The Dictionary, Page Thirteen

Surrender, it says.  And so I do.

"Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly," so the song goes.  One must be who one was born to be, and there is no point trying to be anyone else.

There is a lesson I have been learning for the past few months and it has everything to do with "selving" and personal identity.  About carving a separate self from my creators and about feeling free to be a separate self from my creators.  This is a difficult process if one comes from creators so heavily invested in their creation that a separate self has never been possible.  It is a painful process, separating oneself and becoming oneself.

But, nothing ever changes unless there's some pain.

I surrender my path to the evolution of my self, the natural creature who crawls and claws from the wreckage of birth into the realm of chaos.  "I want to be subject to chaos," Tasdron once said to me, years ago, as he lured me from the comfortable confines of one universe into the unpredictable paradise of another.

The metamorphosis feels real, now.  It is not a change: it is a changing into.  I am more than wings: I am ripples.  The sine and cosine of waves, up and down, to and fro.  The rippled image distorts and then clarifies after the drop of pebble into pond: though the image waves, it does not fragment.  And, eventually, the image becomes again itself.

I see things visually.  I see a pebble thrown into a pond, and my reflection eventually returns.

When I lamented the feelings of vanilla chastity, wondering where my "subbie" self had gone, I did not realize until today that it was simply a pebble thrown into water that had distorted the image of myself.  Life rocks my boat, sometimes.  Life is unpleasant, sometimes.  But, my real self I look upon, and my real self remains real; and after the water stills again, the image will be clear.  It only appears as though my image is not me, for a time.  And for a time, it will strive to get back to reality.  And for a time, until the next pebble is thrown, I will be and see the real me, at once.

I surrender to this, the changing of time.  I need not surrender my submissive self; I need only shield her and protect her and keep her warm for the time when she will be, again, called upon to serve.

The Dictionary, Page Three

Connection is the next page of the dictionary of words that inform my submission to Tasdron Dryke.  Connection is oxygen.  Only connect, and you can have whatever you want.  Only connect, and you unleash the power of another person to work wholly in your service.  Only connect, and you understand all that has happened before, all that happens now, and all that is still yet to happen.  Only connect, and the meaningful life is yours.

Things happened yesterday.

The things that happened yesterday connect to tomorrows that have not yet happened.  Like chain links.

Yesterday was a continuation of Thursday.  Thursday and Friday were two halves of the same scene, one inside and one outside.  One horizontal and one vertical.  How do I feel?  I could not have predicted any of it;  I could not have foreseen;  I could not have anticipated.  And it doesn't matter because I was enough, and how I feel about that is elated.  I was equal to your needs, I was equal to your requirements, and I, just by being me, was enough.  That feels more than good, God of all things beautiful and charged.  I'm not sure there is a word for how that feels.  Feeling as though I am enough, just for being me.

Yesterday, the bubble of intimacy closed around us.  My instant messages were turned off and my voice-mic occupied.  The bubble of intimacy closed around us and my focus was proven, my devotion demonstrated.  The bubble of intimacy is more important to me than even my own skin, and it feels (to me) that when IT is protected, I am protected.  When IT is dominated, I am dominated.  When IT has your lock and key upon it, I do.  I wish only that there were more means of access to me now so that I could offer them to you for closing and sealing.  My instant messages remain off, and my intimacy is connected now to one man's power.  Connected and controlled.  I feel a charge of thrilled excitement just thinking about it, and it makes me feel more than good whenever I do think about it.

This is what security feels like.  This is what I want.  I beg, more.

Eyes to mine, butterfly

We discussed past pains, past lives, past futures and past things abandoned.  And, then, ceremony number two unfolded, unwrapping something that I was not expecting.  I should have expected it: there was a little sound of something delicate, the tinker bell flutter of metallic music hidden inside red velvet.  I heard it in my mind's ear but I did not process the implication until -- there -- I see the dainty pouch and the emptied contents.

My hands were bound behind me, a precaution that forbids me common expressions of worship.  I must be more inventive with my gratitude.

This is the balance: even though there is evidence everywhere of my submission, there have been days recently with nothing overtly to do with submission and dominance.  This is the balance: after so many days, formality and ceremony.  Balance, after such a stretch.  Counterbalance and harmony in two/two time.  A renewal.  A progression further.  A proof of love and a proof of devotion.

