Day 214 - On Coming Out of Depression Via Micromanagement, On Master Being Sick Again, On Shamanic Healing Rituals That Do Work and Sometimes Don't, and On Causing Master to Become as Angry at Me as He's Ever Likely to Become

In very sharp contrast to the last time I posted, things are going great now, emotionally AND physically AND spiritually. Master, seeing I was in the depths of depression, decided to take over my task-making abilities, and he micromanaged my chore list for most of last week. By the end of the week, I was back to a regular schedule of things to do, and I could put everything in a very effective perspective – and, best of all, I was getting stuff DONE – which cheered me up to no end!

*bounces*

As things are now, the inertia has taken over, and I’m running stuff on my own again, setting my own chores for the most part (although I’m still getting the main tasks for each day approved with Master so he can make sure I’m setting my priorities right).

So things are okay again. Well, for me, anyway. Master has been quite sick with a really awful sinus infection for days. *sighs*

I love winter (the snow and icy landscape remind me of some far-off memories, like from another life. In all seriously, I’ve often felt it has to do with a previous life as an arctic wolf) – but this winter has sucked regarding people getting sick. Master was sick for a long time (experiencing ups and downs that allowed him to function but kept him from having much physical fun) after I moved in, and then I got sick for about a week right after Master finally recovered, and now that I’m well again, Master is sick once more. He’s on antibiotics and resting, so hopefully he’ll come out of it soon. I feel bad not being able to do anything but watch.

Well, I tried to do something. The night before last I did I healing ritual, focusing on his chest (which he said was hurting at the time) and spiritually I found lots of green, bubbly gunk in it (which I worked to remove) – but that didn’t seem to help Master overall, which makes sense because it turns out he has a sinus infection (and I didn’t even do anything spiritually regarding his head, so I treated the symptoms and not the cause), and I’m not really the best at healing rituals. Actually, I wonder if they do much good at all. Yeah, I admit it. Some shamanic workers like to say they can do anything, but I can’t. I do my best to be realistic and base my beliefs on my experiences.

So why do I attempt to do spiritual healing if it usually doesn’t work? Well, it doesn’t work usually if I do it, but I’ve known it to work twice in the past on people I know well. And the thing is, the typical shamanic worker I know will tell you that they personally suck at doing healing – because for a shaman, it’s not them doing the work, it’s the spirits. That’s what makes a shamanic worker different than somebody who claims to be a “magic user” – in my experience, a shaman’s role is to act as a conduit between the physical world and the spirits, but anything that’s miraculous is done is by the spirits, not by the shaman.

A couple of nights ago when I worked with Master, I asked Bear to guide me, and Bear did, and Fox helped as well (which I found surprising, as I hadn’t asked Fox for help – but Fox is M’Lady’s guide, so it makes sense that Fox wants Master healed soon). If two spirits were working to get Master all better, why isn’t he better already, you may be asking? (And the fact is, he’s still feeling lousy – he went to the doctor yesterday, and that’s where he got the antibiotics). The answer is – I don’t know. Maybe Master would be even worse today if Bear and Fox hadn’t helped. Or maybe something’s going on that simply I don’t know about.

Not much proof for your skeptics, eh? I can understand that.

Okay, as I mentioned, two things have happened in my life that got me to believe this stuff is real.

About seven or so years ago, my sister-in-law was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She went back to her doctor repeatedly as needed, and the disease progressed, to the point that her doctor said she likely had less than a year to live, and it would probably be just a few months before the cancer started really hitting her body hard. Needless to say, everybody in her family was upset (especially my ex), and I decided to do what I could – I decided to go out into the woods alone with all of my shamanic tools (which I’ll describe here someday) and do a full-fledged healing ceremony on her behalf. She didn’t believe in such things, so I did it without her knowledge. I called upon all of my spirit guides to assist me and to heal her if they felt such a thing should be done, and I was being careful to express my desires but not to demand that they do anything. One spirit out of the others said she would do it. Arctic Fox. A survivor if there ever was one. She said she would make sure that my sister-in-law survived, but she wouldn’t be perfect – she said my sister-in-law would be damaged in such a way that would affect her for life. I told my ex about it, and my ex said we’d see what happened – and the sister-in-law wasn’t told. A couple of days later, my sister-in-law went back to the doctor for a full examination, and the doctor took and x-ray and did tests and … was extremely perplexed – he said he couldn’t understand it, but somehow all of the previous readings must have been wrong because her cancer was gone. Completely out of her system. There was something wrong, however, he told her. Her ovaries were now unusually scarred, in such a way that she would never have children again. FYI, I asked my ex to tell my sister in law about the ritual after that, but I’m not sure if my ex ever did.

About 17 years ago, my ex had had a cerebral hemorrhage. It had happened suddenly, with the result being that my ex lost peripheral vision and had a virtual time bomb in his brain that at any time could explode and cause him to fall over dead without warning. Doctors said death was extremely unlikely, however, and the two of us were faced with a strange and tough decision. I had just graduated with honors from college with a journalism degree and had just gotten offered a job at a small newspaper in Sheridan, Wyoming. My ex had an administrative job at a large bookstore in Denver. We had planned to move to Wyoming together because we felt I needed the initial experience there to get a job at a newspaper in Denver. but he had the hemorrhage literally one day before he had planned to quit his job. He had already told his manager about it (and fortunately his manager said nothing would be mentioned about it). My new job wouldn’t have insurance, but his existing job did. So we decided something tough – for me to go to Sheridan by myself and visit back as much as possible (which turned out to be once every three weeks). While in Sheridan, I became friends with some residents of the nearby Northern Cheyenne reservation, including an old and respected holy man. Although they were quite secretive about many of their beliefs, he took a shine to me and saw my honest desire to learn, and he allowed me to take part in several very intense sweat lodges – in which a very small dome-shaped structure is created out of bent sticks and blankets over a fire pit, into which are put red hot stones that have been heating over a fire all day. A half dozen or more people get inside, barely fitting in, and the leader then pours water slowly onto the red-hot stones, causing flumes of steam to billow into the tightly confined space. It’s awful and suffocating and so incredibly hot and – the point is, the only way to stand it is to turn inward, to seek yourself and to connect to who you are beyond the physical. The sweat-lodge usually lasts for more than an hour, in four segments (with participants getting a break between each segment and being allowed to go outside). Several months after moving to Sheridan, I told the holy man about my ex’s condition, and he talked with other members of his tribe, and, to my happy surprise and honor, scheduled a special sweat lodge just for my ex, to pray for his recovery. I took part of it, of course, and that sweat lodge was very intense, just like all the others. Afterward, a woman who had taken part with me came to me and said she had had a vision while experiencing the lodge, and in the vision she saw a river flowing through a landscape, and blocking the river was a large rock. Then, as she watched, the rock began to melt and break into tiny pieces, and soon it had fallen apart and washed safely down the stream, allowing the river to flow as it should. I told my ex that the next day, and my ex kept it in mind when he saw his neurologist next for a MRI brain scan. The neurologist said with pleasure that, to his surprise, the scan showed that the blood clot in my ex’s brain had broken up and dissolved in the blood stream, and the danger was for all intents and purposes completely gone. FYI, it wasn’t long after that that I returned home to Denver, and my ex and I were reunited.

So, without a doubt, healing can occur in ways beyond physical explanation.

Master’s illness, by the way, has made him susceptible to being unusually cranky, and twice today I’ve pissed him off greatly. One of the times he said is the angriest he’s ever gotten with anybody, and so I’ve most likely seen him at his most extreme. Looking back, the things I did seem minor, but I seemed to be able to press his buttons in exactly the wrong way, the equivalent of a few uranium atoms coming together to create an atomic explosion.

The first was this morning, when a “to-do” list task-managing program on my computer wasn’t working right, and I told Master, and he tried to fix it, and he did something wrong that made matters worse, and I offered a suggestion on what he did that was incorrect and how to fix it, and he told me to explain it to him, and I couldn’t figure out how and so I asked him to just do as I recommended, and he did and he again demanded an explanation, and I finally was able to show him what I meant in ways that I couldn’t explain with words alone, and he blew up and started yelling at me and accused me of being disobedient and disrespectful and refusing to answer his questions, and I started to cry and explained that I had to show him because I didn’t know how to tell him, and he yelled at me and ordered me out of the room. Later he called me back and gave me a big hug and said my suggestion had been correct and had fixed the problem, and I told him I should have told him the issue was the fact that the database table used a “two-column primary key” but I couldn’t remember the terminology at the time, and he apologized for exploding at me and losing his temper, and I hugged him tighter and told him it was okay, for I’d much prefer he expresses his feelings than keep them bottled up, and things went fine from there.

