The Dictionary, Page Thirteen

Surrender, it says.  And so I do.

"Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly," so the song goes.  One must be who one was born to be, and there is no point trying to be anyone else.

There is a lesson I have been learning for the past few months and it has everything to do with "selving" and personal identity.  About carving a separate self from my creators and about feeling free to be a separate self from my creators.  This is a difficult process if one comes from creators so heavily invested in their creation that a separate self has never been possible.  It is a painful process, separating oneself and becoming oneself.

But, nothing ever changes unless there's some pain.

I surrender my path to the evolution of my self, the natural creature who crawls and claws from the wreckage of birth into the realm of chaos.  "I want to be subject to chaos," Tasdron once said to me, years ago, as he lured me from the comfortable confines of one universe into the unpredictable paradise of another.

The metamorphosis feels real, now.  It is not a change: it is a changing into.  I am more than wings: I am ripples.  The sine and cosine of waves, up and down, to and fro.  The rippled image distorts and then clarifies after the drop of pebble into pond: though the image waves, it does not fragment.  And, eventually, the image becomes again itself.

I see things visually.  I see a pebble thrown into a pond, and my reflection eventually returns.

When I lamented the feelings of vanilla chastity, wondering where my "subbie" self had gone, I did not realize until today that it was simply a pebble thrown into water that had distorted the image of myself.  Life rocks my boat, sometimes.  Life is unpleasant, sometimes.  But, my real self I look upon, and my real self remains real; and after the water stills again, the image will be clear.  It only appears as though my image is not me, for a time.  And for a time, it will strive to get back to reality.  And for a time, until the next pebble is thrown, I will be and see the real me, at once.

I surrender to this, the changing of time.  I need not surrender my submissive self; I need only shield her and protect her and keep her warm for the time when she will be, again, called upon to serve.

The Dictionary, Page Nine

Creation, is it.  When all I want to do is to write about forgiveness, and it is Creation that claims page nine of the dictionary.  Ah well.  So be it.

I have been looking forward to this post for a long time.  I thought it would never come.  I thought it would always elude me.  I thought it was for other people, not for me.  "Forgiveness is not something I can describe," they told me.  "It is letting go," others said.  "It is not letting them win," still others told me.  I could say the same about orgasm.  I could say the same about singing in tune.  I could say the same about finally mastering the trumpet.  

But now I can describe forgiveness.  I can describe it, because I feel it.  And I feel it because it is time.

a) It knows when it is time.  You won't control it.  If you control it, it is something else.  Forgiveness comes when it is time, and it's alright if you keep watching out the window.  It's alright if you watch this kettle boil.  In fact, the more you watch for it, the better.

b) It is about letting go -- but letting go of something very specific.  It is about letting go of a false sense of responsibility.  Yours, or theirs, or someone's -- you know which.  It knows which.  And it is an abandoning of a weight that has anchored you to a false sense of who you are.  This is why it's alright to keep watching for it.  Studying other people.  Whether or not they have a good sense of who they are, or whether they are still controlled by the anchor of "other."  If you tell people it is about letting go, make sure they realize: it is about letting go of something about yourself.  Something useless, now.

c) "But how can you forgive and never forget?"  Well, this will be meaningful someday, but for now you can have an intellectual answer to that question.  Intellectually, the forgiveness comes first.  Then, the choice of whether to forget or not.  But you're getting ahead of yourself.  Make sure you keep things in the right order.  Don't stop asking; but don't put your cart before your horse.

d) Forgiveness comes when you're in a safe room all by yourself.  And you're talking.  (Yes, talking.)  And you find yourself saying something kind and generous to that person you're trying to forgive.  You say, "Wow, I was nice to you there, did you see that?"  And in your head they say back, "I deserved nothing less!"  And out loud, you say to them, "Well, you crazy loon, I will be the judge of that, seeing as this is my room and all."  And then, the forgiveness happens:  you burst out laughing.

e) Yes.  Forgiveness is laughing.  Laughter is the truth.  Laughter is the fluttering of wings that takes it all away; the fluttering of wings that take flight and vanishes.  

