Faith and Certainty

I would not know what to do with myself if there were nothing more to learn.  It occurred to me today that I might be forever a student of interesting things.  It occurred to someone else today that I ought to be happily paired with a Dom Priest.  (Do we know any ordained priests in the world?  I am no Christian, but I am Christ-Curious.)  And then, I began to think of everything that I knew of Christianity, because someone that I care about was hurting.  Surely, there would be comfort from her faith.  Surely there would be some magic word that would unlock the rush of soothing balm.  The problem with faith is that there is no certainty; and the problem of certainty is that it removes the blessing of faith.  This is the problem of Eve:  choosing certainty over faith.  And this is the healing restoration of Mary: believing instead of knowing; choosing Gabriel's word over the condemnation of just about everybody else in her life.  Mary's faith erases the original sin of Eve's certainty.  Jesus does for the world what Adam failed to do.  Christianity, therefore, abides; and Adamism died a quiet death shrouded in obscurity.

Personally, I live a life that I believe separates me from appetitive beasts in the world.  I strive to make decisions based on logic ("Live and let live") or self-sacrifice ("More for thee than me") as opposed to making decisions based on fear, hunger, or anxiety-avoidance.  I do not always succeed, of course; but I do strive.  What is my motivation? To separate myself from the appetites of the beast.  In other words, boobs and cocks are funny and adorable, but let's talk about important things like God and the nature of love.  While I'm bound in rope and hanging in a stone dungeon, listening to the Olympics.

I have felt hunger.  I have felt need.  I have felt as though the world were blessed and I had been cursed.  I have felt alone under a dark sky, and my face pelted with debris hurled by a screaming wind. And, I have turned around to look at where the wind was going.  It must be going somewhere extraordinary, because it carries everything there with it.  My thoughts, the red sky, even clouds are curious.  I know so much, and I seek to know so much more, and I remember the person who first shaped me and how well he controlled his appetite.  Even at his hungriest, he shared with me.  Even at his lowest, he spoke kindly to me.  Even feeling the most fear he had felt, he touched my hand tenderly.  When reduced to his most basic, primal self, even he did not growl and grunt like an angry ape: he closed his eyes gently and composed himself before uttering a word.  And so my model abides.  He made me, and he shapes me still, just as wind and water and fire made rock and shape it still.  Everything is in flux.  Everything, if you let it, grows.

I know how good it feels when wind blows me so strongly that I just go with it, not fighting it but letting myself be pushed along.  It is almost like flying.  I know how good it feels when the sun shines during a sun-shower of raindrops and hail.  I know how good it feels when I tiptoe over stone and grass and dirt, and then stand in the water and close my eyes.  It is another way to feel like I am in the right place.  I do not know God at all, and I do not know the amazing architect of the natural world.  I submit myself to the whimsy of wind and the life-force of water; to the passion of fire and to the steadiness of grounded earth.  I kneel before a clever man, and I myself have no certainty.  I have no need or hunger.  I know only that I wish to learn, and to keep learning, until I am no longer here.

(Many thanks go to Sir Will for taking me to this extraordinary Scottish place for some extraordinary picture-taking.  Loch Haven is just another reason why I love Second Life so much, and Sir Will is one more excellent human being that I am lucky to know.  I am truly blessed by my family and my friends.)

Lovely Blog, Lovely Ponies

If you have not yet read my friend Ara's blog, A slut's storyboard, you are missing out.  Her poetry is well-crafted and powerful.  Well-crafted and powerful enough to teach me a thing or two about this D/s lifestyle, in fact one thing in particular that nobody has yet been able to impart to me.  There is a pony phenomenon that  I have learned about in Second Life especially through the careful administrations of Sir RB upon his little pony girls (and I am not one such girl, but I have met such girls).  I could not understand the phenomenon.  Even as I read Anne Rice's Beauty trilogy, I still could not understand the nature of the pony-girl phenomenon; the relevance of the pony-girl phenomenon; the desire to be a part of the pony-girl phenomenon.  And there are very explicit and detailed fantasy pages devoted especially to this kink!  Anne Rice does not disappoint, if you are into that sort of thing.  But, for me... not to judge it, not to disparage it, and especially not to negate its validity, I simply could not empathize with that particular urge or appetite, and I was convinced I would never be able to.  (Sympathize, yes I can -- there are many kinks in the world, and the world takes all kinds of people to make it go around... Nobody's safe, sane and consensual kink is a freak-show, in my opinion. But empathize, I simply could not.  I just did not understand the impetus to prance.)

Until I read Ara's post! 