Well, until this afternoon, when I came home from the grocery store and, as I was opening my car door, accidentally caused a brand-new bottle of wine I had bought myself for cooking to fall out onto the garage floor and shatter everywhere, leaving a pool of glass and wine. I stormed inside the house, totally pissed at myself, and, holding part of the broken bottle, launched into a tirade about what had happened, and Master didn’t put up with it and angrily ordered me to go back out to the garage and deal with the mess. After cleaning things up, I went to my room to look up wine on the Internet, since I was going to have to buy another bottle to replace what I had broken, and for no reason my computer started going haywire and started freezing up. I asked Master about it, and Master went with annoyance to my room, and the longer he tried to figure things out, the more frustrated he became and angry at me, and, having become upset as well, I left the house to go get the wine, and I closed the garage door angrily, and Master suddenly stormed out of the house into the garage and bellowed at me, the force of his inner Dragon spirit launching at me with venomous ire, and he chewed me out for slamming the door, and he yelled that he was too sick to deal with all my drama, and he bared his teeth and told me he didn’t care what I did regarding dinner anymore, and he barrelled back into the house and left me alone. When I came back with the wine he was somewhat calm although still annoyed at me because he said he strongly suspected I had done something foolish to cause the problems on my computer, but fortunately he only raised his voice at me about that a couple of more times before finally calming down for good.

The rest of the night was overall a good one, although I’m quite behind in my tasks. I was supposed to clean my room today (he chewed me out this morning because he feels my room has become unacceptably cluttered and far too messy for his standards), and I got it partially done, but with the shopping and the laundry and the cooking and the other tasks of the day, I didn’t quite finish. Okay, I actually still have a lot to do in my room before finishing. And I didn’t even start on my other task of the day, which was to clean the kitchen top to bottom. *sighs*

And yet, I feel better about my position here than I have in a while. Go figure.

This is my home. And I love my Master. Even if he does have an incredible temper.

Who knows? Maybe that’s part of why I love him.

*shrugs and smiles*

To quote Linda Ellerbee (my inspiration and role model as a journalist): “And so it goes …”

*grins*

Toodles for now! I’ll write more when I have a chance!

Day 207 - On Being Emotionally Exhausted After Several Weeks of An Incredibly Busy Life, On Making Master Incredibly Angry Twice, On Breaking Down in Tears Repeatedly, and On Having Two Wonderful Kids Who I Miss Very Much

Hey, everybody. You were probably wondering where I went. Truth be told, I was so busy the last couple of weeks I didn’t have time to blog.

“Yeah, right,” you’re thinking. “It’s not that she didn’t have time to blog. She just got lazy.”

No, really! It was an amazingly busy couple of weeks.

Well, the last week was busy. The previous week ...

Okay, last week ... what a week! I started a ponyplay group in Denver and held the first meeting at my Master’s house, I took a long orientation class at a local therapeutic horse riding center in the bitter cold, I worked with my son to put together his annual science project presentation (and as he predicted, we found out that potatoes conduct electricity just a bit better than lemons! Hooray! *giggles*), I attended a half-day conference on women’s health issues, and I did my normal chores and duties and spent time with my kids, all while working to recover from a cold.

Woo hoo!!! *bounces and wags my tail*

The previous week (and a bit of last week), I was knocked out for several days pretty much by one of the worst colds I've had in years. I was sleeping 14-hour days to recover. It was intense. The cold had actually been building up all of the week before last, sapping my mental energy each night more and more.

Fortunately, Master had on hand copies of two great (and very appropriately educational) PBS reality shows. One was called "The 1900 House", and it was about a modern family trying to live as a middle-class family in a Victorian London home. Wow, the mom and oldest daughter were whiny. The other was called "The Manor House", and it focused on a well-to-do family living as Edwardian aristocrats while modern "normal" people took on the roles of their servants -- and BOY did the servants have a hard job of it! I'll talk more about it all later, but I'll say it inspired everybody in Master's household and enlightened us a bit! *grins*

Anyway, those shows allowed me to recover a bit while watching hours and hours of television, and after all that's happened the last couple of weeks, it’s not just the blogging that I'm behind in now. I got behind in a lot of stuff, so much that I was starting to have emotional breakdowns because I had so much to do and couldn’t figure out how to handle it all.

Well, the emotional overload started happening a couple of days ago, actually.

Saturday night, I was dog tired from a long day. I had gotten up early to go to a conference regarding feminine medical issues in town (It’s a weird thing to walk into a fancy hotel and to have a well-dressed woman waiting for you there, and the first thing she asks is, “Are you here for the breast conference?” *chuckles* Okay, in all seriousness, my mom died of breast cancer, and I’m at risk, so it’s not really that frivolous a topic at heart to me). While there I talked with a lot of people about a lot of stuff, and talked to my former surgeon (who was in town for the conference) about some facial procedures he had done on me in the past, and after he examined me for an hour he told me he wants me to come back to his clinic in Chicago when I have a chance for some light follow-up work. After I came back home, I told Master and M’Lady, and they didn’t bat an eyelash - M’Lady turned to Master and said, “I guess it’s time to start looking for a good super-saver flight for her to get to Chicago soon.” To them, getting me to Chicago for some medical work is part of their responsibilities to me -- they’re so incredibly caring about me, it’s unreal! It was just another thing to remind me how blessed I am to have them as my Owners!

After I got back that afternoon, after doing the day’s normal chores, I cooked an unexpectedly time-consuming dinner of Chinese stir fry that took about three hours total of chopping and mixing and cooking and serving and then cleaning all the dishes, and I was so brain dead afterward I could hardly think.

Well, Master had told me he had planned on going to the Sanctuary BDSM club that night, and I suddenly remembered and came down to him, my shirt still wet and my pants still stained with oil, and my hair a mess, and I asked him if he wanted me to go. And he said he had expected me to and asked why I wouldn’t, and I said I was tired but I hesitated because I didn’t want to disappoint Master, and I asked whether he wanted me to stay home, and he ordered me to get some rest upstairs. See, I had thought it was just another normal, typical night, and I’d spend most of it standing at his side or kneeling at his feet while he talked with other people at the club. As you’ve probably guessed, when we go to the club usually, it’s for Master’s benefit, and I’m just there as his companion and servant. I usually don’t mind, because that’s my role in life, but Saturday night, for once, I happened to be unusually tired, so much I didn’t want to go.

I did as he said, but I couldn’t sleep. I just tossed and turned and kept thinking about how lonely I was and how much I wanted to be with Master, even for a little while before he left.

And I went downstairs and laid on the couch near Master until he was about to leave, and then I followed him and saw … a set of boxes of his equipment near the door, including the violet wand, which I’ve been dying for him to use on me since before he took possession of me.

And in shock I asked Master if he was bringing all that to the club for me, and he told me he had planned to.

And it hit me that he had brought all of the toys for me.

And I lost it.

Since the day Master took Ownership of me, I’ve been waiting for him to play with me like that. To take me to the dungeon at the club and do things to me. To tie me up. To electrify me. To have fun with me. To interact with me.

And the night that finally was going to happen, I was too tired.

I couldn’t take it. Kneeled on the floor, I burst out weeping uncontrollably, nearly screaming.

In response, Master announced he would be back in a moment, and he went upstairs. To me, that meant for me to stay there until he returned.

And I kneeled there. Sometimes in silence. Sometimes quietly crying. Sometimes bawling at the top of my lungs. Most of the time, my head was on the floor, my eyes shielded from the world, in wait for his return.

I didn’t know what was going on. I thought he might be near me, watching me. I thought maybe he had left out of the house at one point.

But I stayed there, in obedience. To me, that was my place. I was a slave, and I exist to serve him. And he had told me to wait for him there, and that’s what I did, unmoving except to shift in place.

Finally, after more than an hour, I became a bit concerned because this was very unusual for Master, and I very nervously went upstairs to check on him.

It turns out he was in his room, angry. He had gotten into an argument with M’Lady, and he had forgotten that he had said he was going to go back downstairs, and that I was to wait for him.

Eventually we both calmed down, and we both went to bed feeling generally okay.

But basically, Saturday night sucked. Master stayed home, and I ruined his evening. I fucked up the night for both of us.

And that’s what life has been like lately.

Oh, it hasn’t sucked all the time. Actually, last week was quite good in most ways. But it was very busy and very stressful. More on that in my next blog.

Sunday, by the way, I was still overly emotional. I hadn’t gotten over it yet. I went to Master before going out to my kids and told Master I was having a small problem on my computer when I tried to open some Web sites. As a result, Master wound up chewing me out for most of an hour about the computer and saying I hadn’t been respectful of the fact it’s a business computer attached the house network, and he chewed me out for my disobeying and neglecting of some of his recent instructions, and I wound up making him very angry yet again. He told me he was going to get on the computer I’ve been using and find old files to delete to clear up space, and even though he said he wouldn’t delete my personal data, I got scared and nervous and upset and started bawling again.

