An Existentialist Concern

The other day, a girl cried out that she missed her master so much and it was terrible that she was without him.  He replied to her that he did not know how "being without him" was possible since he believed that they were both always together no matter where in the world they lived.  That's a good master, and she is a lucky girl.  He's right, too; in this tricky mess of "being," it is easy to despair in unguarded moments -- when someone is absent, the feeling of absence is overwhelming and sometimes it feels like death.

Someday we, too, will be absent from the world.

A lady I know died yesterday.  She was formidable...!  Once, we were very close.  And, as is common with people who like each other, our paths diverged and we walked in different directions.  She was the city-type, while I headed towards the wilderness. While she was still in the world, though, I remember giving to her.  I am consoled, in this case, for I never let the balance tilt too far to one side: when one takes more than one gives, there is no way to repay the debt when the time is over, and that weighs too heavily on the imagination.  That is when grief is too painful to bear.  While she was still in the world, I gave to her, and I received what she gave to me, and the water that carries her away is calm, and my mind is easy about her in this way.

But my mind never has been easy about absence, and of course the idea of photography is supposed to be the balm that soothes this anxiety (as Sir Will knows).  Naturally, there were pictures of this excellent lady at the memorial.  Tasdron asked me, "Did you take any of those pictures?"  And the arrow pierces.  No, of course not; when I knew her, I was not a photographer.  When I knew her closely, years ago, I believed photography was a mystery, something that required initiation and sacrifice in order to achieve with any kind of mastery.  I never photographed my friend.

However, I did other things.  The greatest thing I can think of was to facilitate a moment of love (of peace and quiet and undisturbed time) between her and her man.  Such moments were hard to come by, back then, and so I rejoice that I could give them both such a gift.  Time is the best gift, right?  Someone's time is better than any diamond.

And then through the memorial, Tasdron showed me pictures of our past; and reminded me of moments in our past for which there are no pictures.  Moments do not vanish, necessarily, especially when one is a Master of Moments like Tasdron is.  Moments arise, again, playful and vibrant, when they are called upon.  Memento mori (Latin for "remember that you will die") reminds us that we live, too, and that as we live we accumulate moments and those moments live with us even when we're not looking at them.  There is no need for sadness.  Rockin did not go anywhere without us, because eventually we'll all be there with her, departed from this world.  (People cry as if she left us for a place we will never go to, ourselves.  As if we were forever sentenced to live in this world here, without respite.)

I don't miss her, and the reason resembles what that master said to his girl the other day: I know my friend, and we're not in the same place usually, and I did not miss her while she lived and I do not miss her now that she is dead because I know my friend.  She contains multitudes: she is different people with different people, as I too may seem different to different crowds, but there is a moment in time when she was as much a friend to me as I to her, and that moment is with me always, even in absence.  If the dead took with them all trace of their lives, that would be too sad to contemplate.  They leave behind everything they have given to us, rather, and that is what we hold for "presence."

What does this have to do with the culture of BDSM?  There is something important, here.  Something key to my idea of good mastery -- and therefore key to my idea of someone capable of understanding and accepting my submission.  (My idea, maybe not everybody else's idea.)  When the collar goes around my neck, I am not magically immune to "real life."  And, life happens.  So does death.  When the collar goes around the neck, the world continues to turn and there are days that will be unbearable and there will be days of jubilance.  These days need words for processing.  A master cannot make the days go away.  A master cannot make the days silent, mute.  A master cannot stop them from coming, nor can he stop them from leaving.  When there are, simply, too many moments to deal with all at once, he may simply be there with his girl to help her process them, one by one.  Inappropriate laughter; tears over stupid things; questions about existence and the meaning of life while drinking tea gone cold.  Perspective.  (The elasticity of my imagination springs too violently, sometimes, and perspective is always welcome for gentle relief.)

When the collar goes around the neck, it is because the master is capable of understanding the multitudes of his submissive, and vice versa.



 

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.

Giving Yourself, and Giving Away

Recently, I attended a discussion (so few of them are held in my timezone... I grab what I can!) and the topic was "Time to Say Goodbye" and what some reasons might be for a submissive and her Dom/me to part ways.  Without any big surprise, the reasons we discussed (and certainly there would be more of them if we had longer to discuss it) are very similar for vanilla couples:  a) when one or the other's needs simply aren't being met, and no amount of communication can build a bridge over that chasm; b) when one becomes abusive beyond the other's tolerance;  c) when one or the other is revealed as dishonest; d) when one or the other transgresses a core value previously established and sacred to the relationship.  Afterwards, I got to continue the conversation with a few other people who were also interested in the topic, and it was surprising how naturally the conversation led to "Acting Like a Sub".

