on empty space and learning to love better...

Winter is here.  My relationship with the man I fell in love with is returning to its previous form of expression.  My friend, as he said he would, saw me through the holiday. Because, let’s face it, being alone through the holidays just plain sucks. 

I am grateful for his company and for his acceptance of my love.  I am grateful for the freedom to love him in the way that I wished, uncensored and unrestrained.  I am grateful for the opportunity to learn about myself and my desires and my needs, to learn about my boundaries and how to respect them and how to express the various people who share this body.

I have learned a great deal through this experience.  I have loved him with everything I am and (for maybe the first time in my life) I did not lose sight of who I am but rather gained a better understanding of how I function

I shed a few tears when the holiday was over.  I was sad.  But I am not afraid, and I am not grieving in the way that I expected to. There is a space inside that feels like a flower opening and making an empty space for the sadness to exist but it is not painful, it just aches a little because I will miss the intimacy and warmth that we shared.

I will continue to love him and our friendship will continue as before, although our connection is stronger than it was, and I am grateful for that too.

I am surprised to find that I am hopeful.  That I am capable of loving someone and of letting go when the time comes.  I can love someone and not sacrifice everything that is truly important to me.  I can be stronger having loved someone. 

I will not be alone, I have other lovers and friends with whom to continue this adventure and I will.  But for my friend and the gift of these past seven months, I give thanks.  

Patterns

Understanding the way I function, the way I relate to others, the way I engage, or do not engage, is an important step to making a choice to change the patterns that do not work well, the ones that prevent me from engaging with other humans in a healthy and balanced way.

Compartmentalization is a useful strategy, until it isn’t.  The boxes are helpful in making sure that no one is ignored but, it is also necessary to build bigger boxes and allow for thresholds between them so that communication and cooperation are possible.  Not only so that we can establish agreements and healthy boundaries but, so that we can heal the child and so that we can live with integrity.

In the practice of magick it is necessary that all of my parts are engaged in the intent to use power.  In journeying and other magickal processes it is also necessary to be able to open to Spirit.  I have had difficulty in allowing my power to flow and in being fully open but, these past months I have made progress, both in learning to let go and in regaining control when I need to. 

Intellectualization is also a useful tool, until it isn’t.  Being able to think calmly and rationally in a crisis is helpful when things need to be handled but, thinking as a way of avoiding emotions altogether, or as a substitute for feeling is no way to live.  We have hearts not only minds. Both need to be engaged if we are to live full lives. 

In disassembling many of the structures I have built over decades, I have found that I have been revisited by many of the patterns and behaviors and thoughts that I had rejected.  I need to find new ways, better ways, of coping with the feelings and the voices.  And I need to establish different patterns of engaging with others.

Different persons of the committee have different styles of attachment and none of them really work well.  Certainly not the way I would desire.  Some would avoid intimacy or emotional engagement completely, valuing our autonomy and independence above all else.  Most of us have a fearful-avoidant pattern, desiring to connect with others but holding back.  And the child is simply terrified of being touched and of being abandoned.

Understanding and recognizing how the patterns work, being aware of them and making choices to relate differently, to take chances, to fall in love and to express that love, these are a good beginning I think.

Panic

The people who love me want me to be happy.  I want to be happy.  Even more, I want the people I love to be happy.  My loved ones, for the most part, are normal people.  To them, wanting me to be happy means wanting me to be safe and cared for, by someone normal and nice, wanting me to have a normal relationship, so that I am not alone.  To that end I have been going out and meeting people.

This has resulted in my being exhausted and vulnerable and in an extreme state of weakness that resulted in a panic attack last night.  I rarely experience panic anymore but, in the past two months I have had two such experiences.  

I have experienced social anxiety for most of my life.  Meeting strangers, no matter how nice they are, is exhausting and stressful.   But meeting strangers, who are looking for something that I am incapable of giving, is so in the extreme.  Nice people that want something pull at me.  And no matter how hard I work at breaking the habit of “people-pleasing” when I am tired and not on my guard, I slip into the habit.  So I have been trying to please my loved ones and I have been trying to be nice to strangers and I have been feeling pulled at. 