Eventually, Master ordered me to leave to see my kids, and by then I was an hour late, and when I got there, I spent the first hour or so just crying my eyes out in the kitchen at my ex’s house while the kids played in the backyard, being very considerate in letting me pour out my emotions to my ex, who fortunately for me was quite caring and understanding that day.

My kids wanted to see me, and I wanted to see them, but I had to calm down first, and slowly I did.

And what did my kids do when they saw I was doing okay?

They walked in to the room together, held hands, and said in unison (clearly having practiced it), “We love you very much, and we want you to feel better and be happy again.”

And then they hugged me, and I hugged them so very tightly, crying again, but with tears of joy and love.

Damn, I miss them so much. It hurts so very much to not be able to have them in my home anymore. But that’s part of my new life, and it’s something I accept as necessary for my position, whether I like it or not.

Still, though, some days it hurts so much to not have them with me anymore.

The rest of the day with my kids was pretty darn good, by the way. I helped them with homework, and we did lots of crafts. My daughter and son both made and painted wooden catapults, and I made a decorative wooden birdhouse (that I’m pretty proud of. *grins*). And we all did some leather crafts using a great starter kit I got last week, with my son making a leather-embossed flower, and my daughter making a very cute cat.

And I tucked my son into bed and laid down with him in the dark for awhile. The ceiling of his room is covered with glow-in-the-dark stars and constellations and meteors and planets, and being him felt like we were huddled together outside under the night sky. It was so beautiful I couldn’t help but cry again, but in a good way.

Anyway … leather work is pretty fun, to be honest. My dad taught it to me when I was a girl growing up on a Texas ranch, and I think I’d love to make a purse sometime soon. Something I can show off at the club and be proud of. But that’s for later. As is further writing. For now, bedtime. The only way I’ll be able to do the Herculean task of catching up on this blog is to take it in small chunks, and for now, this one is done.

So … as always …

La kajira!

Day 194 - A Very Long Discussion of Gor and My First Master, Who I Still Care For Even Though He Scared the Hell Out of Me, On Having an Annoying Cold That's Making My Joints Ache, and a Quick Apology for My Lack of Recent Posting

I just wanted to apologize profusely for the lack of posting in the last week in a half, and to let my readers know I've got a lot coming ... as soon as I can throw off this obnoxiously annoying cold ... which has made my joints ache so much that I haven't been able to work at the computer for more than a few minutes at a time. That, combined with several other things, has kept me away from the computer lately, but as soon as I'm back to my robust self, you'll have more things to read than you probably want to know about me! *chuckles*

Well, if you really want to read what I've been writing lately, here's some things I posted last week in a forum dedicated to "Goreans of Reality" on FetLife (which is a HUGE message board dedicated to people who are into kinkiness of ALL types ... if you're not a member, you should be, because if you read my blog, chances are you've got things in common with other people who post on FetLife. *chuckles*).

Anyway, the "Goreans of Reality" group is dedicated to, as you can guess, people who try to incorporate the philosophies of the Gor series of science-fiction/fantasy books into real life. Despite the fact that there are a bunch of people out there who like to say that they're "real-world Goreans," in truth, the author of the books has publicly stated that he never intended the books to be an outline for a real-world lifestyle. Some of those people are very intelligent, others are missing a few cards in their decks. Together they make for some lively conversations.

In case you don't know, the Gor books, which are horribly misogynistic in places, are about an alternative medieval-level Earth where all women are seen as potential slaves, and the laws of the world are set up so that it's very easy for women to fall into legal traps that "prove" they're slaves at heart, thereby allowing them to be enslaved (i.e. "collared") on the spot. In stark contrast to real-world history, enslaved men on Gor are not considered very valuable in comparison to female slaves (who are always presented as beautiful and sexy and naturally great in the sack), and men are often killed rather than collared because they're not seen as worth the trouble of selling keeping in shackles. (And any "real" man would always be fighting for their freedom, while a "real" woman, naturally, would grow to accept her slavery. *rolls her eyes* Try telling that to a Panther Girl ... but that's another topic ...)

I'm definitely not alone in being introduced to slavery through Gor. It should also be noted that Gor was written as a conservative (and kinky) response to the liberal ideas of the Women's Liberation movement in the late 1960s and 1970s, and the Gor books were widely popular with the mass reader, selling initially in the millions of copies. From what I've learned, it wasn't until the author went through a horrible divorce and began making things truly revolting for the women in his books that the sales of the novels took a nosedive. In a recent get together with a bunch of slave friends of mine, almost all of us said that we learned about the slavery lifestyle through a Gorean Master or by reading the Gorean books. For all its faults, Gor has benefitted the BDSM lifestyle in a variety of ways, not only by making the idea of a Master/slave relationship mainstream, but also by bringing with it a variety of rituals and protocols, such as the Gorean kneeling positions (the most famous being "nadu", which involves a woman kneeling on the ground with her legs apart to reveal her "heat" while having her hands on her thighs with the palms upward to show her submissiveness). It's quite beautiful and something many people in the BDSM lifestyle have come to expect of slaves, whether they be Gorean or not.

At the core, "real-world Goreans" try to get what they can from the books to use in their real lives while throwing away the junk, but the problem is that what some people consider junk other people consider valuable. In general, though, "real-world Goreans" (i.e. "Gorean lifestylers") tend to say that several distinct things stand out as worthy from the books, in particular: the importance of personal honor, the aspect of being "true to yourself," the value of loyalty, and the beauty of the relationship between a dedicated Master and a devoted slave. The first three things can be found in many cultures, from the bushido of Japan to the fictional Klingons from Star Trek (who some people like to emulate, but that also is another topic ...). Openly embracing the ideas of slavery, however, and declaring that slavery can be the foundation of a very loving and moral relationship, is largely what makes Goreans stand out.

Is being Gorean bad? In and of itself, not at all, although Goreans generally have a tarnished name in the BDSM community. The thing is, there are Goreans who are assholes, and these Goreans usually claim to be more "Gorean" than anybody else because they follow the worst shit in the book as if it's come down from Heaven on high as gospel.

My first Master, who introduced me to real-world slavery, was a very devout Gorean, and he told me that if I stayed with him, he'd expect me to read the two-dozen Gorean novels three times -- once for "enjoyment," a second time to catch the nuances of the philosphies, and a third time to allow it to truly sink into to my heart and mind. That Master is considered by some people to be one of the scariest Masters around, and also one of the most dedicated Gorean men you'll find -- in both good and bad ways, depending on who you ask (my Master, by the way, considers him to be a buffoon, but the Master of a friend of mine considers him to be a good man at heart who's a bit misguided in ways).

My first Master took me in as a new kajira, totally untrained and unpolished. I was very curious about Gor after having been introduced to it in SecondLife, and I immediately sought a real-world group ... and found him. At my first meeting I came as a free person, but it became very obvious to everybody there, especially to myself, that my proper place was on my knees alongside the Master's other kajira -- and the next time I went there, I was stripped, clothed in very revealing attire and, for the first time in my life, collared. I'll never forget the feeling of having to kneel on the floor in front of him, my arms crossed above me in supplication as I begged him to take me as his property, and then feeling the leather strap go around my neck ... followed by the soft but incredibly powerful sound of a lock clicking shut.

I was still married at the time, but I had to explore this side of me or die trying. I attempted to talk to my ex about my desires to be a kajira, but he told me he didn't want to discuss it, and I had no choice but to either give it up or do it on the sly ... and I chose the latter. I would tell my ex that I was going out with a "roleplaying group" each weekend, and my ex accepted that ... probably as a way of placating me in ways he thought would keep me safely satisfied.

My first Master and Mistress (his wife) both clearly enjoyed me being there, but they were a bit unsure about me, and I don't blame them. I grew to love them, or at least think I loved them, and I fantasized about being branded by them the way they had branded their other two kajira (which was, I admit, a very unsafe way, which involved an iron brand being heated in a fireplace and applied directly to the skin, which could produce a very ugly brand that's prone to infection). With each visit, however, my first Master and Mistress slowly pushed me more and more to see if I would run off scared -- and I eventually did.

The last night I was there, it was announced that one of the kajira had committed two infractions -- she had gotten intoxicated without permission from the contents of the house's liquor cabinet, and she had spent a small amount of money (I think about five dollars) without permission purchasing a birthday present for her sister. The punishment, which everybody was required to watch, was the Master stripping the kajira naked, putting an opaque slave hood over her head, binding her wrists, having her kneel at his feet, and then caning her for what seemed like an eternity (to me, at least -- it was probably 20 lashes or so) while she screamed from the intense pain. Afterward, she collapsed on the floor in agony, and the other kajira was ordered to untie her and take care of her wounds.

That was enough for me, and I decided then and there to get out of my collar, but to do it honorably.