Balance.  Counterbalance.  Harmony.  And a little velvet pouch with delicate utensils, and the thinnest, sweetest chain barely there, and more powerful than a magic wand.

I watch as you clean the needle: you use fire to burn away the impurities, and you use alcohol to purify the steel.  Your swordsman-quick piercing of the skin, and it is done and I have no hands to cover my breasts, because my wrists are bound behind my head, my shift dangling from me like a black and gold flag, and it's too late and all finished anyway, like magic.  It is done and I gasped long after you finish.  I beg to be able to look and see for myself, because my eyes were locked on yours and unmoving.  "You will not close your eyes," you said to me, and I did not.  I looked at you the whole time.  "Eyes to mine, butterfly." And then I felt the needle pierce.  And then a second time.

You say:  "When you are naked, I will see this sunlight and it will remind me of your fire. When you are displayed, men will see this diamond and know my hands are upon your body already. And when you are not naked, you will feel me, ever with you, beneath your clothes."  

I'm allowed to do this, to feel this, to have this.  I'm allowed to experience this and balance this and cling to this.  I'm allowed to revel in this feeling and I am so grateful.  Two diamond suns pendant and gleaming, clasped with a fairy-light chain that makes the daintiest noise -- so dainty, almost invisible...  But I know it is locked there, and I feel it minute by minute.  I must be more inventive with my gratitude.

Ritual, Manners, Privacy

A bridge is a ritual space, I have just discovered.  Like a ladder.  A bridge connects two spaces, the before and the after.  And crossing a bridge is its own kind of ritual, the way to enter a space and the way to leave a space behind.  Ritual can be as simple as turning to face a new direction; or it can be as ornate and brazen as the shield of Achilles.  Forged in the imagination of a skilled practitioner, ritual is a Godsend to someone like me who -- for various reasons -- craves that secret space, that private place where one knows and believes in something transcendent and beautiful.

Steel Door treats ritual here and it is a pretty primer, after all.  There are some things, though, that simply cannot be taught or read about; and in order to fully appreciate the connection that ritual affords, the deep-rooted and clutching connection, it's best to reach out and really live it and feel it with someone awesome.  Someone whose manners are like one's own. Someone whose ways make sense to oneself.  Someone with whom the whole world vanishes and any space becomes private space because of the deep-rooted and clutching connection.

Yes, it is possible to find exactly -- I mean, to the note, to the syllable -- what you're looking for in this world.

Transcendence

What have I learned in my study of the D/s lifestyle?  I've been a student here for over six months and, in that time, what has made it a worthwhile endeavour?  My whole blog is filled with learnings and personal achievements, and at the risk of under-privileging other very important lessons that I would gift to any seeker in the lifestyle, I do privilege one lesson above the rest and that is learning how to forgive yourself.  Nevermind the rest of the people who inevitably require it in life -- the self is more important and (though I did not realize it) cries out for it the hardest.  Thank you.

More than that, I understand what it actually means to forgive myself: and that it's not just words to repeat in a mantra each morning or affirmations to bring sweet dreams each night.  There is something to do and it is very important.  Forgive yourself for wanting to be loved means saying, "I want to be loved," and then saying, "Okay, me?  Good."  And then making it a part of my character.  "I am someone who wants to be loved," then, and after another little while, "This will only work if I feel loved because that's who I am."  As time passes, I take it for granted about me.  I am forgiven the selfishness of it by making it part of my true self without apology.

Forgive yourself for feeling so sure, for feeling so certain, and for being so wrong sometimes.  And for taking responsibility and feeling the burden of other people's responsibility (NOT a submissive vantage point, another reason why it feels so unnatural and heavy).  That means saying, "I am wrong, and I'm not sure," which opens me to enlightenment, and it is not tied to my ego to be unsure, and it is not a reflection of my character to be wrong.  I am forgiven the character flaw by making it my character to be open to enlightenment without certainty.

Forgive yourself for valuing perfection and for aspiring to it, and the shroud that thickens this:  forgive the illusions and pedestals and plinths that crumble when perfection shows what it looks like in the morning before coffee and lipstick.  And so I say, "I really enjoy the striving.  I'm going to keep striving.  I'll try a little harder to be satisfied, though."  And the coffee tastes pretty good today, thank you for that also.