I get it now.  It is simply another way to demonstrate one's discipline.  It is simply another way to demonstrate one's fitness.  It is simply another way to demonstrate one's showmanship.  To display.  To perform.  To sweat in the service of someone in a private language shared only between you both.  It is an immediate transformation into the dreamscape of fantasy and the concretized need of the submissive to serve, and to serve with many body parts all at once.  There are many points of access now, as I consider it.  I do not wish to experiment, personally; however I do understand that, as a submissive, I share very VERY similar urges and appetites which I demonstrate in different areas of display.  We are not so very different in your kinks and mine, you pretty ponies of the world, only in our display of them.

I mention Ara's blog because, bless her, she nominated me for a "Lovely Blog" award.  There are rules to follow for this and I am afraid I do not have the ability to follow them at the moment.  I have wanted for a few days to recognize the nomination, though, and to link back to Ara's gorgeous and perfectly poetic blog.

I want to take you for granted

I sat back today and considered a few things.  There are words that we speak but people do not understand them.  Or, people put their own spin on them.  Or, people mis-hear them.  Or, people forget that we spoke them.  Or a hundred other ways that people may mis-communicate.  And it occurs to me that a solid relationship is not just about finding someone whose interests match, whose temper matches, whose sense of humour (or sense of the macabre!) matches.  It's also about finding someone who communicates in the same way -- and who understands communication in the same way.  I think about all the different ways a person can understand the term, "to take for granted" and I shudder at all the different ways such a phrase can turn sour.  "To take as granted," or "to feel as though it is simply granted, no waiting, no request," or "to take without asking," or "to assume based on a history of past decisions."  When I think about You, I imagine the sentence as the latter definition.  A history of past decisions, of past consistencies, of past agreements, of past affirmations, of past pleasures, of past anticipations, that history between us makes me take You for granted.  Makes You able to take me for granted.  Willingly.

Something in other news, related only by language:
I read today some passages about erotic humiliation.  No reason; I simply wished to see how the other half lives, I suppose.  It amused me to see, "Require permission to do anything" as listed in the erotic humiliation category.  And then I had to sit back and start considering a few things, which spawned this post.  "Derogatory words like slut and whore" and "use as a piece of furniture" are erotic humiliation just as is "requiring permission to do anything."  Then it exploded like a giant, fiery dawn at the break of day:  so many of the online BDSM attitudes in Second Life involve the erotic humiliation of submissives, whether they wish it or not.  Even beyond BDSM, the Gorean enslavement of women online is predicated upon this theory (i.e a Gorean slave is trained to ask permission for every minute thing, feel comfortable wearing the title "slut" and feel comfortable serving as furniture without the respect due humans-- a sexy enough fantasy with the right practitioners).  No wonder there is such confusion and lack of clarity in the world: people take it for granted that this one way is the established way, never question it or interrogate it or challenge it (because it goes against erotic humiliation for a submissive to exercise a challenge function) and the online community of BDSM continues to be full of libraries that propagate erotic humiliation of submissives -- whether the submissive wants it or not.  It was quite a eureka, this idea of what we take for granted.  What we want to take for granted.  What we do take for granted without even realizing it.  I'm not sure I need to ask permission for every single thing.  And, I'm not sure I need humiliating words like "slut" and "whore" to feel stimulated into arousal.  That's just me, though.  The "place him or her in a cage" part of erotic humiliation most definitely has a place in my vocabulary, under the right circumstances.  And, well, "naked in public" feeds more than a simple desire for display that I am, apparently, cultivating.

Taming Desire

"Unrealistic expectations and desires," says Miss Steele in her Fantasy vs Reality article, "are some of the most difficult challenges faced by those in the lifestyle."   Fantasy is not sustainable 24 hours a day: as she quite rightly puts it, somebody has to do the grocery shopping, clean the floors, launder the clothes for the week, etc.  I tried explaining this to somebody, once, who spent a considerable amount of time trying to convince me that once I experienced him I would never want anything else.  (Alas, and obviously, he is not "The One" for me.)  Fantasy is not sustainable 24 hours a day.  It's exhausting.  I need (and love!) my vanilla living as a solid foundation around which my alternative fantasies can open and close.  I started thinking about this as a result of a discussion I attended last night on the longevity of Second Life relationships and whether D/s relationships had any better (or worse?) chance of surviving in-world.  The discussion yielded so many different comments that could, if properly analyzed, be traced back to unrealistic expectations and unbridled desire.  (There were other kinds of comments too, some remarkable in their maturity and many that I keep with me to learn from, in stages.  It was a good talk.)