Another Gorean group had formed in Denver because the members didn't like being around my first Master for various reasons, and my first Master didn't like that group at all. I told my first Master that I could infiltrate that group and go to their meetings and report back to him what they were talking about, but he would need to release me of my collar because they wouldn't let one of his kajira attend. My first Master agreed and uncollared me, and ... I never came back. I lied to him, and that was dishonorable, I believe, but I felt it was more honorable than disrespecting the collar itself and taking it off without his permission. It's weird, I know, but I hold the collar to be a very sacred trust and institution, and I would no more abandon a collar than I would imagine somebody abandoning a wedding ring -- actually, I consider a collar even more binding than a wedding ring in many ways.

I've often looked back and wondered if my first Master actually knew what I was doing, and he figured if I lying to him and didn't return, then good riddance. *sighs*

The thing is, I don't look anymore at the punishment he gave his kajira as being incredibly horrible, depending on the circumstances. It does fit in with the Gorean lifestyle, and I've seen people take far worse beatings at the Sanctuary BDSM club on a typical Saturday night. But I was new to the lifestyle, and that Master made a mistake by not taking that into consideration. Instead of continuing to push me to see if I would give up the collar, he should have introduced me to the lifestyle more slowly. But that Master is well known for his flamboyance, and being subtle is definitely not one of his strong suits. He gained notoriety by showing up to a local "munch" with his kajira in tow, leading them both by chains attached to the collars around their neck. A "munch" is a way for people new to the BDSM lifestyle to meet other people in an open setting, and munches are usually held at very public places, such as a restaurant or coffee house. What that Master did by flaunting his kajira like that is known as "vanilla violation" because of the way it pushes kink into the sight of people who may not want to experience it, and that Master has been ridiculed ever since because of that little stunt. (I've heard that he also took his kajira the same way into an area Wal-Mart store, and he had them follow him on a leash and kneel at his feet at times, to the stares of other shoppers. I'd think that was a bit too much for anybody to believe, except that it was the Master himself who bragged about it to me.)

The thing is, that Master had me hooked in ways, emotionally and physically. He was my only exposure to the lifestyle, and I could potentially see myself as someday permanently becoming his kajira -- and I might have, if that Master hadn't scared me off. His two kajira were very devoted and loving, and I liked them a lot -- and I miss them and would love to see them again. Even today, I still feel a part of my heart belongs to that Master -- a fact I've made clear to my current Master, to which he's responded by making it clear that my original Master and I will never be left alone together in the unlikely chance we encounter each other again (and, if my current Master has his way, such an encounter will never happen). The fact that a good slave friend of mine and her Master are friends with that Master at least gives me a chance to ask how my first Master's kajira are doing -- although even that may be too close for comfort in the eyes of my current Master. I'll have to ask him and see.

Weirdly enough, I consider myself a Gorean who hates Gor, and I'm not shy to let people know that. I feel I'm an example of the so-called "typical" woman presented in the Gorean novels -- which claim that all women are only truly happy when they're living the life of a slave. And yet, while I believe I do have a slave heart, I also feel I'm not typical among women, and therefore I hate the world of Gor as presented in the novels because of the horrible way it treats most women.

Which brings us back to the idea of real-world Goreans. Can somebody live a moral life based on Gorean philosphy, even though the world of the novels was such a revolting place? The answer to that question is up for debate, which is the reason for that group in FetLife.

By the way, you can see all the topics in that group in Fetlife after you have your own account. But since accounts are free, there’s no reason not to get one! Once you’ve got the account, you can view the group’s discussions here ...

Last week, one of the topics of discussion in that group caught my eye -- the idea of real-world non-consensual slavery. The thread was started by somebody who said that, to a person who truly follows the ideas of Gorean philosophy, the strong should subjugate the weak (which they claim is why men are designed by evolution to dominate and enslave women), and therefore non-consensual slavery isn't morally wrong in-and-of itself. As you might expect, that idea caused a lot of people to write on both sides of the issue. As you might expect, I responded by using history to vehimently attacking the idea of non-consensual slavery.

My first post was as follows:
Rome stands out as a particularly interesting time regarding slavery. At one point, a whopping 40 percent of the people living in Italy were slaves. Compare that to what's said in John Norman's novels, in that one in 40 people on Gor are ever enslaved during their long lifetimes, and you'll see that in real life slavery has been far more entrenched in society than it's ever been in fictional Gor.

I've studied what writings remain from Roman times regarding slavery, and they show a few distinct reasons regarding why Romans allowed slavery for a thousand years. Romans felt that it was the right of a conqueror to kill those he conquered in war. As a result, it was actually considered merciful if a conqueror conquered a city and announced that he was taking all of the inhabitants to be slaves instead of killing them on the spot. As time went on, with hundreds of years of generation after generation of both free and non-free growing up with slavery, it became such that people never thought of a world without slavery -- it was considered as normal as we consider telephones and penicillin in Western culture today. It should also be definitely noted that Romans considered it right and moral to maintain the status quo in all its forms, and people who strove for social change of any type were greatly looked down upon. Therefore, Romans didn’t expect the lives of their children, or of society as a whole, to improve in the future. Eventually, the citizens of Rome got to where they couldn’t function without slaves – all trades that involved menial work, from baking to pottery to accounting, were considered the realm of slaves, even if the word was considered creative or required intelligence. Also, any job that required somebody to report to somebody else was reserved for slaves, even if the job was very important and involved managing great amounts of money or property. To cap it off, the Empire eventually converted to Christianity, and the works of Paul specify that slaves are to respect and obey their Masters without attempting to run away, which thereby made the bonds for a slave not just of metal, but spiritual as well.

The thing is, though, that although people considered slavery to be a valid part of society, slaves themselves generally did not like being enslaved (to put it mildly), and accounts show case after case of slaves (even those in lofty pampered positions) attempting to escape from their Owners, usually at huge risk of danger from every direction.

The slavery presented in the Gorean books is, without a doubt, unrealistic. The great majority of slaves in history have been used for domestic or agricultural purposes, and having slaves for sexual uses was considered an extravagance. Male and female slaves were both greatly prized in equal terms for their strength and their intelligence as needed. Yes, Owners did often use slaves for sexual purposes, but that wasn’t the main duty of slaves except for a few special men and women among the very rich. The idea of male slaves being hardly worth the effort of catching and selling (as presented in the Gorean novels) is ludicrous, just as is the idea of almost every female slave being destined for sexual service in the nearest tavern. Gorean slavery was created as a fantasy created as a titillating response to the ideas of Women’s Liberation of the 1970s, and to compare it with real-world slavery isn’t a particularly valid endeavor.

Yes, Stockholm Syndrome does match rather well in many ways the reaction by enslaved women in the Gorean books to their Masters after being involuntarily enslaved. But Stockholm Syndrome is considered to be a form of mental breakdown, a way the mind can cope to the intense stress of being the victim of a kidnapping situation. And it should be noted that both men and women have been shown to exhibit the characteristics of Stockholm Syndrome in such circumstances. Norman, however, would like us to believe that women are wired to submit to men and not vice versa, and simply put, that’s not true. Men and women are neurologically different in many ways, without a doubt, but a natural submissiveness is not a part of it. In Neolithic times, women often led tribes, and in Celtic Europe, women were allowed to hold political power and become great military leaders. In at least one historical case of a Celtic woman being kidnapped, raped and held for ransom, the end result was that she stole her captor’s sword, cut his head off and returned to her family. So to say that all women would eventually get used to their situation and accept their slavery is foolish, unless you also might add that all men would do the same thing.

So, yes, while slavery is a very real aspect of human society, it’s not really good to try and validate real-world slavery just because of the way it might be compared to the fictional Gorean slavery. If you’re going to decide that slavery is a legitimate part of modern-day (or ancient) society, then do it on its own merits outside of any comparison to Gor. And be willing to back up your beliefs based on reality as well.

I speak these things as a fully owned consensual slave who loves her Master and considers herself to be his property in all ways. But as much as I embrace my lifestyle, I would fight tooth-and-nail to free any man or woman who has been enslaved against their will. For as much as I believe slavery should be a right, so should freedom.

I followed it up with this two days later:
Indeed, there were incredible differences between the situations and welfares of some of the slaves throughout the Roman Empire. As I noted, any job that free Romans considered menial was usually regulated to either slaves or, at best, to former slaves who might have bought their freedom. Free-born Romans had far more rights than a slave who bought their freedom, and free-born Romans of Italy often became a rather spoiled lot for the most part. Despite the fact that there were slaves whose only job was to make breakfast in the morning or clean their Owner’s evening wear, such were quite the exception. In contrast, the typical slave was bought for domestic or agriculture work and was kept pretty busy, with some owners (such as Cato in his treatise "On Agriculture") stating that a slave should only ever have time off to eat and sleep.

