Pain and forgiveness

Forgiveness redux.  The task is not complete.  We did a ritual of red markings upon my body, and that begins a journey I did not anticipate.  The paint has faded but I remember my task, and the pain is changing.  Pain and Paint are words I link, now, and things make sense to me.  I do not know if you intended this link, but it has happened anyway.  Painted pain fading.  At least, changing.

And this book has done things that we will need to talk about, also.  This is the picture in my mind when I imagine the book, and how you will always come for me.

* * *
Inigo could not stop his sudden tears.
"Now you are watching him fall.  Look -- look at him -- watch Domingo die --"
Inigo began sobbing out of all control.
"Tell me what you feel --"
Inigo was barely able to speak the word:  "Pain."
"Yes, right, of course, pain, killing pain.  That is what you should want more than anything, an end to your pain."
"...yes..."
"That pain is with you, every moment of every day?"
"...yes..."
"If you think of ending your pain, you will kill the six-fingered man.  But if you only think of revenge, he will kill you, because he has already taken the thing on earth you treasured most, and he will know that, and when you battle he will say things, he will taunt you, he will talk about your pathetic father and he will laugh at your love for a failure like Domingo, and you will scream in rage and your revenge will take control and you will attack blindly -- and then he will cut you to pieces."

* * *
When I am not imagining love and connection, I imagine ending pain.  But not really.  When I am not imagining love and connection, I imagine changing pain, a transformation.  Another metamorphosis, another pretty butterfly wing emerging.  A different pain.  I imagine feeling something different, something reserved, something never yet experienced.  Putting pain somewhere on my body and letting it feel what it is like to split open and bleed.  And then, deriving pleasure from it.  I would say, a well-earned pleasure.  Time enough.

Not every day.  My submission is not characterized by this.  I am more love than agonizing.  But, for a special treat, the agonizing must flow.

I know now what I must do.  I knew we would figure it out.

Everybody's Version of Paga Servin'

I'm dreaming of water.  I would really like to be wandering through a shallow stream right now.  Instead, the guru that I follow has put me in secluded shackles for three days, but that is another story.  So here I sit, far from prying eyes, way up high in the sky.  People come and go down below, while I sit here, and so I open up their profiles and I read.  And I get to see (sometimes) how they prefer things, how they do things.  I get to see "other."

One profile in particular struck me as interesting, and it involves the negotiation process in surrendering oneself to a man's collar.  He says in his profile that the submissive's consent happens when she puts the collar on, and then anything thereafter is taken for granted.  There is no need to negotiate or consent after that:  once the collar is on, the man's word goes, full stop.  And his profile was very lucid and common-sense up until that point.  Obviously he is a man who knows what he is looking for, and what he is looking for is a slave.  More specifically, a slave who is content to abandon all her rights with that one word of consent.

Another profile in particular struck me as interesting: a woman who says, quite clearly, that the negotiation process is ongoing for the entire duration of the relationship with her ideal man.  Her ideal man is submissive (and not stupid); her ideal man can think for himself but chooses to let her make all the important decisions, and in fact begs her to make all the important decisions; her ideal man enjoys her sense of humour and her sense of sadism; and her ideal man will not crumble if she does not log in for 2 days, because they always know when they will meet next.  She didn't call him a slave; and the man's profile above did not call his "ideal" submissive a slave either; but I wonder now at the word "submissive" in this lifestyle.  It is not a word anybody can take for granted.

People can't take for granted that "their way" is THE way.  There is no such thing as THE way to dominate, or THE way to submit, anyway.  There is simply the way we want when it comes to relationships -- and finding someone who wants the same thing that you do.  D/s is a very specialized architecture for relations between people: and, as one person said in a discussion recently, D/s is a power exchange, not a hostile takeover.  In other words, both partners get something out of it.  That guy who believes that consent comes with wearing the collar and there's no more need for negotiation?  He can probably find someone to buy in to those conditions, sure -- but that's not everybody's idea of submission.  The lady who wants the man to beg for all important decisions to be made by her but who can still retain a measure of his own independence?  She'll find what she's looking for, too, no doubt; but that's not everybody's idea of submission.  Neither one practices "the right way" to do things.  In the D/s world (like in the mainstream, vanilla, everyday world) if you don't beg, you don't get.

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.

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.

Anna Agonistes

My emotional gooey me is so tightly wound and coiled and kept under self-disciplined containment that it's a wonder I haven't drilled a hole through the concrete I stand upon, on any given day.  My logical sharp bright me, hewn to a fine point, is ready to drill that hole for me, if the goo won't unravel of its own volition.  "Surrender," says the dark voice.  "You will make a good submissive."  I knew that.  I believed that.  I ached for that.  "Do you think you can?"  I thought I did.  Why is it so easy to shake me?  Why is it so easy to destabilize what I believe to be true? Is it because there is so little truth to grasp onto in the first place that I have to relearn every single thing I knew about myself, once?