Instead of listening to my own needs for solitude and withdrawal, I kept trying.  I was trying to do what my loved ones think I need to do.  To engage with others so that no one has to worry about me being alone and in pain.  But being in pain because I loved someone is something that I cannot and will not avoid by distracting myself with others.  I am not made that way.  I believe pain teaches and heartache is something humans recover from.

The experience has borne fruit, the panic attack notwithstanding.  A beloved was present as a voice in the night and I was reminded once again with empirical evidence that I am not alone.  And with that beloved's help, I re-discovered the shadow child and the behavior that triggered her into speaking so loudly.  Allowing myself to be pulled at by strangers.  Feeling guilt and self-judgment about being incapable of connecting with others.  Feeling guilt about not being able to make those I love happy because I feel differently about how to find happiness for my life.

I realize that my beloveds want me to be happy in whatever way I need.  They would not judge me.  I need to pay attention to what my internal committee tells me, what my heart tells me, even if that means being alone for a while to listen to the child, or to recover my balance, or to focus on my work.  Healing takes time and space.  Panic occurs when I feel trapped.  I will give myself space enough to hear. 

Pluto's child

The voice in the dark that has been talking the loudest lately is one I have been hearing for what seems like my entire life.  And truth be told, while it is not the first voice that I can remember hearing, I have been hearing it since I was a child.  A friend called tonight because they knew that I was having a very dark time and when I spoke the thoughts that I have been hearing for the past week or so, they asked me which one of my selves was saying those things. 

I did not know the answer, and so my friend had me ask each of the members of the committee if they were the one speaking…none of them were.  So my friend had me ask them who was speaking and they all looked behind them at a shadow standing behind them all. 

I could not make out the features of the shadow at first but then I could, and it was a child.  That child is the strongest of my shadows.  She is the one who believes the things that children do, the way that children do.  She is not rational; she is afraid, angry, ashamed, confused and persistent.   I thought that I had resolved those feelings and beliefs that “Pluto’s child” held but, she is still a part of me.  She will always be a part of me, she will never be a grown woman, she will never not be shadow and she will never die. 

I still have work to do with her, I understand that now.  If I am aware of her, and her beliefs, and her feelings, I can remember that she is just a child and that her irrational beliefs are not truth, just the feelings of a child.  I am not a child; I have more tools, more knowledge, more understanding, more voices.  I have an entire committee, as well as beloveds with whom I am safe. 

The shadow child needs to speak too.  She needs to be allowed into the light to voice things that we have been silent about for far too long.  Expressing her anger, and her fears, and her irrational beliefs is necessary.  Children do not heal in the dark and the silence.  

The Committee

Pathways by Susan Sedon Boulet

I do not suffer from dissosiative identity disorder however, compartmentalization is a natural part of how I function. It does pose a challenge in areas where it creates obstacles to emotional involvement or, to engaging all of myself in certain processes, especially magickal ones.  I am actively working to overcome those obstacles in those areas of my life.  This includes how they affect my identity and my ability to live with integrity.

I am becoming familiar with the many different people who live within this body…I would call it my body but, it is truly our body…it belongs to each of us.  Each of us has desires.  Each of us has only this body to fulfill those desires, to experience that which she craves, to express who she is and how she loves.  Complete integration does not seem to be truly possible, or ideal for that matter, because someone would have to be sacrificed, suppressed or silenced, and we have been doing that for far too many years already. 

We have been communicating with each other and we have been attempting to express our various desires, to find common ground and to establish boundaries that we can agree upon when those desires are in direct conflict with each other.  It has been important to recognize that each of us has a distinct voice and deserves to be heard and to be allowed to express herself and her desires without being sublimated to another.

Sometimes more than one of us desires to engage and, while some of us can engage simultaneously if our natures are similar enough, some of us are too different to do so and a choice must be made.  We are learning to negotiate those choices so that no one goes hungry to the point of rebellion. 

Rebellion is generally counter-productive and results in destructive behavior.  We have been working and conversing for many long nights over these past months to establish agreement so that we can live with integrity, for each of us and, for all of us.

