The Gardener

There is a euphemism in the BDSM community of "The Gardener," referring to the dominant or master -- he or she who tends the garden, provides the food and water, shapes the straightness of the growth of the blossom.  He or she who over-sees. And, by extension, the euphemism includes the tended plant's similarities to the submissive:  he or she who responds to the care, who takes nourishment and grows taller for it.

I note with amusement that this euphemism has nothing whatsoever to do with sex, kinky-sex, sadistic-sex, masochistic-sex, three-way sex, or tied-up sex.  The euphemism involves the practical relations between a dominant and a submissive: the dominant acts, and the submissive reacts (philosophically-speaking).

Of course when people who love each other collide and their wow-factors combust and the engines roar in triumph for having found each other, it is a natural progression in a relationship to explore the thousand playful ways of sexual intercourse.  And, of course, during sexual performance the dominant dominates and the submissive submits just as in other daily life-events.  But even a year later after beginning my journey of learning about real submission and domination, I am still amazed at the sexually-charged atmosphere of the BDSM communities I peek into.

Frankly, I don't see very many gardens.  The J2D sim is the closest I come to there being garden, nature, tree and blossom.  Water.  Growth.  Opportunity and potential.

I know, I know -- birds and bees are everywhere, and they pollinate and cross-pollinate and there is always the yawning genitalia of wide-open flowers just waiting for the penetrating probe of the next insect, everywhere one looks.  The fragrant perfume of such blooms attracts me and changes my state of being.  I love to immerse myself in a beautiful garden, and it is equally pleasing to surround myself with devoted and delighted submissive personalities.  Interested, aware, mannered and cultured, the submissive personality has the potential to achieve the heights of intellectual and emotional bliss.  There are fascinating people with unique experience, in this particular realm.

And yet, it is a rare find, that sweet person devoted to growing taller and shedding thorns.  So often, the submissive feels incomplete without a dominant at the other end of this conversation so that they grow distracted, unsatisfied, unreasonably sexually-charged and nearly violent with anxiety.  It is not another submissive she wants to speak with or to wander through the park and look at birds -- it is a dominant, ready to spank her and then sexually use her, half-clothed, without asking.

This, I am learning, is not a problem of submission and domination: this is a problem with emotional well-being in general.  This is a problem of mental health.  This is a problem of coming-online-only-when-horny, so that we never get to know the real person, sated and in equilibrium.  This is a problem of nymphomania -- a manic need for sex that, for as long as it goes unsatisfied, continues to grow in intensity and perversion.  This, I am learning, has nothing whatsoever to do with domination and submission, and frankly it should!

People cruelly-use other people not because the world is populated by cruelty and evil laughter, but rather because there is an epidemic of uncontrolled, unmastered emotion in the world.  Domination and submission is perfectly -- honestly, ideally -- suited for the self-mastering of emotion that is required to practice safe, sane, consenting performance.  This lifestyle is precisely where it should be (and can be) fixed.

Mastering and self-mastering are words that, outside of the BDSM universe, become diluted with overuse and inaccurate use.  Mastering and self-mastering are sorely needed in the general population so filled with anger and quick-to-judge assumptions.  To follow one who has the ability to discipline and to focus another person's energy into higher learning and higher understanding, zen-like peace and beneficial living habits -- oh how I wish this were a widespread practice among dominants and submissives!  To tend to gardens literally, and to prune and eliminate the weeds, these are behaviours that would make people and the world beautiful.  BDSM must be -- surely, it must be -- more than spanking and seeing how long we can hold our breath.

This is my journey, of course.  For those that need a spanking, I am overjoyed when you get it. For me, though, it is a garden that I wish to explore, and to get back to learning of the unique and interesting ways gardeners do their work with the beautiful flowers they labour around. I definitely need to get out more, like I used to.

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.

No limits

After something intense and physical, a demonstration of the bond we share, something I was not expecting and something that awakened me to new levels of connection and new levels of understanding, he asks me, "I did not shock you, did I?"

No, of course not.  Yes, you totally shocked me. Both are perfectly true, and I love it.  But of course, they answer two separate questions.

The real, first question yesterday was whether I was alright, and so my answer is yes, I really am.  I am not shocked; I am alright.  The question that resonates now, though, in the aftermath, now that I'm thinking about it, now that I am awake and refreshed from a good sleep, now that I have eaten and worked and bathed and taken care of the home, that second question is much deeper: even though I am alright, am I affected?  Did I change?  A much different answer:  I am definitely affected.  It affects me.  Yesterday really affected me.  And I feel changed.  And that was the whole point of this journey:  and I want more.  

