote in this blog two days ago that I had surrendered "even though you are not here."  The idea of submission, to me, changes with that statement:  I know that it is possible to submit -- that it is possible for me to do my half of the job -- even if I'm the only person in the room.  I know that it is possible for me to make that agreement in my mind:  "When you speak, I will obey; I will surrender control; I will yield to you; I want to yield; I need to yield; whenever you speak, I will yield and I am so grateful."  I know that it is possible for me to make this agreement and to not know the answer from "him", whether or not he will accept and act upon my submission.  What if he doesn't accept and act upon it? Does it invalidate my statement that I would yield?  No, he's a free-thinking man with his own definitions of safe, sane, and consensual:  and I am a free-thinking woman with my own definitions of safe, sane, and consensual.  Whether or not he accepts my submission, I have given it.  It is a cake in a box beside strewn flowers on the porch of the one who might enjoy it.  If he's home, and if he answers the door, and if he is hungry, and if he is pleased, then we are in synch!  If he's not home, OR if he refuses to answer the door, OR if he's simply not hungry, then there is no synchronicity to what we have to offer each other (and there are so many variables to determine synchronicity that it's amazing anybody ever gets it right).  None of this changes my surrender.  If he leaves his house and goes on vacation, never even noticing the cake and strewn flowers upon his porch, it would be a bit of a waste, this gift I offer, to say the least -- physically, anyway.  But it doesn't change my offering it.  And it's not a waste to me, emotionally.  Logically.  And I do not take back the offer, petulantly, if he rejects it.  It was offered.  It is offered.  It remains.  I am there with it.  And, naturally, I have surrendered to every possible future, accordingly.

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*Quoted from the novel:  "you are not free but fettered."  She is not free: she is enslaved, objectively.  Once the men pronounce that, it becomes objective fact.  And yet, she consents to be there, subjectively.  What if this is not simply a plot device but, rather, O's free-will determining her own submission even in the face of those who would enslave her?  What if this is the touchstone to understanding submission on a grand scale?


From Part 1: The Lovers of Roissy.  "[...] Your hands are not your own, nor are your breasts, nor, most especially, any of your bodily orifices, which we may explore or penetrate at will. You will remember at all times - or as constantly as possible - that you have lost all right to privacy or concealment, and as a reminder of this fact, in our presence you will never close your lips completely, or cross your legs, or press your knees together (you may recall you were forbidden to do this the minute you arrived). This will serve as a constant reminder, to you as well as to use, that your mouth, your belly, and your backside are open to us. You will never touch your breasts in our presence: the bodice raises them toward us, that they may be ours. During the day you will therefore be dressed, and if anyone should order you to lift your skirt, you will lift it; if anyone desires to use you in any manner whatsoever, he will use you, unmasked, but with this one reservation: the whip. The whip will be used only between dusk and dawn. But besides the whipping you receive from whoever may want to whip you, you will also be flogged in the evening, as punishment for any infractions of the rules committed during the day: for having been slow to oblige, for having raised your eyes and looked at the person addressing you or taking you - you must never look any of us in the face. If the costume we wear in the evening - the one I am now wearing - leaves our sex exposed, it is not for the sake of convenience, for it would be just as convenient the other way, but for the sake of insolence, so that your eyes will be directed there upon it and nowhere else, so that you may learn that there resides your master, for whom, above all else, your lips are intended. During the day, when we are dressed in normal attire and you are clothed as you are now, the same rules will apply, except that when requested you will open your clothes, and then close them again when we have finished with you. Another thing: at night you will have only your lips with which to honor us - and your wide-spread thighs - for your hands will be tied behind your back and you will be naked, as you were a short while ago. You will be blindfolded only to be maltreated and, now that you have seen how you are whipped, to be flogged. And yes, by the way: while it is perfectly all right for you to grow accustomed to being whipped - since you are going to be every day throughout your stay - this is less for our pleasure than for your enlightenment. How true this is may be shown by the fact that on those nights when no one desires you, you will wait until the valet whose job it is comes to your solitary cell and administers what you are due to receive but we are not in the mood to mete out. Actually, both this flogging and the chain - which when attached to the ring of your collar keeps you more or less closely confined to your bed several hours a day - are intended less to make you suffer, scream, or shed tears than to make you feel, through this suffering, that you are not free but fettered, and to teach you that you are totally dedicated to something outside yourself. When you leave here, you will be wearing on your third finger an iron ring, which will identify you. Bu then you will have learned to obey those who wear the same insignia, and when they see it they will know that beneath your skirt you are constantly naked, however comely or commonplace your clothes may be, and that this nakedness is for them. Should anyone find you in the least intractable, he will return you here. Now you will be shown to your cell."  [...]  The more he surrendered her, the more he would hold her dear. The fact that he gave her was to him a proof, and ought to be one for her as well that she belonged to him: one can only give what belongs to you. He gave her only to reclaim her immediately, to reclaim her enriched in his eyes, like some common object which had been used for some divine purpose and has thus been consecrated. For a long time he had wanted to prostitute her, and he was delighted to feel that the pleasure he was deriving was even greater than he had hoped, and that it bound him to her all the more, as it bound her to him, all the more so because, through it, she would be more humiliated and ravaged. Since she loved him, she could not help loving whatever derived from him. O listened and trembled with happiness, because he loved her, all acquiescent she trembled. He doubtless guessed it, for he went on:

"It's because it's easy for you to consent that I want from you what it will be impossible for you to consent to, even if you agree ahead of time, even if you say yes now and imagine yourself capable of submitting. You won't be able not to revolt. Your submission will be obtained in spite of you, not only for the inimitable pleasure that I and others will derive from it, but also that you will be made aware of what has been done to you."  O was on the verge of saying that she was his slave and that she bore her bonds cheerfully. He stopped her.  "Yesterday you were told that as long as you are in the château you are not to look a man in the face of speak to him. The same applies to me as well: with me you shall remain silent and obey. I love you. Now get up. From now on the only times that you will open your mouth here in the presence of a man will be to cry out or to caress."

Temptation and Surrender

Temptation is a taut bow.  Temptation is a strung violin. Temptation is a high-wire.  Temptation is a knife's blade. Temptation is a red, ripe sheen on the tight skin of an apple, promising crisp, sweet relief.  Temptation is a finger sliding beneath the strap that had no finger-room until he pushed it through.  Temptation is hair pulled straight down, arching a back to a perfect curve.  Temptation is a little droplet upon the lips, waiting for the tongue.  Temptation is the gaze waiting for the blink.  Temptation is the push, waiting for the penetration.  Temptation is the pull, waiting for the release.  Temptation is grip on one wrist, waiting for the grip upon the second wrist.  Temptation is the raised crop, waiting for the swift-wishing cut.  Temptation is the whip raised, waiting for the whistled-air crack.  Temptation is the rip, waiting for the eyes to look upon the torn clothing, how much damage...

Temptation is a turned back, feeling the breath from behind.  Temptation is a favourite toy, handle-forward, waiting on the table.  Temptation is what I can smell.  Temptation is what I think it feels like.  Temptation is what I want it to feel like.  Temptation is making a big hole where I know I've never felt it.  Temptation is stupid with longing.  Temptation is the feeling of a strand of hair falling from my shoulder, grazing my lower back, and me mistaking it for your hand, and me groaning louder than I thought warranted such a simple, small thing.  Temptation is a clear picture, sharp edges, perfect clarity between all the lines.  Temptation is a blindfold, suddenly jerked a little too tightly.  Temptation is a voice in my ear, suddenly, when I thought there was nobody there.  Temptation is what I look like, standing in heels, my bra loosely strung from my fingertips.  Temptation is what I look like, standing in heels, wrists bound, my bra loosely strung from my fingertips.  Temptation is what I look like, standing in heels, wrists bound, lips parted, my bra loosely strung from my fingertips.  Temptation is wondering when my lips will feel the kiss.  And surrender is what I've just done, even though you aren't here.