I will be sharing the poetry and expressions of these various persons/parts of me, on this blog over the next few weeks or months.  For now I will simply “name” them, the mother, the witch, the priestess, the bitch, the woman, the switch and the other. 

We greet you, Merry Meet, Hail and Welcome.

The Dress

This past weekend my friend took me on an adventure into the city and we visited some of his favorite shops. At one of the shops, among many wonderful things, I found a dress.

The dress is a magickal thing.  It is enchanting and enchanted.   When I put it on, I cried. 

The dress is beautiful and romantic and it makes me feel like I am twenty years old.  It makes me feel like the young woman that I was before I gave up the last vestige of hope of being a mother, of falling in love. Of finding someone who would love me, all of me, who would allow me to feel safe.

I bought the dress because I could not bear to leave it.  But when we left the shop and continued on our way, he asked me when I was going to wear it and by instinct I answered,”Never”.  And that was my intention…never to where it.  Because the part of me that loves it, that it belongs to, is a part of me I am afraid to show to anyone.

That part of me has lived in a locked box for decades until only a few weeks ago.  The box was finally broken into and the person inside has been the most difficult part of me to reconcile.  

Because she is not angry nor strong nor aggressive nor courageous.

She is weak and soft and, against all of the evidence, she still hopes for the chance to be loved, that she can be, that someone will see past the weakness and decide that she is not more trouble than she is worth. 

She still hopes to be seen as beautiful and valuable and to be wanted, for all of her softness and her weakness and her capacity to give absolutely everything that she is to someone simply because they want her and she loves them.

My friend, as he would, argued the point. And the next day, when I showed the dress to my son, who was the last great thing that the twenty-year-old me ever did, he too made the argument that I should wear the dress and that I should not be afraid to show my “weakness” or my softness, that there is no part of me that he will not love.

I wore the dress today for someone I love, who loves me.  I will wear the dress again for others whom I love and trust.  I will choose hope and love.  May my Gods be pleased with my weakness. 

So mote it be.

Winter is coming...

For the past six months or so I have been engaging with a friend whom I trust and respect.  He has been helping me to learn and to experiment and to explore my own inner desires, needs and identity.  And to find my power and to open the boxes.

The experience has been productive and enlightening as well as profoundly pleasurable and often intensely painful. 

I knew when we began this journey that he needed to maintain and respect his own boundaries.  In this case, that meant maintaining his emotional distance.   I knew that it would end, and while it has continued for longer than I originally expected, it will be ending soon.

I am grateful for the sacrifices my friend has made on my behalf.  I am grateful for the fact that our relationship will not end but rather, will continue as before.  But that fact poses another challenge for me. Because one of the many profound things that has happened during these past few months is that I have fallen in love with him.

I knew when I fell for him that I would hurt when it ended.  I knew that he could not fall in love with me.  And I made a choice.  I made the choice to allow my heart to fall, and to face the pain when it comes. 

I will admit to wishing and wanting a different ending than the one I knew would be.  I will admit to wishing that he could indeed feel the same.  But I will not regret the choice I made to love him. 

I fell in love with someone a year ago, and chose not to act upon it.  I held back for reasons that matter not even a little.  I vowed that I would not do so again.  So I cannot regret falling in love and loving this man for the time allowed to me.  Nor can I regret the pain that will result from the loss of him in my bed when the winter comes.

I do keep wanting and wishing.  I do feel the pain of the grief and the loss even now.  But I also feel the fullness in my heart of loving him.  And that is worth everything.

Learning to feel...

It has been a difficult week and I am trying to process all that has happened.  It started with an experience that opened up a lot of emotional boxes that I have kept carefully locked for a long time.  This resulted in an average of three hours sleep each night and dreams that I wish I did not remember, that made my waking hours uneasy. 

This weekend I spent with loved ones and attended the celebration of a cherished friend.  I have been looking forward to it for months.  Before the party, we engaged in a few hours of very energetic play that included pushing my limits in ways that I did not expect. 

