The Dictionary, Page Twelve

Capture, now what was I thinking?  Capture, of all things.  The dictionary of my submission -- the words meaningful to me as I relate to my Tasdron:  capture is word twelve.

Not roleplay, no -- this is not a game.  Not slavery, no --  a slave to my passions, I am not, and I govern my passions with the desire of a saint.  Surely to cupcakes I had something in mind when I blurted the word "capture" for page twelve of the dictionary.

Oh indeed, oh yes.  Oh for the very certainty.  Yes, and I remember precisely why, too.  I remember a day -- early, early in my understanding of this lifestyle -- when brave old Sir Will set me down in a new and unfamiliar sim, greenery everywhere, with some delicate iron chairs and a table for two.  I was honored to hold his attention for the twenty minutes we had for talking and enjoying green nature.  (I am always honored when someone of sublime humanity invites me for a small time to enjoy an idea or two, and I have been very lucky with how many of those people -- people of sublime humanity -- I have been able to meet.)  What we talked about was preserving -- holding time in a bottle, as it were.  How afraid I had become, at that time in the year, of time slipping away and vanishing, and taking everything I love with it.  It was an anxiety easily quelled, in fact, and brave old Sir Will's picture in my photo album proves it.  "Why do you take pictures?" he asked.  "I need to capture and then hold on to moments," I replied.

When I frame it, snap it, save it, and treat it, it is mine for however long I say so.

Memory is unreliable, and dreams are easily influenced.  The taste of the tea at the time of a special moment is a taste I could try with all my might to recapture, tomorrow.  And of course, that taste, that perfect chemistry just so, just right, just there in that moment now gone, that taste is precious and flown.

So I take tea every day, for every moment.  I won't take any chances of missing out.

* * *

What happens, though, when the moments are perfectly collected, and the visuals perfectly captured, and the words and associations catalogued carefully and with pristine attention to every detail worth remembering -- and then the feeling fades... What happens when the chemistry that coordinated all of my feelings of submission suddenly changes, changed as a vial of blood poured into the clear, pure glass of aqua vita changes the look and meaning and value of the intoxicant?

The chemistry that made me crave the pain; the chemistry that made me crave the care; the chemistry that made me crave the naked vulnerability and steadfast rules and limits.  The chemistry that made me open myself to surrendering to another.  How do I recapture that chemistry?  I have gone all vanilla and happy.  There is great love, there.  There is placid, easy conversation.  There is intelligence and connection.  There is beauty and truth.  There is all such goodness but -- what of the chemistry that made me crave the sting of a riding crop?

My submission changes with every new day.  I am no less submissive simply for not craving pain.  I am no less submissive simply for not craving a passionate violence in fantasy.  I am no less submissive. I am simply... chaste in thought, now, as well as in deed.

There is no capturing chemistry as one captures its look.  Chemistry boils and bubbles, forever changing.  The species named "Submissive" does not change with the flowing, floating fury of volatile chemicals always at play.  I'm still me.  I'll be fine.

* * *

And I have valentines chairs to sit in for when you get home, by the way.

Shame, Part Four

There would be no shame without curiosity.  It is not real shame (is it?) if we did not ask for a little bit of it.  Or, more than a little bit.  Curiosity is the beginning of shame.  In the story of Eve with Adam in Paradise, it is curiosity (not defiance) that claims Eve's innocence.  It is not that she wanted to upset God.  It is not that she tried to get Adam in trouble.  It is a very simple motive that changes poor Eve forever after: curiosity.

With curiosity comes temptation.  With temptation comes indulgence.  And, from indulgence derives gratification which, alas, feels so good... or feels terrible.  It depends.  But, in the end, the terrible feeling is shame.

It is the terrible feeling anorexics feel for eating food.  It is the terrible feeling alcoholics feel for drinking whiskey.  It is the terrible feeling pedophiles feel when looking at a child in short pants.  It is the terrible feeling victims of bullies feel when they read the text message that says "Everybody thinks you smell foul."  The shame comes after the eating; after the drinking; after the looking; after the clicking and opening and reading.  The shame comes after the curiosity.

Shame comes from secrets.  The secret is the closet where shame resides, hangs up its hat and coat, settles in.  The secret is the darkness and safety of that closet.  We know where that closet is, what hides inside.  We know, because we shut the door and keep it safe.  We know because we volunteer, in this act of shame-keeping, to give the secret a good home.  Sometimes it is for good, that we keep this secret.  It protects people.  Sometimes it is for worse, that we keep this secret: it hurts people and we are too weak to change it.  Shame relies on this secret, though, however we look at it.  Shame relies on this secret, and relies on our ability to hold that closet door closed.

If we do not keep that door closed, then shame will no longer be private:  shame will become public embarrassment.  Shame will become the object of public scorn, and then guilt blossoms from the garden of soiled embarrassment.  The danger with shame is the imbalance of power, again: shame has the potential to destroy every carefully-balanced arrangement.

Shame, Guilt, and Embarrassment co-exist in this way:  shame is private; embarrassment is public; and guilt is the responsibility of the individual to action, somehow -- rightly or wrongly.

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.)

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.

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.