* * *
Since I began this journey at the beginning of the year, I have come to the following conclusions about limits:
1.  When you are with someone new, limits are your best friend.  Make them strong, and make them hard.  They will, in turn, serve you as they prove yourself and prove your intended.  Treasure those people who defend your boundaries and encourage your boundaries, for they are true friends.

2.  When you are with someone more intimate than "new," limits are your barometer.  You choose whether or not you wish to test those limits and grow out of them, depending on the nature of your intimacy and the depth of your respect for each other.  Your limits may still remain strong, even if one person is allowed to approach them more easily than others.  And perhaps, not just approach but also alter.  Perhaps.  If you decide.

3.  When you are with the right person, and you both know that you can rely upon each other as though you were directly responsible for the daily breathing of each heart and the daily feeding of each soul, there is no such thing as limits.  You both want the same thing, and there is nothing else to want for.  Where you end and where he begins, there is hardly even a boundary separating you.  Intimacy itself becomes a boundary that you both create, and everything else lives outside of it while you both live safe, together, inside.  Doing whatever you want.  Knowing that you both are safe.  Safe as hearts.  That is, at least, how I feel.  I love this feeling.

* * *
"At the bell tower" is the 100th post for One of Many Petals.  "No limits" begins the next hundred, and we begin it together, Tasdron and I, with all of my gratitude and love.  My exquisite submission, my great love, my perfect dreams and never-ending story.

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.)

Vulnerable Days, Strong Days

Today is father's day, and it is the first father's day that I experience without a father.  (I can see where this week's anxieties have come from, now that I think about it.)  My father was kind, quiet, strong,  self-centred (in the way that is zen and healthy), well-read, and always occupied (and yet forever available if I needed him).  My father did not raise me to be dependent upon him.  My father did not raise me to fall apart when he is gone.  My father raised me to live my own life; and if I faltered, he would fix it so that I could continue along the path I had chosen.  My father was unexpectedly hilarious in rare moments.  My father rarely spoke using contracted words, usually preferring to speak the word in its entirety as if to savour the full meaning of it.  My father was contemplative. My father took incredibly good pictures, usually of things nobody else was looking at.  My father's handwriting was immaculate.  My father's patience was selective.  My father's curiosity was healthy.  My father's storytelling was legendary.  My father could write so that anybody would want to read him.  There is nobody, obviously, who will replace my father.

It is not a replacement I seek, in any event.  However, it is fair to suggest that my taste in a dominant -- my comfort zone in obedience and learning -- has been groomed by someone extraordinary.  It would be within my comfort zone to interact with a man who does not expect me to fall to pieces waiting for him to return.  I do not.  It is not in my makeup.  It would be within my comfort zone to interact with a man who gives me consistency and regularity in terms of time and attention -- and who otherwise allowed me to live my life, with faint reminders scattered here and there, and enjoy things to look forward to.  It is why I do not enter this lifestyle broken: it is not reparation I need.  It is not an antidote I seek.  My first dominant, the man who first guided me and fashioned me and set me loose upon the world to live as shaped by him, he did so with care.  I am accustomed to that; and I am satisfied with the course of my own journey now.  The course is taking me further towards You, the great and powerful You who has hypnotized my thoughts and who compels me forward and forward on.

I felt weak yesterday; today I feel strong.  Today I feel like I master the very darkness that I seek -- and I know that is not possible... but sometimes little victories feel like big ones.  My little victories:  I have further defined my submission; I have made a situation that was not working for me (and bringing me pain) work for me, and bring me security.  I do know some very good people in the world.  And I will know You, the cooling dark that surrounds my burning light, strips me bare so that there is nothing hidden or wanting.

Re-mystifying Submission

I experienced something today that drove the point home entirely:  submission is in the mind.  It sounds phoney and insubstantial: but submission is in the mind.  I met a man and we traded a brief private conversation in the middle of a public gathering, and it was enlightening in ways I don't get to feel every day.  He wasn't trying to teach me anything either.  All he did was present me with a conundrum upon which to meditate.   I didn't even particularly understand the conundrum, to be honest.  I felt slightly foolish.  (Hooray for the hanged fool of the tarot!  Once again, I honour thee!)  I understood the picture that came with the conundrum... a bound woman, blindfolded, readied.  I understood the words of the conundrum: imagine a man who knows what to do with such a woman, and who will be unpredictable, and who will be in control, and who (being her dominant) has already established her safety and his sanity.  He's got into my mind and he's making me do things!  The fun isn't lost on me.