"Submission" and "Stupidity"

Submissive doesn't mean stupid.  Unfortunately, it often means "eager to please".  And sometimes "eager to please" means doing things a person wouldn't do otherwise, such as second-guessing oneself.  Or putting oneself in harm's way.  Or surrendering something one wouldn't otherwise.  So, even though the word "submissive" doesn't equate linguistically with "stupid", there is still the possibility that the two may co-exist in the behaviour of a submissive when dealing with a compelling dominant.  And, wow, some dominants are compelling as hell.  They can make you spend money.  They can make you compromise your limits.  They can make you laugh as easily as they can make you cry.  They can make you stretch and fold and bend and snap back into position, depending on how eager you are to please.  Depending on  your level of approval-seeking.  Depending on how much you want to show how submissive you really are.  Because, sometimes it's just so easy to forget how intelligent you are when the strong voice of a compelling dom says, "wear my collar and I'll show you things" when... wait... when did the submission actually take place?  Where was the negotiation of power exchange?  When were limits discussed?  Now you are collared.  It was pretty simple for the dom to achieve.  The rest is cake.

I enjoy a "protected" status (as I've mentioned a few times) as a submissive at Journey to Domination and submission.  Well, the whole truth: protected AND precious.  I bet my sweet ass.  I have not forgotten, Sir Tony!  This status means that I recognize my eager-to-please-ness; that I recognize my not-quite-ready-to-decide-without-some-help-ness; that I recognize I am too vulnerable on my own without a mentor to help guide me in big decisions.  And by "vulnerable" I mean not the good kind.  The good kind is whole, transparent exposure to the eyes of the right dominant.  Whole, transparent exposure to the ears, heart, hands, penis, legs, liver, toys... anything the right dominant uses to enjoy his submissive.  That's good vulnerability.  Bad vulnerability is the feeling of exposure and deception in the presence of the wrong dominant.  The dominant who uses your approval-seeking against you in order to accomplish false or temporary or incomplete mastery.  The dominant who tries to sneak the collar around your neck without negotiating the strings attached, the responsibilities associated, the promises and the pledges.  The dominant who will use you, in other words, instead of helping you grow, and who will not make you a priority in his life that he can talk about openly.

I have been so used, along my journey, and a key learning for me is that I had the power (whether I remembered or not) to get myself out of it, or question it, or interrogate it, or examine it out loud, before it got too bad.  And, I did do these things, actually.  I wish I had done so sooner, but at least I did eventually.  Another key learning in general when in Second Life is that there are folks who will completely disregard what is written in one's profile (even if it's a hard limit)  and they will deliberately flout those boundaries (in the name of healthy pushing which subs must also be mindful of... especially when it comes to core values being broken).  A submissive will have to say, out loud, in no uncertain terms, "No, thank you, I do not wish it."   Unfortunately, a submissive tends to think that, having written it down in her profile, it spares her from having to say the words out loud (because speaking them can be difficult).  When talking to a compelling dom, "no" is not always easy to verbalize.  And unscrupulous doms rely upon its difficulty, for how else would they get what they want?  But it is a very important sentence for a submissive to believe she is entitled to say.  "No, thank you, I do not wish it."  It is incumbent upon the submissive to know she can say it.  A submissive is entitled to say these words, but most of all a submissive is EXPECTED to say these words:  how else can "safe, sane, consensual" be enforced?  MOST ESPECIALLY with a dominant who is not her master, owner, well-known confidant of many years.

Discipline - The Spirit

Discipline of the self, what I call personal integrity, comprises the discipline of mind, body, spirit, and aspiration -- or at least, this is how I imagine things.  The spirit is difficult to define, in my imagination, let alone discipline.  I imagine the spirit as something like the latin "anima" (the vital, breathing force within us).  When they say, "That girl has a lot of spirit!" they could be talking about how much energy I have; or, how thoughtful I am about problems to solve; or, how tenacious I am when it comes to getting to the root of something.  These things are not just "natural" but, instead, I think they are disciplined.  I think that how much energy I have, how interested I am in problem-solving, how dedicated I am to finding my way to the root of something to explore, these all require disciplined attitudes.  It is not a matter of intelligence; I do not believe intelligence is at stake here.  It is a matter of curiosity.  In fact, perhaps it can be said that curiosity is the measure of a person's spirit.