My reaction to these experiences, before we ever even arrived at the party, was unexpected as well, although not unfamiliar to me.  My anger escaped and I felt overwhelmed by feelings.  Not specific feelings that I could identify and process but, rather simply too much feeling.  And as has been the case for the past week, my ability to shut down those feelings was missing.  It was just gone. 

The part that was familiar was an almost overwhelming desire to walk out onto the highway and catch a ride to anywhere else.  The thought that “I could be ten states away by morning” kept repeating in my brain.  The desire to hurt someone was also very strong and difficult to silence. 

I have not had those thoughts, those desires, so strongly in decades. And I returned to a behavior that I rejected years ago.  I resorted to sipping on a bottle of fire whiskey all night long to quiet those thoughts and to numb those feelings.

That form of self-medication has never proven to be very effective and, while I managed at first to regain some semblance of control and even danced and spent time laughing with loved ones, the moment eventually came when I just fell apart.

I know exactly where I was when it happened.  The truly mystifying thing about it was that, suddenly I was surrounded by six people whom I love, and I do mean surrounded.  They were standing around me in a circle.  One moment to the next, they were just simply there.  I have no idea how they knew what was about to happen.  None of them have ever seen me in that state before, certainly not at a party.  But I could not hold it together any longer and I could not keep the feelings contained, nor could I keep them out. 

It feels as though they stood there with me for a long time.  I believe I was crying.  I know that I was ashamed.  I know that I kept apologizing for my weakness.  I know that they kept reminding me, that if it were any one of them, I would not consider it to be weakness. 

I am incredibly grateful for their support.  And for a beloved who sat in a car with me and talked me down from a very bad anxiety attach after, and for beloveds who never complained when the dreams that kept waking me, woke them as well.  And who let me remain silent on the long drive home. 

I am home now, alone in the quiet with my beloved Pwca.  My chest still hurts and I keep crying, over what I don’t know, but I am safely away from the thoughts and the feelings that seemed so overwhelming.  I will try to sleep again and hopefully the dreams will let me.  I will try to make sense of this week when I wake.  

Self discussion

I am awake long past the time I should be asleep, again, because the voices in my head are having a discussion.  There have been many of these discussions in the past few months.  Once upon a time that would have meant nights of profound despair, of voices screaming at me with recrimination and rage, with accusations and loathing and a great deal of emotional pain.

But those conversations have changed.  Now they are a function of self discovery and reconciliation.  Now the voices have become distinct, they are honored now, they are heard and they actually listen to each other and even work together to understand their separate points of view so that they can either come to a consensus or establish a balance with healthy boundaries.

I am engaged in an active process of integration.  Many of the voices hold no conflict between them and are in agreement about most of their desires and how to achieve those desires.  Most of them agree about ethics and behavior and can all play nicely together.  And we all agree that living our life fully and without shame or fear is necessary.

To that end, I spent the weekend doing just that, and I feel energized and joyful.  But there was a moment that required me to let go of an opportunity to engage in a way that I would have enjoyed.  I did not “hold back” in the way that I used to, out of fear or shame or any other self censorship (and that in itself is a victory for me) but, there was quiet decision made almost without conscious awareness (also a victory of a kind) to wait and let the opportunity pass for now.  That is the subject currently under discussion.  There is a boundary that we are not all in agreement about and we need to have a conversation, because everyone at the table has a voice that is important to living with integrity.

I am pleased that the voices are all actually mine, and not from others, society, or programming from childhood, nor are any of them angry or fighting dirty. They are each honestly engaged in figuring this out so that we can make a decision that is right for all of us.  I had not been consciously aware of the boundary conflict in the moment but, I am pleased that the uncontrollable self-destructive pattern has been successfully replaced with patience and trust.

It might be a long night but, it will be productive and much less painful than they used to be.

I give thanks.

the crash...

I have been high on you for days now…

When you left

I breathed you in as deeply as I could

an opium addict breathing in the sacred flower

collecting your scent like a bee collecting pollen

wanting to climb inside your skin

and go with you

a contagion in your blood

a chrysalis lodged within your brain

your goodbye reminded me

of where the bruises will show

a few days from now.