"To steepen the learning curve," he said to me, I would have to consider these things.  To consider theoretically, to imagine the conditions, to picture in my mind.  I'm sure all he wanted was for me to acclimatize myself to the possibility of "him", as it were.  It's a nice line.  It's a fun and romantic twist on the meeting of someone new.  "How about it, baby, you and me on a beach far away... picture the possibilities!"  A man could do worse for an opening gambit, especially if he's willing and able to deliver on the temptation.  But nevermind all that:  I have learned something extraordinary.  All of my imagining, all of my steepening, all of my considering, and all of my picturing have fulfilled in one afternoon what legions of men have been unable to accomplish in months of knowing me.  I have chastely, intelligently, experimentally experienced a perfect idea of submission -- a Platonically perfect idea of submission -- in my own mind.  The conundrum:  "How do I make this real?"  And the simple solution:  "It already is."

Discipline - The Self

I was asked, recently, "Are you sure what you're looking for is a D/s relationship," given that, apparently, I long for something that sounds unusual, a contrast to the "normal" way of doing things.

"Yes," I assert gently and truly, "of course a D/s relationship is what I'm looking for.  I already know this.  I'm already there, in my mind.  That is fundamental.  That is basic."   I imagine a gardener with a bonsai.  I imagine a man older, wiser, full of humour.  I imagine he shapes, painstakingly (but not every day... only when it is time), as the natural shape of me emerges from his pruning.  When he is not tending the garden, he is enjoying the garden: he lets me give back, whether in silence or in active pleasure.  When he is at liberty.  When it is easy.  And only then.  There is no "pretend" attention; there is attention or there is space.  You, when  You come, will be a wizard and an artist with shibari.  And the iron of Your chain-leash will be strong.  And Your collar that I wear will be thick and obvious, well-made, substantial.  Warm, rounded, well-wrought metal and leather.  Something strong and masculine around my slender neck.

My future Master, without those things, why else would I seek You?  That, to me, is You.  I need You to discipline and shape this part of me.  And because You have already mastered Yourself, You will know how to master me.  You already know how I complete You; and what I will do for You; and how Your garden will become the great prize for the bonsai that, shaped by You, defines the evidence and skill of Your mastery.

While I wait, I discipline myself.  I discipline my mind.  I (re)learn the geisha manners of love and humility, entertaining and specialties in arts.  It occurs to me that there will never be One who wishes to master me who does not enjoy a geisha's beauty (and make no mistake -- a geisha is not for everybody!  Of what use is a woman who serves by talking or playing the shamisen?  Of what use is a woman who serves by delighting the mind and the eyes with light and surprise? A geisha is not for everybody.)  I continue to shape my intellect, curve my responses, sculpt my disciplines.  I do this because it softens the sharpness of my need, so that my patience blossoms.  I do this so that I have something still more to offer You, when You do come.  I already know what You will do to me; and I already love how I will submit to You.

And, that is enough for me: it is as if You are already here.  I enclose myself within this garden, and I admit none who is not You.

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.)

Discipline as Shaping

It was an awakening to understand the difference between discipline and punishment.  I have long known they were different words.  I have long understood the connotations of each word.  I had even come to accept the common usage of these words in the D/s lifestyle.

And then, listening to Sir Dwight speak about the Master's perspective of pain in discipline and in punishment, suddenly I realized the difference between the two.

And then suddenly I realized how erotic seems this word, "discipline"... and what a killjoy seems the word "punishment".

Suddenly the demarcation sizzled its boundary.

I resist punishment.  I do not remember the last time I have ever required "punishment."  I resist the word so strongly in terms of my own character that I outright reject it.  "Someone who strives so honestly," I think to myself, "surely must not be deserving of censure or punishment."  Because I do strive; and I do care; and I do persist in my seeking.  I do wish to please; and I do wish to make sure that the pleasure I bring is meaningful and lasting.  My heart, in other words, is the heart of a submissive giver.  I come to realize this more and more with each passing day and each key learning.

On the other hand, do I require shaping?  Of course I do.  Do I require a firm hand to guide me? Absolutely, I do.  Do I long for the experience and expertise of a strong Dominant to shape me and guide me?  Without a doubt in my mind.  (And would I be turned-on-and-lit like a Christmas tree if that shaping and guiding involved careful and inventive discipline?  God... yes, yes, yes.)

Am I certain that the frenzy of submission that I feel right now needs to dial down a notch or two before I commit to anything long-term, lest I get myself embroiled in a situation that I wish I hadn't?  You bet.   Because each time I enjoy a "eureka" moment I do frenzy-up and start fingering my collar.  I can feel my knees weaken and my mouth watering.  I can feel all the unruly, undisciplined parts of me begin the cartwheeling and hooplah that make me feel so "out of control".

The irony is, I know I am quite capable of reining in my own bridle.  I know that I am composed, integral.  But what I ache for... what I wish for... what this whole thing is about, really, is to have someone who knows me (me...) well enough that he can do it for me, sometimes.   With elan.