Must a person's spirit be disciplined in order to achieve a solid personal integrity?  I can attest to as much; it is so.  The life force is not to be taken for granted.  There are events endured in each lifetime that test a person's spirit.  There are events I must endure in my lifetime that, sometimes, feel stronger than I am, and I am afraid.  There are events I must endure that, sometimes, lower me to sadness.  There are memories; there are anxieties; there are possibilities; there are unknowns.  I know that, in some people, this is the impetus to developing a Dominant personality: they wish to control, and learn to control more and greater circumstances.  I know that, in some others, this is the impetus for seeking a Master: someone who can run interference and shield a submissive soul from the world's unpredictability and chaos.  I do not feel so moved to perform in either of these ways.

Sayuri says, in Memoirs of a Geisha, "But now I know that our world is no more permanent than a wave rising on the ocean.  Whatever our struggles and triumphs, however we may suffer them, all too soon they bleed into a wash, just like watery ink on paper."   This too shall pass, in other words, but more than that.  This too shall linger, though in lesser form and with a far lesser intensity, and shape us.  The pain recedes; just as the joy recedes given sufficient time.  The waves come and go; and life continues.  I do not seek a shield against the world: my submission to You will be as one who seeks Your example, Your shaping, Your furthering of the project of myself that I have begun -- which You already know is also a project of You.  You, like me, are an artist:  You, like me, are complete because I am canvas and You are the forever stain.

Art, Artifact, Artfulness, Artistic

ART is my outlet.  Portraiture is my voice.  Art is the artifact of the human soul just as literature is the artifact of the human mind.  Artifacts are evidence.  Marks in time.  Points of intersection between observation and understanding. How experience eventually becomes knowledge.  (You see how I consider things; art, like submission, carries with it its own philosophy that I yearn to explore, shred by shred.  Words are meaningful:  I do not take them lightly and I mean what I say.)  Art is my outlet, and artistic is my adjective, and the play between light and dark is my observation.  Again, symbolic: my emotions seek the dark because they live in the light.  My portraiture plays with the transformation between light and dark: the difference between innocence and experience; that space between the unknown and the familiar. I take the time to consider these things when I study a person's face.  In my mind, I study Your face, whoever  You are, out there.  I study Your face, and I memorize Your lines, and I crave the creases at Your mouth.  Because when You are genuine with me, there is no art: there is only truth.  The artful dodger, nay:  artfulness is slain by a shining, bright light.

My portraitures are studies of light and dark.  I believe that if I spend time in such study, I come to certain truths about the human condition.  For example, I learn that there is something attractive about the dark when strategically shadowed.  There is a need for the dark in order to delineate and shape the light. The light is beautiful, but it is blinding without the relief of shadows.  The shadows cool; the shadows edge and shape like a sculptor, creating beauty.  There is beauty in the darkness, just as there is beauty in the secrets of a soul.  You, I know, You will show me some beautiful corners in the darkness.  Your honest light will not cause pain; and Your soothing darkness will make pain sweet to touch and hold.  When You come, I will show You all my sides.  There will be no choice: You will reveal myself to me anyway.  I will know You when You come, and I am glad You exist out there somewhere.  I have more patience now.  And the more I focus on my studies, the better I know myself.  And I see You pretty damned clearly, too, by the way.

Seekers, Submissives, and Sensualists, if you wish your Second Life portrait done, it costs only a modest donation to the J2D sim (which I keep talking about!) and it is my great pleasure to work with you.

Idealism

"As individuals," says Mistress Steele, "each being is unique with her own viewpoint, personal limitations and provisions within any interactive agreement. [...] Each person can submit to ideals, concepts, thoughts and desires as well as to any person of her choice. The nature of her submission need not be agreeable to anyone outside of that submission, nor should she be subjected to judgment by others who consider her submission unacceptable, or not within what 'they' consider to be 'proper' to the term."   I quote from this article from F. R. R. Mallory and now hold on to it in my learning journal.  It makes me consider idealism: the ideal version of myself; the ideal version of the person who will master me.