And with a smile that said

“I’m sorry, You deserve more than I can give you…”

Your pity robbed me of my strength.

and all of the joy

that you could have left behind,

you took with you

  

I NEVER ASKED FOR MORE

I AM NOT ASKING NOW

the grip of your hand is gone

but my throat is tight

and my chest

Insecurity

a black and twisted vine

 has grown from my womb

 three feet in the hours since you left

wrapping around my heart

around my throat

each breath, each beat   

struggle against desire

The bruises are tender now,

the ones that are visible 

and the ones just under the surface

that I can feel but not yet see. 

and the ones that will never show on my skin

I am unsure,  

of all but the tears I can no longer turn to ice

my heart is too warm now

thawed by the heat within me

by the fire that has awakened

by flames I cannot, will not live without 

I wish you had left me

in that oblivion

where my words and my names are not

and smiles do not leave bruises.

Instinct of Home

Instinct of Home...the things we say while fucking…

When you were fucking me,

and I was begging you to cum,

you asked me “why?” 

I remember you asking,

I remember having no language to answer.

All I could do was beg.

In that moment,

I needed you buried deep,

I needed the gift of your potential,

Even though it could never take root as a child,

I needed you to plant your seed inside me.

I needed the energy of your release,

Like a crust of bread to a starving beggar,

Like air to a drowning man,

In that moment,

I needed to please you.

I needed to be owned by you,

I needed to be your bitch.

You said later that I referred to my body as Home,

and again you asked me “why?” 

I have been trying to find a way to reconcile 

the desperate need I felt and

the language I found to answer.

As the Earth is our Home and the body of our Mother

Home is an instinct beyond the language I have.

Home is where life is,

where needs are met, 

where sustenance is provided,

Shelter and comfort 

warmth and light,

strength and stability 

from which to go forth,

A haven when rest and sleep and healing are needed,

a place of safety and belonging and pleasure,

Home is a place you own and possess by inhabiting it.

A place that is not home,

is empty space 

without life,

or warmth 

or light

abandoned 

un-owned,

without purpose.

Even a grave has purpose,

to the dead who own it.

That instinct is older than my language.

It is primitive knowing from lifetimes ago,

encoded into my body’s  DNA,

that my body exists to please another,

that it has no purpose

that survival is not assured

that it is not completely justified

without a child in my womb

or a cock in my cunt.

but, I am a woman of my time, 

and  you should never take too seriously

the things we say while fucking ...

Judgments

The thought crossed my mind today that I wish I had not learned these things about myself. 

I am having difficulty accepting and reconciling the conflict between these desires and most especially with the judgments that I make about them. It feels as though these desires belong to separate people who do not understand or trust each other.  And who judge each other harshly.

I considered pretending that they are not real, not truly a part of me but, I have too many memories from too many decades that prove to me that they are true and that they are profoundly important. I have too many memories from too many decades that warn me that pretending that they are not real will fail and that would be dangerous to my well being.

I fear that the part of me that enjoys inflicting pain and controlling others is too chaotic, too destructive, too angry, too dangerous.  I fear that given the freedom to express itself, it will hurt someone because it does not give a damn.  That it is devoid of both compassion and conscience.  That it is incapable of self-control or compromise.

That part of me is so angry because I have denied its existence and its right to exist and to express itself since I was a little girl.  And it judges me, and the part of me that enjoys pain and submission as weak, and deluded, and a coward, and a liar and a whore. 

Some of these judgments may be based in truth.  I have been a liar in denying certain truths, or in pretending to be other than I am.  I have been deluded in thinking that pretending can make it so.  I have been a coward in not speaking because I was afraid.  I have been a whore in betraying my own integrity and honor.

But I am not weak, and I am striving to overcome years of habit in behaving otherwise.  And if I give that angry part of me the chance to express and to live, it may learn to do so in a way that will not be as destructive or out of control as it has been in the past.