Especially resonant with me at the moment is the phrase "unrealistic expectations and desires".  Desire, by its very nature, is without reason: it is a want -- a lack -- that makes itself feel like a need.  Desire exists: desire fuels and enflames.  We know this much.  We can't blame desire for being what it is.  Rather than blame desire, I think the onus is on expectation.   Unreasonable expectations is, quite simply, where some people go wrong.  The expectation that desire will be quenched perfectly, in every way, from every angle, at any cost, by a total stranger.  The expectation that people will mind-read, soul-read, spirit-read at first or second meeting.  The expectation that, regardless of time invested or personal compatibility or personal suitability, he or she whom you desire will not only desire you equally but will fulfill you (and all your sweet, bizarre kinks that you travel with and that make you you in your bizarre and kinky way) immediately and without hesitation.  Before the week is out.  And make a sandwich after.

I met a man who said to me that if I will not be intimate with him, he'll be very upset if I am intimate with others.  (His lifelong commitment to pain is touching.  I smile with mischief as he reads this.)  I met a man who believed that, since I claim to be a student of the D/s lifestyle, my body ought to be made available to him magically and automatically.  (We did, actually, set the record straight on that one, no fear.)  I met a man who plays his own submissive (by using the magic of Second Life).  I met a man who wanted to talk with me only to show me how funny he is when he talks to other people.  I meet people who yearn for applause; who yearn for attention; who make funny faces with the alphabet and who sacrifice incredible things in order to feel a moment of gratification (and who try desperately to extend that moment, pulling at the thread, reliving and revisioning and recreating one single moment repeated, because there was only ever that one single moment).   I meet people every day led by desire -- not just feeling the desire but actually governed by desire, shoved down the merry path by desire, hoodwinked and persuaded by desire, believing so strongly in their desire and the desperation for someone else to meet that desire, the be-all-and-end-all condition to endure at all times.  And the appetite... and the need... and the wanting... and the impatience... and the inevitable meltdown... they follow as darkness follows the day.  They travel together.  And it is no wonder that there is a sizeable, jaded community of "exes" in the world.  But, like a beacon of light through a misty night,  Maj made the following comment last night during the discussion:   "You have to put time and effort into it to make the relationship work.  There is no magic to it, and it's not easy.  It just matters how much you want it."   A relationship is a journey based on managed-expectation and not on unbridled-desire.  Maj and Simona are, of course, in a long-term relationship, and it shows.

The reason I practice my disciplines -- the reason I think about things like discipline of the mind, discipline of the spirit -- is because I train my desire.  This is the way I see clearly.  This is the way I feel comfortable alone (and not lonely) until such time as You see fit to claim me.  I wander happily in the light, and I know You will take me into the darkness where I desire to feel You overpower me... when it is time.  And not before.  Waiting is not a chore.  I know that bewilders some people, but I cannot please'em all.

Darkness

I was reminded today that I started this journey looking for darkness.

It stands to reason that only a person in the light can seek darkness.  Only a person battered by never-ending sun seeks wet, cooling rain.  I meditated upon what the darkness means to me (because, many weeks ago, He had asked me and I know my answer was insufficient, at least to me).   "What is it that I seek," I kept returning to, "in the so-called darkness?"

There is a place in Second Life that specializes in darkness.  (Well, let's face it... there are several who make that claim.  I refer, though, to a very explicit specialty, imaginatively concocted and originally produced.  Sin Labs and Club Circe, my friends, the first and the mighty.)  No orifice is sacred.  No body part unused.  The true, objectified reality of skin and bones, and all the nerves in-between.  Kneel upon a plinth and be hypnotized into rebirth as a beautiful statue, so pretty, so soft to touch.  Kneel upon the plinth and feel your body filled with new fluids; and feel the taps clamp down to pour your own fluids for serving.  It is dark and blue and electric, the atmosphere so charged with the presence of omnipotent domination and manufactured servants.  Transformed beings for the sake of pleasure.  A factory for darkness. The art involved, the creativity and scripting genius... the whole philosophy is to be commended.  I applaud Kumi Itoku.

And yet, that is not what I mean by darkness.  Or, rather, the words might sound similar, but the visuals are very different.  My darkness has no logic to it; pure whimsy, that which cannot be controlled.  The appetites of men, that which cannot be controlled.  The leisure and release of men, that which cannot be controlled.  The darkness I seek is simply the unknown variable of a man in possession of rare ability who thirsts for my brainpower and hungers for my body.  And who will show me how to appreciate the subtleties of pain.

My darkness has a feeling of an old world.  A chateau, luxury and wealth dripping from every lit candle.  A library of apocrypha, magics and sundry offenses.  A laboratory, rarely used.  A ballroom, frequented by masked, initiated regulars.  Cages, perhaps.  Bird-cages, animal-cages... but the birds fly freely, and the animals roam wild.  The girls, on the other hand, are caged, held in reserve for use.  I would be one among many; and I would be useful.  I would never know by whom, or how to anticipate.  But I would know when.