I have not met that ideal in the flesh, it is true.  I do have exceptional standards, it is also true.  And thankfully it doesn't take me very long to see through a person's first impression to the core weakness.  (We all have a weakness.  But some people shroud theirs thicker than others; and sometimes the weakness, when revealed, is rather damaging to the species as a whole.  Those species-damagers are the ones to watch out for.)
I learned something this week (thankfully just before I really needed it!) from an exercise with my mentor.  I learned that my own submission is unique and peculiar to me, and that it cannot be taken away from me by anyone.  It is a part of me as surely as are my hopes, or even my ambition.  It is mine; no harsh words from another could erase my submission or my submissive ideals.  I learned that even with no man in the picture, I am no less submissive in heart and spirit.  I learned that there is a way to trust but still to self-preserve: that trust is earned in measured doses, and sip-by-sip one may give to drink from that chalice but, also, one my remove the chalice altogether when necessary -- without breaking the chalice or the mind's eye.

I learned that even though submission is the desired end, and submissive is my desired state, these are impossible to achieve with the wrong partner. It is no surprise that many men interact with me and fail to detect the genuine sub "halo" that glows around my brains: with some people I'm just naturally unemotional and there's no need to change that.  (Why waste valuable resources on the wrong ones?)  With the person who incites my submissive instincts, there will be no doubt. It will be obvious, and it will be right.  I learned that I'm ok, and my perspective is sane and sound.  It's not my world that shakes; it is the world of other people that shakes, those who try to change me to fit their ideals, and that has nothing whatsoever to do with my submissive abilities.  That's a whole different problem which, thankfully, is not mine to solve.

I have learned that (some!) men will try to change me to fit their ideal:  more than once I have been told that I would look better with a smaller nose or a different colour hair.  I confess, I do appear at first to be an easy mark...  a young avatar, new and learning, I do not presume to know better than anybody else. But, day by day I learn the types.  Then there is the, "I am difficult to please, try harder,"  sentiment I run into, frequently.  There is also the, "I know better than you do, relax" attitude that tries to wash away all of a woman's very valid concerns, day by day chipping away at her until she doubts every thought in her own head.  Or the type who solves problems with the "Just rub your clit," command, which is another way of saying "Stop talking, I am busy with someone else."  I have seen, too, the old "I list what I expect in my profile, so read it or don't bother me."  I see, I watch, I observe and examine... and I come to my own conclusions.  My values are not theirs.  If I try to insinuate myself into their worlds, they will try to change me.  And, I am not a lonely person willing to sacrifice so much.  I don't mind being on my own, wandering along the private road I walk.  I will face the light, wearing what I want to wear, looking how I want to look, saying the words I wish to say, displaying my art how I wish to display it, learning my lessons at my own pace, and being the most genuine self I know how to be.  I have spoken to many who have achieved their own private version of the ideal, too.  It is possible!

But what can I give?

"Explain her submission," the assignment begins.  This task is a special one, for me, on many levels.  The basic level:  my mentor gave me this assignment conspicuously close to a declaration I made, which means she can hear me and she understands my quiet terrors.  I understand submission in the general sense; my logical mind can parse a sentence and process the meaning of words.  But my gooey mind still suffered (at the time) from a destabilizing conversation I'd had with someone who kept asking me, philosophically, "Why?  Why submit?  Why dominate?  What's in it for me?  What's in it for you?"  (Let me emphasize, it was a philosophical discussion, not crisis or grief.)

Which was fine, at the beginning.  But afterwards, I began to wonder, myself.  Why?  And then, as is my wont, I doubted myself, my gifts, whatever it is I have to offer a Dominant when the time comes to offer to him.  Why would he want me?  What could I give?I begin as a plain girl.  I begin as a girl who dreams of something beyond what I have.  What I have is good; what I have is polished and fine in the real world.  But it is insufficient.  What I have means I can take care of the basic needs of survival in my life: it means I can feed and clothe myself, nurture myself, strengthen myself with experience and learning, discipline myself with chore and duty.  I have and know love.   I have these things.  I know these things.  I practice these things as a matter of regular, vanilla ritual and living.  I know who I am in real life.  I know where I'm going in real life.  I know where I've been in real life.  I'm even beginning to know what it is I want from my fantasies; what my needs are.  And how I can best express them.  I begin to transform; I begin to learn.