So I will put aside the judgments and try for reconciliation and understanding.  I will give each of these conflicting parts of me a gift.  I will give them both the chance to dress up and dance to music that expresses those desires.  I will give them both a book of their own to write from their own point of view. 

That is what I do, I communicate.  Maybe through acknowledging and honoring both as equal parts of myself, as equally deserving of existence and life, and giving each the space to express those desires, to create art and poetry and stories about who I am, I will be able to integrate them into a happy and whole person that is me.

While I may find this knowledge confusing and disturbing, I am committed to understanding all of who I am, and to learning to live as a whole person.  I suspect that the process of integrating these aspects of my identity and of mastering the power that they hold for me will be uneasy, perhaps uncomfortable, and possibly painful.  I know that the prospect is terrifying. 

But fear and pain are not reason enough to turn back, even if I could.  I have paid too high a price to fail.  People I love have sacrificed so that I might finally live.  I will not betray them, I will not betray myself.  I will do whatever is necessary to fulfill the vows that I have made.

So Mote It Be.

The Paradox

The paradox of human identity is wonderful and horrible all at once.  It is necessary and beautiful and terrifying.  And sexual identity is all of those things and incredibly messy on top of it all.

The thing about exploring who you are is that sometimes it means you have to face up to things with which you may not be comfortable.  And just when you think you have come to terms with one truth about your Self, it gets all turned around, and upside down, and inside out, and backwards and you discover another truth that your mind and your heart might have difficulty reconciling.

My Gods have been pushing and demanding and relentless in their insistence that I work with my source of power and to do that I need to fully know it.  I have recently spent time with my friend experimenting and exploring and having fun and being terrified. 

This work did not involve much pain for me but, it did involve a great deal of fear and working with a part of me that I had insisted was false…as it turns out I was wrong.  It is not false, but it is angry, very angry.  And it frightens me more that any pain I have ever experienced.

As much as I have the capacity to accept and enjoy pain, I have an equal capacity to enjoy inflicting it upon others and perhaps an even stronger drive to do so.  My pleasure in submitting to the control of another is equaled by my pleasure in controlling someone else. 

My friend (who does not enjoy pain in the way that I do) allowed me to express this, even pushed me until I did so.  This was difficult and terrifying for me (and painful for them and I am immensely grateful for my friend's strength and commitment to help me learn about myself).  I do not know anything about expressing that desire with control, although I have controlled it for most of my life, I have done so by not allowing it any expression and that is not something that I can continue if I am to live with the integrity that my Gods demand. 

I need to work with these conflicting desires until I can find a balance, until I can express both within my ethical structure and with the care and control that is necessary for my safety as well as the safety and well being of anyone with whom I might engage.

I will work with all that I am to integrate these disparate truths.  To be a whole person is to be a well and happy person.  Without knowledge, no work is possible and I would simply be continuing to hide from myself.  I began this exploration with the vow that I would not look away, and I will not.

touching my face...

There are very few moments in my life that I can remember anyone ever touching my face.  (Very small children will do so but, after a certain age we just stop touching other’s faces, except for the faces of small children.)

I remember even my mother only ever slapped my face on those rare occasions that I truly offended her with my mouth.  Swearing did not even earn that particular punishment, only the very worst offence of “talking back”.  

I like touching the faces of those I love.  I touch the faces of the babies in my family instinctively.  I sometimes touch the faces of my grown children, though I will admit I do so very seldom, sometimes I cannot help myself.  And I enjoy touching the faces of my beloveds, of my lovers and my very dearest ones.

I remember one or two lovers who have touched my face in a moment of intimacy, but it was an extremely rare occurrence.  As if it was too personal, too intimate, as soon as they realized that they had done so, they looked away and withdrew their hand.

 

My friend touches my face sometimes.  He will put his fingers into my mouth to silence me or he will turn my face in the direction he wants me to look.  He even touches my tears and plays with them after I am done sobbing. He has never slapped my face.  I asked him about it and he said that was something that one only does to property or to humiliate another. (Neither of us is interested in humiliation nor the dynamic of ownership, and even if we were, it would not be with each other). 