The thing is, no matter what their station, unless a person was naturally born to be a slave, then being a slave would have been at heart a miserable condition.

Consider yourself, and envision that you were living peacefully with a wife, a son and a daughter on a small farm, when one day a group of Roman soldiers arrives and takes you all prisoner. You are all taken to an auction block, where you are sold to a man who desires somebody of your skills to help manage his own farm. Your wife, however, is sold to a man who desires somebody to help take care of his own children, and the fact that you have two healthy children makes her more valuable because she is seen as breeding stock for the production of future slaves. Your daughter is bought by an old weaver who desires her to help with his trade. Your son, who is both attractive and intelligent, is sold for a high price to a wealthy man who desires a companion for his own son and a boy to “keep him warm” at nights in the bedroom. You are taken away after the auction and never see your family again. After years of work on the farm doing an excellent job, your owner dies, and his heir sells off much of the estate to pay for bills. As a result you are sold to a different farm, where you lose all seniority and spend your final days doing back-breaking work.

Now then, how would you like it if somebody did that to your wife or son or daughter today? It could happen. Don’t fool yourself into thinking that modern-day slavery is only taking place in mid-eastern countries. It’s taking place in the good ol’ United States of America every day in every major city, folks. Don’t believe me? Just do a search on “sex slaves united states” on Google. Or follow one of these links ...

http://citybeat.com/cincinnati/article-3847-cover-story-of-human-bondage.html

http://www.thelantern.com/campus/sex-trafficking-hits-close-to-home-60-90-women-affected-in-franklin-county-1.890395

The simple thing is, forced slavery is a bad thing if you’re the one who is enslaved against your will. This isn’t about men being naturally dominant over women. This is about taking somebody’s life away from them and removing from them the ability to ever govern their destiny again.

I chose to become a slave, and I support consensual slavery. But non-consensual? Not on your life.


I also commented at length on a thread (called "Wishy Washy Gor") about the nature of being a Gorean, in particular on the relationship between a kajira and her Master:
When speaking of "wishy washy" Gor, people often look with blame toward the slave Owners and say that they're not strong enough, they let their property run things and make the rules, etc., etc.

And slaves often jump up and say they would do ANYTHING for their Owner because they serve with joy and total abandonment.

But, in question to the slaves, how many of you would REDUCE the things you do for your Owner?

What if your Owner got tired of the BDSM and said punishments in the future would be psychological, and instead of whipping you he made you sit in the corner without talking for three hours? What if your Owner decided to marry a free woman and said you would from now on be a purely domestic slave? What if your Owner said he didn't want to have sex with you ever again?

I have one set of die-hard limits regarding my servitude, and it's that my being a slave can in no way interfere with my relationship with my children. Period. Other than that, everything else is pretty much fair game.

Master is happily married, and primarily I'm a full-time, live-in domestic servant in his household. My principle duties throughout the days are to keep his large house clean, run errands for him and his wife, be their personal chef, and be his companion for conversation and other activities. Everything else is a reward, not a requirement.

In the novels, kajira were often relegated to non-sexual duties (such as being a kitchen slave), and they might not be allowed to engage in sexual activity for years at a time, if not ever.

To me, that's the hallmark of a consensual kajira -- that she be willing to do whatever is needed -- and abstain from whatever is needed -- as part of her duties as a slave.

Everybody has limits, of course. Mine have to do with my children. For other slaves, they might demand that their Owner not engage in sexual activities with anybody else (although that seems to me like a very strange requirement from somebody who claims to desire to emulate a Gorean kajira).

When do the limits get to be so piled up that saying you're Gorean becomes a farce, or what you're doing is simply no more than bedroom roleplaying? I can't answer that question. Some people might say that all Goreans are roleplayers because their philosphies are based on a bunch of erotic science-fiction books. To each their own, I figure.

The main thing is, there are no hard and set community standards regarding what it means to be a "true Gorean Master" and a "true Gorean slave", and whether somebody is being "wishy washy" or not. Whether such labels apply to you can only be answered in your own heart.

I commented again soon afterward:
In considering what is "truly Gorean," one must, indeed, consider all aspects in the books as valid if they were shown to be existant on the place we know of as counter Earth.

Panther Girls, for instance.

Yes, they lived outside of what many would consider to be "typical" Gorean society. But ask a Panther Girl if her lifestyle was valid, and chances are she'd say a resounding "YES!" ... right before capturing you at spearpoint, shaving a stripe in your hair and selling you to the next trader barge for a lump of candy and arrowheads.

Not all kajira were expected to meekly act like a doormat all the time. The bondgirls of the northern cities on Gor were smart and sassy, and the men loved them for it. The slaves of the Tuchuks carried daggers on their belts and were expected to be strong, brave and able to defend their camp at a moment's notice. Do you really expect the kajira of a woodcutter in the Northern Forests to wear silks and kneel quietly at his feet all day, her main purpose in life to make him drinks and provide sexual service? Of course not! Most likely, he would want a woman who would be strong and sturdy and intelligent, and who he could trust to be at his side through thick and thin.

You can no more lump all Gorean lifestyles in the books together than you can lump all Native American lifestyles together. The Navajo, Apache and Dakota tribes were all separate nations -- just like each city on Gor is its own nation -- and each had their own laws, customs and beliefs about life, death, nature, the roles of men and women, and the afterlife. They did not all worship the "Great Spirit" or have Pow Wows or hold Sweat Lodges or eat peyote for shamanic trances. To say such would be a great disservice to their incredible lives and diverse ways of existance.

So, ... diversity is the key to understanding Gor. Seeing Gor any other way is like looking at entire planet through a keyhole.

And I couldn't help, being somebody who loves words, on commenting on whether it's appropriate to try and integrate some of the words from the Gorean books into real life:
What is the purpose of language? As a long-time professional writer, I see language as a tool for expressing an idea in the best way possible, which means not only expressing an idea accurately, but also including any desired nuances.

Let's take "kajira", for example (and, no, you can't take me, for I'm already taken ...* winks with a smile*)

"Kajira" simply means "female slave" in the books. With that in mind, somebody might say that we shouldn't use the word "kajira," but instead should just say that somebody is a "female slave," or even just "slave" when the gender is obvious. However, when used outside of the novels, "kajira" has a very distinct meaning beyond simply "female slave." It carries with it the meaning "female slave as defined under Gorean philosphies" -- which brings with it the idea of "a woman who is property in a household where she is taught to embrace her feminity and seek to give of herself in joyful total servitude". This immediately provides a contrast to slaves who reside in other types of households, such as leather or military lifestyles with gender-neutral clothing and mannerisms, and it separates the slave from the submissives out there who like to pretend to be slaves while at heart are only doing it for their own pleasure.

Another wonderful Gorean word is "nadu", which in only four letters brings to mind the beautiful mental image of a woman on her knees, her legs spread enticingly while her hands rest on her thighs with the palms displayed to show her openness to serve. That one word says a mouthful, indeed. (Err ... was that last sentence a double entendre? *giggles*)

I also happen to like the word "harta", which indicates to the slave, "yeah, I know you're sexy and all that, but I want my drink NOW!" It's very useful at getting the point across and clearing up any possible misunderstandings very quickly. *chuckles*

New words and phrases, however, become a crutch and a hindrance when they only serve to increase confusion at the sake of novelty. The worst example of this I've found, and I'm sure that A/all of the P/people in this R/room will likely agree, is the idea of putting upper and lowercase letters on words with a slash when addressing A/all the potential R/readers of a message. Onlinism at its worst, I feel. Trivial misspellings of words to give them an artificial Gorean feel, such as "kollar" for collar (as michaelmanor mentioned) and "urth" for Earth, are silly at best and pretentious at worst.

Creating a new language can be a lot of fun, I have to admit -- just ask anybody who's fixated with that Klingon language that's been floating around Star Trek fandom for decades. From what I've heard, they translated the entire text of "Hamlet" into Klingon, and they're working on the Bible next for some reason that escapes me. Hey, if it floats their boat (or powers their starship), so be it, and more power to them! Regarding an artificial Gorean language, my feelings are the same -- if somebody wants to create one or use one that's floating around, then have fun with it -- but please remember it is just fun, and don't lose sight of that by trying to bring the pretend language into the real world and saying that makes you more of a "twoo Gorean".

I love language -- that's why I worked with it professionally for so many years, and I still find it a truly pleasurable task to write at length on, well, anything! But fun time is over, and for now, this kajira had better get back to her household chores ... harta! *bounces happily and scampers away*


Whew! Didn't I say that my joints were achy and I couldn't write? I guess my cold medicine is working after all, because I'm just starting to feel a bit stiff again!!!

So, on that note, I'll take off for the night and get some rest. See you again soon ... hopefully in the next couple of days!!!

And, as always ... la kajira!!!