In my dreams I am more.  In my dreams, I see more; and I feel more.  I interrogate what I have always known as certainty until there are no more certainties, and it is destabilizing and thrilling and... insecure-making.  I used to believe that pain was to be feared, avoided.  Now, my skin itches to feel something rough against it.  Something sharp strike it.  Something virile push it.  In my dreams, there is a world of experience that I cannot begin to imagine without the guiding hand of a careful man who understands the difference between a hard limit and an inexperienced barrier composed of fear.  Who understands the role of a Master, not just a Dominant.  Who understands the ideal and the real, and the concept of striving.  There is a world to explore on my knees, and I need to know those dreams and explorations.  I began as a plain girl; and I emerge as a dreamer under a very careful mentorship at the moment.  This is why I recommend being mentored in the beginning:

Because when I feel insecure and confused, and I honestly state what it is that shakes my foundations, my mentor gives me a task that answers my anxieties with my own words and my own thinking.  "What do I have to give, after all?" I ask in despair, and my mentor's answer is "Look at the picture of the girl, and explain to me her submission."  And then I explain it.   And my own words come.  And the assignment shapes as it will, and that's very gratifying...  But the crux:  I begin to understand that what I have to give is an excruciatingly-tender heart that never forgets beauty.  I forget the ache of agony and loneliness and waste; but I remember beauty.  I hold up a mirror to Your face, a mirror that is my eyes, and I show You Yourself as the exquisite apparition, the bright and blinding Divine light as You appear to me.  I find beauty.  I find it, and I keep it, and I protect it, and I give it to You when You demand.  It is why I collect songs and stories; musical instruments; images perfected by my own hands; jewels and trinkets of adornment.  I collect; I keep; I then adorn and display for You, so that You are transported from the muck of this world into a realm of my own making to be enjoyed only by You.  Because, in my eyes, You are the most important being there ever has been.  And my God, how important it is not to give this away to just anybody.  It must be to You, when You come.  To none other.

This is what submission looks like to me.  And when You come, finally, I am going to savour, for a long long time, explaining my submission to You.

"cus the best is yet to come"

The really nice DJ is playing Def Leppard's "Armageddon It" at J2D while I'm blogging this.  We're dancing around having a great time; I've just taken some beautiful pictures; I've got some learnings to record; and it's a good day so far.  I've even had lunch.

OK learnings:  I've met people.  I've been talking to people.  It's been enlightening.  My own attitudes and fantasies have shifted considerably since I first began this journal.  I have discovered the difference between a lifestyle and a world of fantasy; between the intensity of a scene and the normalcy of quotidian motions (and the beauty of both).  And that is something subtle but significant to point out.  The scening and the normalcy; the performance and the reality; the act and the genuine.  I have given my all, in my time; I have thrown my heart, soul, blood, and spirit into some phenomenal roleplay.  It is exhausting.  It alters the mind.  It changes the world.  It transforms the body (physically, really, it does!  chemical reactions and oh that sweet look of satisfaction on the face...) and it is its own metamorphosis in toto.  It is exhausting.  A person can't keep up that level of intensity 24/7.  

There is beauty, too, in the day-to-day act of living.  Even in a D/s lifestyle, there is a simple kind of beauty.  It means that the intensity, the honesty, the vulnerability, the whole transformative change from the night before's scene may be now in the past and relegated to the realm of imagination and memory... but now everything that happens subsequently (the brushing of the teeth...  the making of the breakfast... the wandering to the window and looking out at the day with a cup of coffee... the choosing what to wear... the going back to work for the day and the going through motions of basic needs for survival...) everything that happens subsequently is coloured a shade more vibrantly.  Everything smells a little better.  It makes the days of normalcy that much more enjoyable.  Not every day needs to be a scene:  and not ever day needs to be leading up to a scene.  My own identity, my own submission, my own needs and my own fantasies, they still exist and they are still as real to me as anything... even during a peaceful cuppa on the porch.

I have been reading a new book: "50 Shades of Grey" recommended to me by Sir RB.  There's a lot to like about this book but the thing that strikes me most poignantly is during the making of breakfast.  That happens a few times.  (Also happens in the movie "Nine and a Half Weeks" which I enjoyed for similar reasons... the mundane act of breakfast, a calm time, representing the AFTER.)  Breakfast means there was something before it.  Breakfast is symbolic of the beautiful after-ness ("aftermath" has a negative connotation... "after-ness" works here, even though it isn't elegant).  Aftercare can be in the form of breakfast.  Why not.