EDIT:  Domination and submission are personal journeys.  There are great people in the world.  They are great and competent in so many ways -- how they look, how they sound, how they interact with people, their level of personal honesty.  How true to themselves they are; just like how true to myself I am.  There is a magic state of being called "Sleep" which cures many ills (just as "Time" will do, and in fact one works quite nicely with the other).  When the world shakes, when the snow-globe spills the snow, when the voices conflict, to thine own self be true for then thou cannot be false to any man.

It is not a crime to be true to myself.  After all, this is a power exchange, and I have power.

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.

Symbols and Sensuality, Part 2

Because I am new to this lifestyle -- or, rather, new to the desires and the immersion -- my meditations involve many "before and after" considerations.  Transformation is something I think about.  Who I am.  Where I have been.  Where I am going.  Whom I know.  Whom I admire.  Whom I (would theoretically want nothing more than to) obey.

The transformation from a vanilla mindset to a mindset surrendered to the idea of submission feels thrilling. And I enjoy the longevity of it.  I enjoy that it is not instantaneous.  I enjoy that there are rites of passage.  I enjoy that there are layers to peel from me in order to feel me emerge.  Many writers have explored the symbology of the moth and the bright light as the soul seeking knowledge, the body seeking experience.  I feel like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon, stripped of all that kept me earthbound and sluggish, ready to spread my wings and obey the forces of nature that control me.  I want the forces of nature to control me.  I want to feel the power of something stronger remove from me the petty anxieties of a day; making me an outlaw to the normative and stifling rules of society because of how high I can fly, commanded by Him to do so.

It is a tremendous responsibility for a man to dominate a woman.  Sometimes I am in awe of this responsibility (I mean, the "ideal" version... not the pretend version that feels more and more commonplace).  When I imagine the Dominant's role, I imagine a man who strives towards self-Mastery and vast knowledge.  I imagine a man at the top of his game; someone who has invested time, effort, practice, and good conversation in the art of problem-solving and appetite-grooming (both very, very important characteristics in a man, to me).  I imagine that he understands the ways of the female and the male human body; how to heal and how to nourish.  I imagine he has figured out how to get what he wants in life without harming any.  I imagine he has his cool ambition well in hand, and that it balances perfectly with his warm artistic and inventive pursuits.  And, I imagine he is so self-aware that he knows what the merest look he gives can do to me -- wither me to nothing, or lift me to the heavens.

Who am I?  I barely recognize myself anymore.  I am surrounded by butterflies; a white mist in the distance cools the air that I breathe.  My path is straight, true, and yet I flit about like a butterfly to all the different flowers, drunk on possibility.  My eyes rest easily, and I am not afraid of the dark.  I have the power to wound; and I have the ability to feel horribly wounded.  I wish for, instead of the wound, being in the right place surrounded by the right people.  I wish for, instead of the wound, being on the other end of a powerful chain controlled by one who knows himself.  I wish for, instead of the wound, being united in abiding peace with the man who knows how to control the shadows of his appetite, the darkness of mine, and the sweet spring air in the daylight, after.  (This is not to say that I am in a hurry....................................  It is merely that my goal is clearer and clearer; and that the horizon is a beautiful vista, no matter how distant or near to me.)

The Unseen Gardener

As I was landscaping my home in Second Life, I realized when it was finished that it really did need a gardener to pare-back and prune the out-of-control wilderness that seems to be without fail my instinctive landscape setting.  There's green everywhere: on land, in the water, in the house.  Life occupies all available space, by rule and nature, and I make it so.

It made me chuckle to realize that a person can gleen volumes of information simply by observing the way a girl handles simple decisions.  How to set a table; where someone gets honoured; what comforts are provided; what fantasies are struggling; what comes easily; what comes with great effort.  And especially, where does she enjoy putting her effort, tirelessly, endlessly, and for what reason?

There is a table setting with breakfast prepared, outside in the morning sun.  There is a rock-garden beside the table-setting, lilies and water flowing around the solid stones.  The daisies grow wildly but are stopped suddenly with the house's foundation.  From that boundary inward, civilization dominates.  The only green that grows, thereafter, is inside, carefully potted, resting comfortably in its stationary posture and tended to daily by loving hands.

And there is a quiet space inside the house, room for a lone figure suspended from a strong pendant.  Comfortable seating and the feet never touch the ground.  Time for contemplation and even meditation if the mind is of a mood.  Because it is a space where a mind can bend towards the light of understanding.  On my journey of key learnings, I have come to understand more and more about myself, and especially as a result of this blog here for which I find myself grateful.  Journey to Dominance and Submission has been a good read.

It is a journey.  It is a journey filled with frustration and with joy, too.  It is a journey filled with deceit, but it is also filled with opportunities for discovering honesty.  The garden is not just blossom and leaf: the garden comprises muck and fertilizer, worm and slug as much as it comprises air, water, sunlight, and sweet dark corners.  The green stems grow amid immovable rock; water-waves crash over immovable rock; pretty pink lilies open all around immovable rock; the burning sun and driving rain blast down upon immovable rock. Life happens all around immovable rock.  I will know the right rock when it welcomes me.