SO...  I laughed.  I watched the thing dissolve.  I said to myself, I feel lighter.  It's alright, now.  I don't care what they think.   I don't care how they make decisions.   I don't care whether they condemn me.   I don't care whether they know I have forgiven them.   

Will I forget what they have done?  It doesn't matter!  I do not care!  Maybe I will.  All I need to remember, really, is to stay away from them.  Keep myself out of harm's way.  That is the part that lingers.  Forgive, yes, but say out of harm's way forever after.  There is no need to do it all again.  They don't get to break you twice.

All of this has been building up to that.   Now, I know my limits.  Now, I know my personal power.  Now, I know for sure.

Tasdron has been offering me opportunities to re-create myself.  We have re-created our world together.  We have re-created the safe place.  The experimental, negotiated place.  The before-care.  The after-care.  The ritual cleansing.  The ritual invocation.  The ritual exclamation.  

Now that I know what I needed to know, I can begin a new exploration and learn something new.  Learn how to live in a world forgiven.  With Tasdron's help, I will begin the act of creation -- he and I will create something new.

The Dictionary, Page Six

Chastity is the next word in the dictionary.  The words of the dictionary I'm working on, incidentally, are found in the "page one" post, but here they are again:  intimacy, connection, submission, worship, chastity, adoration, service, creation, representation, rendering, capture, surrender, claiming, ritual, frame, solid, eternal, earthly, heavenly, sinfully, humility, revelation, giving, taking, ornamental, mastering, skillful, privacy, shield, ourselves, perfection. 

Chastity, for me, is easy.  It's not like it's any hardship and I'm making some huge sacrifice.  The only difficult part is actually saying the word "no," especially if I know it's going to hurt his feelings.  I have no trouble meaning it; and I have no trouble enforcing it.  But that first declaration of "Oh, my submission doesn't involve sex," is a doozy.  Men have, in the past, reacted negatively to my "no."  Sometimes they might try to convince me that I'll never get anywhere in this lifestyle if I don't offer my body.  Sometimes they might try to convince me that I'm topping from the bottom by refusing my body. (Note well:  both of those excuses are false!  Tricks!  Pay no attention!)

My great learning about chastity in this lifestyle:  you're allowed to have the kind of relationship that you want, no matter what anybody else says.  You're allowed!  The proudly-sexual women are happy with themselves and feel good about their choices.  The proudly-chaste women can feel just as good!  And the world keeps turning.  And the lifestyle keeps growing.

This is not new wisdom:  if he can't handle you saying "no" to him, then he's not worth saying "yes" to.  (Nevermind "yes, Sir.") This part of the dictionary is not for Tasdron: this part is for me, the part of the dictionary that represents my power and my thinking, my self-care and my self-love.  This is my personal applause for the power that I have held onto and for the faith I've kept during the time I've been on my own in this world.  I have done well, and I can be proud of my behaviour around men and women (and around the men of other women).

When I sit at my computer and begin my private time of submission for the day, and I begin reviewing what I have learned so far and where it is that I want to go, I think about all that I have to offer in this virtual communication and living. I give a beautiful kind of intimacy.  I give an intensity of care and concern, and I rush to turn wrong things into right things.  I rush to consider feelings. I hurry from my place of waiting to the place of action, of problem-solving.  Sometimes I dive in a little too far, and in my eagerness I might appear abrupt.  But my zeal and eagerness are undaunted until what is wrong is right again.  In short, I am a hell of a companion.  And my house is your house.  And if you have not eaten I will make you eggs and toast and tea.  And if you have not slept I will tell you a story and watch you doze off while I clean up after our meal together.  And while you sleep I will make sure the house is silent (and tidy) for you.  And while you dream in silence I will make sure there is something good to wake up to.  My work is chaste work, and it is hard work, and it is out of love and devotion that I do it.  I submit to this effort and to this kind of pleasing and to this kind of purity of intimacy.

When I think of submission as a picture, I don't think of a man binding my hands behind my back and forcing his cock into my mouth.  That is not submission: that's just kinky sex.