Day 184 - On Being a Slave in my Dreams (Literally), On Being in Estrus as a Wolf (Spiritually), On Master and I Agreeing to Be Bonded Spiritually, On Reading Lots of Buffy Comics, and On Having a Bunch of Slaves in the Basement to Discuss Life and Stuff

It would seem I’ve passed a new mark in my situation with Master.

Now, even in my dreams, he owns me.

Last night I had a weird dream (all dreams are weird, right?) in which I was with an adventurous friend from years ago, and we got lost and went into a strange bar. There were a lot of girls in there dressed in colorful goth-looking dresses, and it looked like they were having a lot of fun. As with some dreams, the amount of clothes I was wearing kept changing to my puzzlement. At one point, my friend and I got separated, and I decided to stay inside and look at a clothing rack the restaurant had. On it were a variety of Harley-Davidson motorcycle jackets for sale, and I realized I was wearing two jackets already (a pretty white dress jacket from Coldwater Creek and over it a thick and pretty purple coat I got at a thrift shop), and I took them off and left them with the woman at the coat check, who told me she’d remember they were my coats because I have such memorable eyes (which people are always telling me in real life – it’s my most distinctive physical feature).

The bar now was much more like a normal bar, and all the girls with the colorful Victorian-style dresses were gone. I asked somebody where they went, and I was told they were there for a wedding party and had gone outside for it.

(I should note that M'Lady had recently told me that his son and daughter-in-law had a Victorian/Edwardian theme at their wedding. Also, Master had recently explained how clothing associated with the BDSM “Leather Lifestyle” originated with leather biker jackets.)

I started to go outside to look for my friend when I realized I was wearing one of the leather jackets by mistake, and I went back inside to return it to make sure they didn’t think I was stealing it. I was told that I could have kept it without anybody noticing, but I did the right thing and put it back on the rack, and went back outside to look for my friend, and, to my surprise, realized I was now wearing a different pretty brown cloth duster with rose embroidery from Coldwater Creek (FYI, Master and I had a talk about corporate ethics the night before, and about how ethics tests are worded so you should always answer that you would never steal anything, no matter how trivial such as a soda can that fell out of the vending machine, even if nobody is around to see you).

Anyway, I saw the back door led to a natural area with lots of trails going in different directions, and the ground was muddy, and I suddenly realized I wasn’t wearing shoes, so I went back inside with hopes of finding my friend. I realized I was wearing a sexy dress that displayed my breasts nicely, and I decided to sit down at a booth, order a drink and hope he’d turn up soon.

As I sat there, I stood up to look around and inquire about a drink special when I realized that suddenly I was naked and had been sitting under a soft blanket. As I held the blanket up around me, three men approached, all clearly interested in the fact I wasn’t wearing clothes, and sat down next to me. They were all normal guys, neither really attractive nor really ugly, the typical types you’d encounter in a bar. And they all started making passes at me and bragging about their sexual prowess or the size of their cocks, and they all assumed because I had been sitting there naked that I was definitely there for sex.

At one point in my life … even as recent as last summer … I would have felt dominated by them or interested in them or even turned on by them … and I would have gone along with their desires. Heck, almost exactly six months ago I did go home with a stranger I met with a bar, and we had hot and heavy sex until the sun came up.

But that was then, and this is now.

Without hesitation, I told the guys in my dream that I wanted to have sex with them, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t sure how to explain I was an owned slave, so instead I told them I was in a relationship, and the person I was with didn’t want me to have sex with other guys.

And the guys, in response, all looked disappointed and proceeded to stand up and move away from the booth where we were sitting.

Strangely enough, their female friends arrived about then and, in confusion, asked why they were leaving the booth, and wanted to know how come they weren’t going to have the “party” they had planned with me.

And that’s basically how the dream ended.

Master’s still asleep, but I think it’s time for me to get some coffee and start my day – with the peaceful knowledge that my entire being, both wakeful and sleeping, has accepted my situation entirely – and finds joyful acceptance in it.

…

That was yesterday morning, and now it’s Saturday afternoon.

I’ve been meaning to write all week but I took a break and let other things get in the way.

Last night was particularly important on a spiritual level, when Master and I talked very seriously first about the fact that I’m in estrus on a non-physical plain where I live as a wolf, and then about us binding ourselves together spiritually so that he could truly be able to protect my soul from being fucked up by Coyote spirit.

Both topics require a bit of an explanation, naturally.

As I’ve mentioned in previous blogs, I’ve done shamanic work for more than a decade, and I’m a therianthrope, which means I have mental and emotional and spiritual experiences (which aren’t always that pleasant) that appear to indicate I literally have the soul of a wolf in a human’s body. As a way of coming to terms with that situation, I’ve learned to enter into trances to allow for what’s known as non-physical “journeying” into realms beyond the physical world. In the realm I usually visit, I have lived for years as a wolf bitch with my spiritual mate, and during that time we’ve parented three litters of cubs and raised them into a fine pack in a remote seaside valley.

Every year for several weeks I experience unusual cravings and physical sensations. During the last few days, I’ve felt like I have a cold at times, with aches and chills, and soon afterward feel fine, then feel hot, then the cycle repeats itself. And I get desires for food all the time, and for strange mixtures, such as cottage cheese and salsa and peanut butter mixed together (which was quite yummy). And, more than anything, I feel different somehow, with a desire for something beyond myself.

Yesterday as I was eating the cottage-cheese mix, I joked to myself that I might be pregnant again … then realized I might not be joking, and then realized that I was in estrus yet again.

This has been a weird year for it because I’ve hardly been in contact with my wolf mate lately. For better or worse, we’ve grown a bit distant physically. At one time, he and I were planning to get married, but it never happened, and he remains in Kentucky, and I remain in Colorado, and we’re going out separate ways.

I contacted him last night about it, and he said he’s definitely feeling it, too, and we entered into trances together, at first online, but then … we didn’t need to talk anymore – we could just sense each other and see each other and be with each other spiritually. We were wolves, and we were together in the snow, with the rest of the pack nearby. And I sprayed my scent. And he nuzzled my vagina. And we mated. Gloriously and beautifully, as we have every year for years, as wolves have done for millions of years. Afterward, he ran off, and that bothered me at first, but he soon came back with a rabbit in his mouth, which he gave to our first litter’s gray cub, who has been thin and week lately and seems to be suffering from malnutrition. She munched it down and the journey ended with us lying tiredly together in the snow.

Earlier in the day before all that, I told Master about me being in estrus, and told him I might be a bit flaky and be experiencing emotional ups and downs during the next couple of weeks (and the next two months assuming I get pregnant). I was worried for a minute he would think I was nuts, but he took me quite seriously, which is no surprise, knowing his own very strong and vivid experiences working with his own spirit guides. He told me that he needed to be able to count on my performance for him as his slave, and that I needed to do whatever it took to make sure that what was going on with me spiritually didn’t bleed over to negatively affect me in the physical world.

We talked about other things spiritual, and it led to a discussion of how Coyote spirit is always working to screw me up, and things are never solid and secure around me as a result. Master and I both know that Coyote is a trickster, and more importantly, Coyote’s extremely goal oriented to a serious fault – meaning that he’ll do anything he can to achieve his goals and play his jokes, even if he winds up hurting people in the process. Coyote loves me dearly, I’ve learned without a doubt over the years, but his judgment can’t be trusted, I believe, in that sometimes he’ll fuck up my life just to get something done that he thinks is good for me – such as getting me fired from a job because he decides I need to move to a different city.

Well, after Master and I talked about Coyote, Master said with total confidence that Dragon spirit could handle anything Coyote could throw at me. I responded that Coyote’s pretty damn powerful, and I’m afraid he would hurt Master to get to me. And Master said he wouldn’t hurt any of us because Dragon would be between us and Coyote, and … suddenly … I started hearing something in my head … somebody talking to me … and the voice was telling me that the only way to defend me from Coyote would be for Master and me to be bound spiritually as a Master and slave, so that his energies and mine truly are connected. I told Master that, and told him what the voice also said … that by being bound to him, I would be bound to his spirits as their slave … to Dragon and Tiger and Orca and Owl … for they are extensions of Master … and that by binding to Master, I would be bound to him in ways that go beyond the physical realm. And the voice stopped, and I suddenly realized it was Raven talking to me, and I understood, for it was Raven who got me years ago into slavery in the first place (which is a long story).

It’s a scary concept. I mean, will this mean that I’ll be Master’s slave beyond death, into a future life? I’ve already been told that I’ll be a horse in a future life. Will this ensure that I’m Master’s horse in the future? I don’t know. But I’m sick of chaos. I want things to calm down. I want to be productive and sane. Coyote is crazy, and so am I to a degree, and I want that to change. And maybe, just maybe, if binding to Master will give me the stability I need to live a full, productive life the rest of my years, then so be it.