What do these pictures have to do with this post?  These are shots of the sim J2D (where I'm engrossed in my mentorship).  You wouldn't think this is a D/s lifestyle sim by looking at these pictures.  Dancing around to Ozzy and Linkin Park with DJ Stormy doesn't have anything to do with scening, or with exploring pain boundaries, or with courting a collar, or with negotiating hard limits... Instead, this sim fosters a comfortable, elegant, cozy space to learn and grow and have some fun.  Meet people.  Move slowly.  Get to know each other.  Eventually move into the realm of discussing fantasy.  Eventually move into the realm of exploring those fantasies....  

Intimacy Part One

I have had several conversations today, none of them a one that could ever be duplicated.  "Intimate" words; words especially intended for and directed to one person only.  Even a "Good day, my friend" is an intimate phrase, the way that I think about it.  I would direct it especially to one person, and it was for my friend's ears only.  What I'm getting at is this:  I love intimate moments, even chaste ones.  I love moments (yes, even chaste ones!) that are one-on-one.  Good work gets done during an intimate moment (or several).

By now it should be obvious that I enjoy expressing myself artistically; that sometimes words are insubstantial compared to the pure experience of an image finely-wrought and carefully-composed.  By now, too, it should be obvious that I humble myself before a power greater than me, a powerful creative force that must someday surely own me and make me bow.  I do long for that submission... but rather than a desperate frenzy, it is simply an eventuality that I know is coming, far, far down the road.  And I look forward to it.

These three conversations that I had today (and it's not even lunchtime... what a productive day so far!) have schooled me.  The first one was intimate; stopped me in my tracks, held me captive, made me imagine, forced me to consider and reconsider.  My hair was braided and fell loosely down my back, and the conversation called attention to this intimate detail.  A detail about my body that I had given little thought to (I cannot, after all, see the back of myself, generally...) became the focus of an intimate remark, and I was immediately changed.  Intimacy has that power.  The second conversation was group-oriented, and it was hilarious, but there were moments when pointed comments were directed precisely at me in whispers.  I am always honoured when an important and busy man pauses for a moment to whisper, to make something personal, to direct especially instead of generally.  Mark Twain once said that he could live for two weeks on a compliment, and when a skilled public orator takes a moment to whisper something private to me, I feel the compliment keenly.  The third conversation, though, follows the "intimacy is a small table" description from a previous post.  Intimacy is a small table and nothing much obstructs both people.  The conversation happens in any tone, and the table still stands regardless.  There is no approval-seeking.  There is no phoney.  There is only good talk; open thoughts; easy learning.  I can be myself.  I can be curious, stupid, intelligent, funny, confused, afraid... Thank you, Sir, for talking and for letting me talk.  Shields down, heart open, ready for laughter or for care... It is easy to see clearly.

Needs, Part Four

I need my mentor.  I don't mean "I'm in crisis; I need someone immediately."  What I mean is, in my journey towards self-enlightenment and as I grow more and more to know myself, I discover that what I've been missing for all this time is a good mentor.  A good one.  She is kind and loving, but she's not crazy-clingy-invested in me as if her life will fall apart if I say something wrong.  She is smart and knowledgable, but she's not crazy-know-it-all force-feeding me stuff that I can't digest.  I don't know what heavenly gang of deities decided to fashion this lovely lady, but the end result is, "Anna grows."  I look up to her.  Her name is Genny Clary, and she runs the Journey to Domination and Submission (J2D) sim that I just love to be a part of.  She also runs this blog that I love to read.  I won't always "need" Genny; but right now I need her.  And I didn't know how much I needed her until I met her.