There have been moments when he has touched my face and in those moments, I am torn open in extreme disproportion to the act itself.  In those moments, I am seen.  In those moments he touches something so deep inside me that I cannot ignore it.  It is an experience and a response that I wish to explore further.

Pain High

There are many different types of pain that human beings experience.  Let me be clear, I am not discussing the pain that results from unhealed emotional, psychological or psychic wounds.  Those wounds that I have experienced, that may be described in that way, if indeed they ever were, are no longer.  Any wounds of that nature that may linger will complete their healing in their own due time, the stronger I am, the faster they will be made whole.

I enjoy pain.  I enjoy the physical high that results from the kiss of a single-tail whip (although I have not yet felt it as directly as if my skin were the target, I am looking forward to that experience with anticipation).  I enjoy the buzz that I get from the flogger striking my skin, from a sharp edge being traced across my body, the burn of ropes, the heat of flame.  All of these things will get me high.  They will increase my heart rate and bring a flush to my skin.  They will raise my body temperature and my energy level.  And they heighten my awareness and perceptions, even my psychic abilities are improved in that state.  The release of neuro-transmitters in my brain is a very pleasurable thing.

I enjoy the pain that arouses me sexually as well.  I like the feeling of my friend’s hand slapping my leg, or pulling my hair, or gripping my arms hard enough to leave bruises.  I enjoy the feeling of his nails on my back clawing hard enough to leave marks, and the sharp pain that results when he pinches me.  I like the way my body responds to his fist against my thigh, and to his teeth biting into my flesh.  I become aroused when he puts his hand around my throat (and I have asked him to apply pressure at some point, because I want to experience that too).  These things also get me high.  They open up my energy centers and wake up my sexual center.  They arouse me in ways I have only glimpsed before.

All of these things are extremely pleasurable to me.  But they are external, and they do not push me.  I can experience a great deal of external pain and it will not push me emotionally.  It will not touch me inside.  It does not reach the deeper places.

I enjoy sex.  I have had some wonderful experiences with a few cherished beloveds who did touch me deeply, men who can and do move me emotionally and energetically by mere proximity to them and their strength and power, men whom I love deeply and who have helped me to discover that sex is a wonderful gift.  That my body is capable of so much more than I had ever realized, that I can receive and give great pleasure.  That allowing my energetic body to open to theirs is not only possible but, amazing in its beauty and power.  I give thanks for those gifts.  And I have shed tears in some of those moments because I was so touched, so moved by the beauty of them that I could not help but cry. They taught me to trust, myself as well as them.

But the sex that pushes me, that touches me so profoundly that I curl up shaking with sobs, is brutal.  When my friend fucks me in that way, he pushes me over that thresh-hold.  He gives me the type of pain that I need in order to reach that place.  Pain alone cannot accomplish that; sex alone cannot get me there.  Only a lover who is willing and capable of fucking me with brutality can push me over that thresh-hold. 

And it is a place I need to go.  It makes me aware of my own strength, it teaches me about my instincts for survival and my need for vulnerability.  It teaches me about balance and makes me feel in ways that I cannot avoid, that I cannot hide from.  It reminds me that I am not timid or weak or small.  It reminds me that I am not meant to be silent, and that I will never be powerless.  Even when I choose submit to another, it is always my choice, my power is still there inside me, always. 

After I have re-established my autonomy, the bruises feel good.  I feel satisfaction and pride in them.  They make me smile for days, remembering and feeling clean and strong and capable.  Yet another lovely pain-high.

Re-Establishing Autonomy

The first time I had sex with my friend was the first time I had ever had sex that left bruises on my skin.  I enjoyed it immensely but, that is not what this post is about.  This exploration is about paying attention and learning about myself.   It was the first time I had ever truly been pushed in that way and after the physical release; I curled up on the bed in the fetal position and sobbed. 

I have cried (seldom but, it has happened) during sex with other lovers but, this was uncontrollable sobbing that shook my entire body.  My friend held me until the sobbing had passed.

