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.

POETRY IS NOT MEANT TO BE POLITE

Before you read any further, understand that the warning at the entry to this blog is there for a reason.   Most of what I have shared here has been written as politely as I am capable of and still discuss the subject matter in question.  The poetry has been the most explicit, and that is because;  

POETRY IS NOT MEANT TO BE POLITE

It is meant to make you feel and respond, to think yes, but more than anything, to experience.  If I was to censor that mode of expression I might as well never write another word as long as I live.

That being said, I am done being polite.  I am done speaking gently so as not to upset anyone, or make anyone uncomfortable.  I am done being anything but brutally honest on this blog.  

This is my place to speak about things that I need to speak about.  This is my place to look at all of the stuff that anyone else would have me hide.  This is my place to explore my journey.

You are welcome to read and to comment as you please, provided you respect the privacy of others, but I will no longer be discrete in my choice of language nor in the subjects that I choose to explore.

I have finally taken the step out of the theory and intellectual exploration and into exploring and experimenting and experiencing in the real world.  

I have experienced a profound awakening and I choose to share those experiences and to explore the meaning I am finding within them here. 

If you do not want to know…don’t read this blog any further.  

I will not be offended by your choice. Go in peace and grace and blessed be on your journey.

If you choose to continue to read these posts, I thank you for your support and your company.  I hope that you may find something here worthy of your time and contemplation. Blessed be.