She asks the right questions.  She makes me think about myself, for myself, but in the context of other people as well.  She did something that I haven't felt in a long time: she set me "free", so to speak.  When I started to think about, meditate upon, and then articulate my needs, I felt like a huge weight lifted from me.  I have needs.  Yes, I've always known that I have wants.  I have always known that I hunger or thirst for certain cravings that come and go.  I have always flirted with the many wants that flavour my palate.  But beyond those, I actually have needs.  And now I articulate my needs.  And now I am not ashamed of having needs.  And now, even though I'm still wandering around blindly in the dark cave of my soul, still trying to figure out how to work my lantern, at least I know that I'm in the right cave.  At least I know that, whatever is in this cave, I want it to be there.   I'm in my playroom now.  A nice white room aching for decoration the way I want it to be.  Embellished, ornamental, fabric or stone... I decide.  I have needs.

When I walk, I swing my hands freely now.  When I stand, my arms move weightless, gentle wrist-circles and air-drawings like butterflies.  I do not stand still.  I wander and explore and talk to strangers.  I immerse myself in art and photography, literature and cinema.  And I do so with joy, not pain or longing.  I do so with a strong, full heart; no fear.  My voice is a little clearer. My footfall a little more gentle.  I have nothing but commendations for the J2D sim and the people who make it work.  I feel better than I have in half a year, for sure, and it is the direct result of intense, and very kind, introspection guided by a skilled mentor.  And it needs saying... I have met some fine people in Second Life who make having a second life worthwhile.  I took these pictures in the "Spirit" art display by Claudia222 Jewell (a truly gifted artist) on the Art Screamer sim.  I felt a kinship to this beautiful lady when she explained to me the circumstances (grief) under which she created this glorious work of art.  I go back often, amazed each time that the art still stands.  I kiss your cheeks, Claudia.  And yours, Sir Tony, for making me decide to have a first-class mentor.  And yours, Sir RB, for introducing me to Genny's group in the first place, at that very first discussion.  Obviously I was born, this time, under lucky stars and beautiful dreams.

Connection: Leashing Across Vast Distance

Today was a day of connections.  I have spoken to my favourite people today, and very good work is accomplished.  (I do work, in fact, a great deal in Second Life.  It is not all shopping and gossip!  I work hard.  I meet with people.  I focus my attention on things bigger than myself.)  It was a day of connections today.  Among the chief pleasures is to know that my application at J2D is moving forward (in only 24 hours!).  I have said the name Klaudia in recent writing, but I would like to credit her with more than just a pretty vision: she writes a thoughtful and inspirational blog.  Vulnerable is a valuable read.  I link especially to my favourite post, wherein she writes about her mare, Mimi.  Klaudia said to me, today, that I "give meaning to ordinary things" which is precisely what I love about her own blog.  D/s as a lifestyle comes alive for me when I see things through her lens.  It makes me want to feel, also.

And feel I did.  I confessed something important, and something that makes me vulnerable, today to another of my favourite people.  I took a deep breath and confessed the thing I had not spoken before.  And then "the thing" became "a few things" and I had to reel it in before I got carried away.  But I confessed to someone safe, someone protective.  I confessed something that made me realize:  there is an invisible leash, and it is called confession.

Anxieties, sadness, confusion.  The storm and fire in my mind, a maelstrom inside me that I cannot tell anybody. Skies fire and smoke, orange and black, above me.  But, this connection -- this confession -- to somebody safe, somebody protective, somebody who understands (or if not, at least takes the time to listen and try to understand...) it is a gentle, still hammock, blanketed and tied securely.  Built for two, strong enough to hold.  "I miss the leash," I moaned, the heart of the matter.  I missed the connection.  And then I learned, at that very moment, that the leash is simply a visual metaphor for the connection of vulnerability between one soul and another soul.  The leash is a really awesome visual metaphor... I do miss it. But after my heartfelt confession; after the tornado of feelings in my head and in my heart funnelled into a focused and coherent expression of my need; after I felt like I was heard...  Oh the peace.  When I bared my soul, and when I made myself vulnerable, I felt connected.

(Please note: it works only when you're with somebody safe, sane, and wholly awesome.)

We are separated by continents, all of us at J2D (and at The Gateway to BDSM, where I took this incredible picture).  We have such great physical distance between us that it would be impossible if not for art and electricity to connect as we do.  The connection is powerful and I feel, now, under the great swirling, fiery sky, in the sweet comfort of a rocking hammock, part of something wonderful.