"What does a 'real' sub act like?  Look like?" And I think this is where the cultures clash:  the roleplayers, the lifestylers, the D/s lovers, the virtual-enthusiasts, the gamers, the real-lifers, the Goreans, the Vanillas... everybody, it seems, has an idea of what submission "looks" and "acts" like.  The one point on which we all agreed (those of us chatting on the topic together) was that submission "feels like" giving your whole self.  It ceases to feel like submission when you give yourself away.  But it feels like submission when you give your whole self.  It is not as confounding as it sounds...!  We must, must, must have the integrity and self-knowledge, and most importantly the self-love, required to know what it is we're giving to our Dominant when we submit ourselves.  When we give ourselves (and not when we give ourselves away), it's nice to be giving something great!   But honestly, there are so many competing submission ideals  here in Second Life, so many different points of access for understanding submission, so many ways to approach this, that there is simply no justice served by asserting "one right way" to act submissively.  (Now I am beginning to understand why the tempered, mature players in SL promote "respect and tolerance" as key values before entering their sims.)  Respect and tolerance because there is a multitude of genres to accommodate, and everybody's submission is unique in any case.

Why am I submissive?  I was born this way.  Do I switch?  No; my submission is a point of pride for me.  Do I think that I can demonstrate my submission as easily in silks as in a chunky white floppy sweater?  Why, yes I do.  Observe!  Says the silkie:  "My Master, there are so many empty chairs in this house when You are gone.  The sting of Your whip or the kiss of Your mouth, please, my Master, bring it to me!  Your girl aches and longs!"  Says the submissive:  "My Master, I hope You don't mind... while You were gone, I missed You so much that I wore Your sweater.  The one that You asked me to wash before You returned.  I wore it because it smells like You, and it feels like You surround me.  I ache and I long for You..."   I feel pretty confident that my submission will get across, no matter my medium, and no matter my appearance.

How to act submissively?  It's private and personal, of course, but I would answer, "Don't act."  Submission is an honest state.  And it requires a person who has the courage of her convictions.  Who can speak truth to power when required.  Who actually has power that she can surrender to her Dom/me.  More than in other states of being, you need to be able to articulate what you need.  What you want.  What you crave.  Where your fears are.  Where your courage is.  Why you see obstacles.  What you will examine and what you won't.  Where there is failure, and whether there is a remedy.  If you give yourself away, the prize is gone.  If you give yourself to fill yourself, and keep giving yourself and keep getting filled, the prize grows and grows for the One who claims you.
Or, so I believe right now.  And I hope this holds true.

Serving and Pleasing

"She's a giver," a person might say about a really good hostess, especially at the holiday season.  You walk into her home; you receive exceptional hospitality; the food is surprisingly good to eat and good to look at; the wine is carefully chosen; there is a parting gift with a blessing and it makes you feel as if she was honoured to have you in her home... "Yes, she sure is a giver," you might reply.

Why does she give so much?  What is in it for her?  Why does she want to serve so well?   The excellent hostess is driven to please.  The "why" is not necessarily as important as the "fact of it" in this case:  the excellent hostess may be driven by a dominant posture (to control the flow of food and drink; to time the sequence of events for the evening; to determine the seating arrangement; to decide the games-partners; etc...) or by a submissive posture (to provide ease and leisure to her guests by preparing good foods and drink; to entertain her guests with inventive games; to divert her guests with an evening of relaxation and all the chores taken care of -- effortless dining, etc.)  But the fact is, the need to please is very private and very real.  She simply wants to please: and the effect of it is a good time for her guests.

What's in it for her?  You will remember her.  You will think about her with warmth and love.  You will consider her among the more accomplished of your acquaintances (the food is extra-ordinary... the skill is delicate and disciplined... the generosity is second to none).  You will want to return, someday.  You may, in fact, want to return the favour someday, too.  You will talk, from time to time, about what a good time you had at her gathering.  You will say, sometimes, what a thoughtful hostess she is.  You will respect her and praise her.  All these things, eventually, come true after an evening of pleasure at the hands of the excellent hostess.  And all these things, too, eventually come true if you are pleased by your submissive or by your Dominant.   What makes me talk about this?  Where did this post come from?
I just finished reading a discussion about service, and a comment therein was something like, "I have no idea why submissives want to serve; what do you get out of it?"  There were answers that involved kink and nipple-piercing which, I think, blur the fundamental drive of a human being to please another human being.  There is a drive that urges us to please other people whom we respect and love; and I don't think this drive is specific to either subs or Dominants.  I think a submissive heart serves differently from a Dominant attitude, but I know that the impulse stems from a similar place.