I told Master I was scared because I’ve never been away from Coyote all of my life, for he has affected me in ways beyond number since I was a very young child, going so far as to ensure that my daughter was born (“She shall be my child, and chaos shall follow in her path,” Coyote told me when I was praying for her conception, and, boy, has his prediction come true … *sighs*).

And Master looked at me firmly and said that Coyote could still visit me, but he would have to ask nicely for permission and would do it only under the watchful eyes of one of Master’s spirit guides.

Master and I don’t know when and how the ritual will be for the bonding, by the way, but we both agreed to do it, so it will be done … soon, I hope.

As far as the rest of the week went …

Earlier in the week I spent hours talking with my wolf mate in Kentucky, who also happens to be the editor of my novel. We went over the final chapter’s plots and what would work (and wouldn’t work) regarding the ending, and also talked a lot about what would potentially work regarding the novel’s sequel. My goal is to get back to working on the novel an hour every night, but that already seems too lofty a goal, and Master said the key is to making it move forward on a regular basis, even if it’s an hour every other day. If I can do that, I can finish the first draft of the novel within three or four months I figure, and once the first draft is done, getting everything polished for publication should be smooth sailing. I hope, anyway.

Another night I stayed up late reading Season Eight of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. In case you’re familiar with the series, you might be interested to know that the show’s creator, Joss Whedon (who also created Firefly/Serenity, Angel and Doll House) is keeping it going, with his writings being presented as a continuing series of graphic novels (*coughs* or comic books, as some might call them). I wouldn’t pay three bucks an issue for them, but I had a chance of viewing them online (through slightly less than legal means … “yo ho ho” and all that), and they were pretty good for a few hours read. I have to admit it, I was a dedicated Buffy fan. I think the first five years were among the best television in broadcast history, and I very eagerly looked forward to each week’s episodes. Those were golden years in TV for me, for at the same time was Deep Space Nine, which is, without a doubt, my favorite TV show of all time. I still have my Starfleet uniforms in the closet, which I would wear to conventions. I liked Star Trek in general, but Deep Space Nine stands out to me as the cream of the crop. Master, I might note, disagrees wholeheartedly. He feels the best TV science fiction ever was Babylon Five, followed by Farscape. And, yep, Farscape was good stuff, until it got a bit too dark for me in the third season. Master, however, likes dark fiction, and he’s determined I watch it one day. I have to admit, I’m looking forward to it. *smiles*

Another night I spent time messing with my computer trying to get it to play some old roleplaying games from the 1990s. It’s amazing how primitive some of those games are by today’s standards, but they were hot stuff back then. I did get one to actually work – an old cyberpunk adventure called Beneath a Steel Sky – and I’m looking forward to digging into it soon.

And the next night I stayed up late playing an online World War I air combat game, which was cool to watch but was actually dull to play, as all I did was fly around shooting at people, and I think games like that are dull as rocks. I stuck with it for awhile because I have an interest in history and a fascination with biplanes, I think because of the idea of being able to fly so bravely in such a rickety craft in a heroic age of chivalry in the air. Yeah, yeah, I know it wasn’t all about that. I’ve read the Red Baron’s autobiography, and in truth he was a psychopathic bully who got an equal kick out of shooting squirrels and shooting people. Still, though, it’s fun to think about as a modern-day fantasy.

None of that, however, has anything to do with being a slave … which is the whole point of this blog and why most of you read it, I’m assuming.

Most of the slave-related things this week have mostly been pretty normal, I have to admit. Cooking and cleaning and shopping and such. No whips or floggings or sex or anything out of the ordinary.

Today we hosted a Slave Group meeting in the basement of Master’s house as a way for local slaves to get together and openly talk among other slaves about good things and bad things and laugh and cry in a sympathetic, understanding environment. The meeting’s conversations are private, so I can’t talk about what we said, although I can say that we generally talked about things such as our backgrounds and how we became slaves, and the definition of a slave versus a submissive, and other subjects you’d think would be addressed at a first meeting.

Half a dozen slaves attended, and we talked for more than three hours, and I’d definitely say that things got off to a great start. The next meeting will be in five weeks at the home of one of the other slaves, and I’m definitely looking forward to it because, truth be told, I’m a bit lonely at times for somebody to talk with who understands what I’m experiencing. Although, actually, as weird as I am, I’m always a bit lonely no matter what because there’s simply nobody else like me in most ways.

The worst thing that happened is that one of the slaves announced she wouldn’t be coming back because she has a bad history with the Master of one of the other slaves, and she would rather drop out of the group than take the chance of encountering him. Such is life.

Another good thing (and bad thing for my diet) is we had quite a bit of munchies left. In particular, very yummy (but fatty) dip and sushi. Mmmm … sushi. Master let me get a big party tray of it for the slaves, and almost nobody would eat any of it but me. Several of the Masters of the slaves also stayed and chatted during the meeting, but they remained upstairs out of earshot. None of them were actually invited, as it was a slave’s meeting first and foremost, but they each asked if they could stay, and they did – for which Master got them some nifty snacks as well. As Master said, he definitely knows how to throw parties – he’s done it quite a bit in the past, and it’s going to likely become more regular around our home in the near future.

So that’s it for now. Oh, wait, you’re saying … what about the previous week? Y’know, the promised report on the Southwest Leather Conference’s events?

Maybe that’ll have to wait, yet again, until the next blog posting. Don’t worry, you’ll get it. A bit late, but you will.

Back again soon.

La kajira!!!

p.s. Just came back from a drumming circle. Master had planned to go with me, but got tired and stayed home. It was great, with a roomful of wild drummers and people dancing in the circle.

As I half expected, things got intense ... and I entered a trance ... and ... I was a wolf ... and was in the woods … and my mate found me … and nature followed its course ... *wags tail* Afterward I followed my mate, who was making a beeline back through the snow to the rest of the pack. Apparently we had been out hunting and hadn’t found anything. The gray cub from the first litter seems to be doing okay.
And the third-litter white cub. And, well, all the rest of the pack, too.

Day 178 - On Having an Awful Time at a Class on Wax Play and Getting Slammed in the Back by an Inconsiderate Dominatrix, and As a Result Having an Emotional Breakdown and Ruining Much of the Weekend for My Master

Almost back to normal reality. Wait. I have no idea what “normal reality” is. Well, I’ve heard rumors of it, but … okay, back to “a-less-chaotic-reality-than-lately.”

Master’s plan for this weekend was taking me to an intensive series of three classes at the Sanctuary BDSM club by somebody named Julian Wolf. And in between the first and second classes, Master and I had been invited to a Mexican dinner hosted by two Master/slave couples in town. Master was quite enthusiastic about the weekend’s events, and I was excited, too.

Things didn’t turn out as planned, as you might have guessed. Perhaps I should have taken the brief visit by Coyote spirit a couple of days ago as an omen. Or as a warning.

The first class was supposed to be a three-hour presentation on wax play, which is a type of BDSM in which you pour melted wax on a person’s body. There’s a lot to learn about it, being that it could be quite dangerous, but Julian is a nationally known expert, and she had two attractive people to demonstrate on.

She may be nationally known, but she was an awful speaker. She rambled incoherently, babbling from subject to subject. She didn’t enunciate very well at all, and with my poor hearing I could barely hear her most of the time. Actually, at first she seemed to be focused and spoke well, but the longer the class went on, the more brain dead she seemed to become, and her presentation got increasingly disjointed. So when Master asked me at first if I could hear her, I said it was okay, but by the second hour I could barely make things out, and by the third hour … I was starting to totally lose it mentally. Then, barely hanging on, I saw the time was up and … but Julian kept going and going and going, not knowing when to stop. So, by the end of the fourth hour (of what was supposed to be a three-hour class), after I had been sitting all that time in a horribly uncomfortable metal chair with my flesh sticking to the vinyl seat (I had foolishly worn a skirt), not being able to hear the speaker very well and not understanding any of the jokes that everybody else was laughing at, and not being really that interested at all in the topic to begin with, I was totally and completely in mental agony. Most likely, the fact I have Asperger’s (a form of high-level autism) contributed greatly to the fact I was unable to handle the situation, but whatever the case, I wasn’t doing well psychologically by that point.

Oh, and I was stressed for another reason, too. A sadistic domme (a female dominant and professional dominatrix) in the audience who seemed to have little or no social skills whatsoever decided right in the middle of the presentation to grab a spiked club and barrel across the seats in an effort to hit somebody she knew in the audience. The domme slammed by accident into the rear of my chair, hitting me hard enough to wrench my back and making me feel unbalanced as if I had been almost knocked out of my chair. To make matters worse, I was totally focused on Julian, trying in frustration to understand what she was saying, and so when I was hit it was a total shock to my emotional balance. Master checked to see if I was okay and told me that the domme was known to be extremely flaky, and then then he went to the domme and confronted her about it. In response, she claimed that she didn’t even realize that she had crashed into me like that. She apologized, but I was still rather hurt and still rather mentally trying to recover from the incident, and didn’t say anything back – that is, until Master got annoyed and ordered me to verbally tell the domme that I accepted her apology. That situation lingered with me the rest of the presentation, making things worse all around.

