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."

Self-Esteem from Clarity

I enjoy meditating upon the idea of clarity.  I clarify things that I say almost to the point of redundancy.  I know it annoys some; and others find it charming.  But I have been trained to say what I mean as part of my personal make-up and professional discipline.  It occurs to me lately that self-esteem is directly linked to one's ability to articulate one's universe.  If I can say precisely how I feel at any particular time, I can experience my own sense of worth.  Many factors influence "whether I can say precisely how I feel".   Who I'm speaking with; what I have to say; how important someone else believes it to be; how important I believe it to be; how difficult it is to say what I feel; how hurt someone else might be to hear it; how happy someone else might be to hear it.  So many variables.  "Courage of conviction," and "speaking truth to power," as well as "le mot juste" all travel with this idea.  The most important variable, I think, might be the ability to "know thyself."
Sometimes I hear people say, "I feel weird," when asked how they feel about something.  Weird isn't a feeling, really, so that is an inadequate statement to make about something so personal.  One's feelings are sacred: it increases self-esteem to be able to articulate them properly.  "I feel afraid," is a big, big deal to be able to say.  "I feel happy," equally important.  The most difficult of all, of course, is "I feel angry and it is because of this very specific reason."

It all rests, naturally, upon one's ability to be able to feel entitled to these feelings.  I think it's fair to say that feelings are fairly genuine: they come unbidden, they are irrational, they don't listen to reason when they first surface, they are the opposite and equal reaction to that which happens in the world.  Like it or not, feelings are an important barometer.   Sure, they are controllable, deniable, push-away-able if one tries very hard.  But the fact that they arise in the first place is a good indication of something to examine.  Even later, if it's easier with time.  I remember the first time I realized that I felt like I wasn't playing enough, playful enough, enjoying enough.  I felt incomplete, and I felt aroused in a way that could not be satisfied.  It made me feel anxious.  It made me feel even a little angry, which I could not justify at the time.  I had vague, unspecified yearnings, a very tiny inkling of what it would be that might soothe my imagination and buff the rough edges from my appetite.  Eventually the picture in my mind came into sharp focus after I was introduced to Shibari in Second Life.  It was a gorgeous fantasy.  It coloured every vague corner of my imagination and brought new life to my fantasy world.  It brought clarity to my thinking and to my feeling.  (I am perfectly convinced that it was the Master at the time, as much as the ropes, who is responsible for that extremely good reaction in me.  I have never tried it since, terrified of the results that might arise from someone less than him.)  Bondage done right gives me a fine-point perspective and perfect clarity.  Because of that fine point clarity, because of those emotions named and controlled by their naming, I feel free.........

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.

Bondage Part Two: Ropes

There was a time, a long time ago, when I was introduced to the idea of bondage.  It was a gentle introduction.  I played along, completely new to the very concept of someone deriving pleasure from binding me and teasing me sexually.  Bit by bit, I grew to understand the subtle, nuanced urges that developed as a result.  My tastes were trained, in other words; the grooming was successful.  I wanted the rope (as much as I wanted the leash).  I wanted the challenge of describing, virtually, what my skin, really, responded to with every new position.  With every new knot.  With every new touch.  She who introduced me is never far from me in my memory and imagination.  Closer than I believed, in fact.  She who introduced me, I carry with me always.  And now I want Him, He whose chair awaits, to continue the lessons.  (I don't know who He is.  I will know for certain, eventually.  I have no doubt He exists.  And I am in no rush... I still have too much to learn before offering anything.)  Nice chair, though, right?  Only the best for my imaginary owner and Master.  And the best comes from Maxwell Graf of Rustica fame.  It is mesh; and I love mesh; and I love everything Sir Maxwell creates.

If I were going to groom a girl to develop her taste for Shibari, I would make sure I kept a diary of all her expressions, all her reactions, all her slightest hesitations and eager presumptions.  I would make sure the diary was close to the suspension rig so that very little need interrupting as I recorded her personal growth.  I would make sure there were flowers nearby; lavender or roses.  Aroma is hypnotic.  I would want her focused and aware, distracted only by sweet fragrance or arousing rhythm.  I would make sure, then, the rhythm was arousing... Drum beats.  Percussion.  The sound of distant thunder.  I would make sure the only voice she could hear was mine.  I would make sure the only walls she could feel were mine.  I would make sure the only hands she could feel were mine.  Until such time as it was necessary to let other hands sample that beauty which I owned.

The ropes demonstrated in this pose are from Netsui Kigo; the very ropes on which I was trained, so long ago.  Misao Nakamura is a true artist: her poses are superb.  The ropes are good on their own (nadu and tower postures, or hog-tied and little-wee-package postures...) or with a suspension rig (delivered on command anywhere anytime with a click) or with the kinbaku rig or any other contraption available at the store.  But her poses really are quite stunning.  And the fit of her wares is very convenient.  There are many sizes available.  I enjoy being able to mount a suspension rig anywhere in my house (or anywhere on the grid that allows me to create objects) and just hang around like a tarot-character.  The ropes are RLV-enabled if you wish; and they are owner-activated if an owner is set.  Or, they can be set to public access if you're in the mood and do not necessarily have access to RLV set-up.  Miss Nakamura has considered everything.

In speaking with Sir RB about ropes, yesterday, it got me in the mood to reclaim my yearnings and secrets and knot them all together in a string of fantasies that feel safe and sound because they are tied to something strong in me.  My submission now reminds me of a growing vine, winding and encircling, like nature's rope.  My submission is in the pages I keep; it's in my seeking; it's in the never-ending search for high-quality items of comfort; it's in the never-ending quest for perfection in image; it's in the ever-present feeling of someone incredible looking over my shoulder even if I cannot see; it's in the waiting and the sure demonstration of patience.  My submission is channeled into all of this.  "Why do you submit," someone will ask me, someday.  I will answer, "because, my Master, to you I am so bound."