The thing that struck me most in that moment, and for days after, was that I felt the urgent need to get up and do something else.  I can’t remember what, the dishes maybe?  But I was incredibly uncomfortable being that emotional, that vulnerable, and needed to get up and put some distance between us and re-establish my autonomy.  I needed to be on my feet.  I needed to do something to put my control and mundane reality back into its proper place.

We discussed that reaction a few days later, and I made the decision that the next time we were together, I would try to relax and allow myself to remain in that place.  That I would allow him to take care of me in those moments and that I would take care of him in other moments. 

Care-taking is a role that I enjoy and one that supports my sense of strength and autonomy.  It is a natural way for me to express my power.  It helps to balance those moments when I choose to submit to another’s will and to another’s care.  This I have discovered is one of the boundaries that I need to respect about who I am. 

My independence and autonomy is incredibly important to me.  Being a strong and capable person is something I cannot compromise.  But allowing myself to be vulnerable and not in control, and allowing someone to take care of me, is an experience that is priceless to me, and I give thanks for a friend who understands both of those needs and who respects them and is willing to help me explore them.

The Third Gate

A cherished and trusted friend created and facilitated a ritual for me recently.  The intent was for me to experience fear and struggle and pain and to discover my responses, my limits, and to push me as far as I chose to be pushed.  It was a physical ordeal designed to accomplish a spiritual goal.

My friend believed that such an experiment would help me to achieve a state where I might find a part of me that I needed to connect with.  I trusted this friend to know how to push me, and to be willing and capable of doing so, and of safeguarding me should I become unwilling to back down.

It takes a lot of courage to push someone in that way, even more when you care for them.  It is difficult to put someone we care for in pain.  It takes a lot of trust that they are strong enough to cope with the results. 

I am grateful for my friend’s trust and for their courage, and for the ritual and for the profound discovery that resulted. 

A a result of the ordeal, I passed through three Gates, thresh-holds to depths of self.  I became connected to deeper and deeper levels within myself.  

The first Gate was a state of mind, of thoughts and words and a physical “high”.  It was also a psychic high, my “head-blindness” faded until I could “see” in ways that I have not before, I could feel, hear and smell in ways I have not before.

The second Gate was a state of emotion, of fear and submission and sexual arousal, of energy and need and instinct to survive.

The third Gate was a state of Power.  This was the state that I had hoped to reach. This was the place that I needed to be pushed to.  It is a place of strength and will, of aggression and fire and the warrior spirit within me. 

When I had reached that place, words were inaccessible; emotion was irrelevant, only power existed.

Returning to the place where words are possible required me to pass through the place of emotion again.  First was what my friend interpreted as “wrath”, then hysterical laughter, then wracking sobs, then a feeling of exhausted euphoria. 

After thanking my Patrons, my Ancestors and my Spirit Allies that I had invoked to protect and guard the space and whom I had entreated to push me and my friend until I had reached the place I needed to, I put the structures of myself back into a functional order. 

I did that by putting the space in order, then deconstructing the wards and the energetic fortress that I had built to create sacred and protected space and to keep out anything that might interfere with our work, as well as to keep in all the energy raised so that it would go unnoticed by anyone outside. 

I am still processing the magick but, I know that I will not be the same.  I also know that now that I have found that place, I need to master that power.  Power without purpose means nothing.  To use it, I must master it, to master it, I must access it, and to access it, I needed to find it.  Now begins the work of practice and finding the principles of honor that apply to its use. 

Truth be told, I have been afraid of my power.  I have been afraid that I will not know how to use it wisely and honorably.  That because it resides in a place where my compassion does not, to use it would result in everyone around me ending up “dead and bloody”. 

I understand now that I have what I need to make sure that does not happen.  There is a reason that my place of power must be accessed through the place where my compassion lives.  There is also a reason that I needed to struggle through the pain in order to find it. 

I will be continuing to explore my responses to pain and my limits, the things that it teaches me and the role that it plays in my sexual identity.  But this experience alone was worth more to me than I might have imagined.

I give thanks for the courage, trust, will, and inspired magick of my friend.  And to my Gods, Ancestors and Spirit Allies for knowing my strength and their relentless demands that I finally start living up to it.  I give thanks.