During the last hour of the presentation, I went into a trance state because I just had to escape. It was actually the best part of the whole experience. As I think I’ve mentioned in previous blogs, I do shamanic work, and during the last three years I’ve repeatedly spiritually undertaken trance “journeys” into a non-physical reality, where I’ve lived as a wolf bitch. And that’s what I did yesterday as I sat there, trying to mentally get away from my physical situation. I journeyed as a wolf with my pack. It was so vivid – I was gone from my human body. We were walking through a snowy valley. The light grey female cub from my first litter (about three years ago) was moving slowly toward in the back of the pack, and I could tell she smelled sickly for some reason, which filled me with sadness. We approached a thick section of woods then I smelled the elk beyond it and ran forward. Soon we saw the herd, and I worked around from one side which my mate and our cubs (who make up the rest of the pack) worked around from the other side. We ran at the elk and they started moving along but stayed together. I was approaching a doe when the lone cub from last year’s litter, a white male, ran past me toward the doe’s rear, and to my distress he got kicked hard for his efforts. I started to try and go at her but she stood firm, and then I looked behind me toward sounds of growling to see that my mate, a charcoal grey wolf, had surrounded a very agitated doe along with two cubs from the second litter (a black male and a grey male). As I watched, they proceeded to harass her with their teeth from different sides, ripping her flesh and taking her energy away, until finally she collapsed from her wounds, at which point my mate went in and ripped her throat open. I then came close as he was ripping her abdomen open and was given the chance to grab some meat from her front leg, which I happily began to devour in the snow. The rest of the pack took their turns eating, and I fell out of the trance for a few minutes. When I returned for a short while to the trance, I was finishing eating, and I went to my mate and laid down against him, my head on top of his neck, and we nuzzled and cuddled a bit until the trance ended. It was all so powerful I had to fight to keep from crying physically. I haven’t seen my mate lately – I have to admit that I haven’t journeyed with my pack much at all during the last year for various reasons – and feeling him rubbing against me tenderly brought a great and deep longing to my soul.

The last half-hour of the presentation was complete hell for me, a total nightmare. I was fighting everything I could to not stand on my chair and scream at Julian to shut up, or to run madly out of the room. Actually, that latter option might have been a good idea. At the end, Master noticed that I was totally withdrawn, curled up into a ball of agony in my chair, and he asked for an explanation outside. And I gave it to him in the car.

And he asked me why I didn’t request permission to leave to the lobby. “As I’ve told you before, I don’t want you to be tortured by anything or anybody -- expect by me,” he said.

And I told him it was the way I was raised. By my parents in boring church services. By my teachers in boring school classes. As a journalist covering boring city council meetings. By my ex whenever we’d visit his relatives at boring holiday get-togethers. By my employers at incredibly dull corporate meetings. I was always taught it was rude to leave those things in the middle. It was disrespectful to the speaker. It was disruptive to the rest of the audience. It was just something that wasn’t done, and instead you were supposed to sit down and shut up. It didn’t matter whether I could hear what the speaker was saying or was in mental agony. I just had to take it. Always.

Hell. I’m crying now. All those years of anguish for me are coming back all at once. I couldn’t hear. I couldn’t focus because of my attention-deficit disorder. It’s hard to explain to somebody who doesn’t understand.

And I was crying as I told this to Master in his car. I curled up, holding my knees, and told him. And I told him how much I had been shaken by the domme hitting me.

And without further discussion Master started up the car and announced he was driving home. He said he believed that I wasn’t okay enough to go to the dinner or the evening’s class (which was about sadomasochism on the parts of the body from the knees down, particularly the feet).

I tried to convince Master to go to the party, as I could see he was clearly upset, but he said he didn’t have the mental energy to attend a dinner where he would have to worry whether I would be having a breakdown.

And so, with me withdrawn silently most of the way, we went home.

When we got there, he told me he had been embarrassed by the fact I hadn’t accepted the domme’s apology, and he was rather annoyed at me. It took awhile, but I explained to Master that the way I was raised, you didn’t accept an apology just because somebody offered you one. If somebody hurt you, and you were still hurt, they might tell you that they felt bad that they hurt you, but that didn’t get them off the hook in any way, and you were not obligated to accept their apology. I was taught as a kid to take responsibility for my actions, and that “saying sorry will get you nowhere” if you do something careless or irresponsible that got somebody else in trouble. Which is exactly what that domme did to me. Master, however, told me he was taught different, and he expects me to accept apologies from now on, even if I’m still upset or emotionally hurt by what happened. Well, I’m the slave, and I follow Master’s rules, so I’ll do it.

I also had to explain to Master why I was so withdrawn and miserable at the end of the presentation, and he eventually understood what I was going through and why I didn’t leave (although he said he still needs to read up on Asperger’s, although that was only a small piece of why I was in such mental pain. Or maybe it was the primary reason I was. To be honest, I’m not really sure what’s going in my head in that respect, but I do know that being incredibly bored has put me through what feels like intense mental pain all my life – so much that I find waiting in long lines to be almost excruciating, and I avoid them like the plague. Ironically, last night I had a book with me in my purse which I could have happily read in the lobby – that is, if I had the mental state to have known Master wouldn’t have minded me asking him if I could go to the lobby. And, yes, I was actually afraid to ask Master if I could do that. I’ve gotten the impression from Master’s responses to some of my questions at times that he doesn’t like me bothering him by asking things that he thinks I should already know, and because of the way I was trained all my life, I almost instinctually assumed that Master would be annoyed at me for asking if I could wait in the lobby.)

Last night on the way home I was a bit afraid again that Master would finally decide I just wasn’t right for him, and that he would tell me to start looking for a new home. I felt that way despite the fact that during the presentation that very night, Master had turned to me and told me he still is very happy with me as his slave. I’m both deadly scared of being thrown out and expecting it to happen, despite my best efforts. Yeah. I’m pretty fucked up in the head in a few ways.

Once we got home, Master asked if I ever want to do anything at the Sanctuary with him in the public scene. He loves going to the Sanctuary, and he said he goes there to socialize for the most part, learn new things and occasionally take part in a low-key event. But he feels whenever we go there it always ends in me crying or me experiencing a big emotional release, and so I’m pretty much I’m taking the enjoyment out of it for him. And, to my surprise, he said he believed that I don’t enjoy high protocol. Add to that the fact that I don’t enjoy pain (I’m not a “lifestyle masochist”), and he said he really doesn’t know what appeal the Sanctuary might have for me.

I responded that I do like going there – actually, being there with him is usually one of the high points of each week for me, and I’m almost always disappointed when he plans to go and then changes his mind and stays home. The big problem there for me, I said, is because the atmosphere is so wild and chaotic, with people all over the place talking and bumping into each other and hitting each other and screaming in pain. It’s exciting but, for me, very overwhelming at times (which is definitely a symptom of Asperger’s). And when I get overwhelmed, my mental shields drop, and I express the torrent of emotions that are churning underneath. And I do have a lot of emotions churning, that’s for sure – I have an unusual hormonal state, and despite being a middle-aged woman, emotionally I’m very much like a post-pubescent teenage girl. (Master and I actually discussed that the other day, and we joked about doing “age play” – but we laughed and decided against it when we realized that would mean me coming home wearing a ratty t-shirt, listening to heavy metal music, having a boyfriend in a rock band and getting pregnant before graduating high school. Well, okay, maybe not. *chuckles*)

Anyway, regarding being overstimulated, it’s not just the Sanctuary where it happens. I get that way at amusement parks and shopping malls and everywhere that things are going on left and right with loud noises and bright lights. My kids are exactly the same way, which their psychiatrist says is a clue regarding exactly what I’ve got and what they’ve got, and hopefully will point toward finding the right medicine for all of us. With me, I’ve pretty much found the right medicine – it’s not perfect, but it helps tremendously. If you had seen me a year ago before I was on the current dosage, you would realize what I mean. My ex tells my kids’ psychiatrist that I’m a completely different person now, and that’s resulted in my son being put on a new medicine that has helped him to control himself tremendously. Now if we can figure out the right dosage for our daughter, a modicum of calmness might actually be able to descend on my ex’s household at times.

On that issue, Master and I came to a conclusion, and he told me he didn’t mind at all if I left him alone when we’re at the club and that I should go off to a place of solitude when I start getting agitated. The car would be a great place if it wasn’t too cold, we decided, and if not, he thinks the owner of the Sanctuary might have a quiet place somewhere I could go and, hopefully, meditate or read a book or listen to music, all of which have helped me dramatically in the past to calm myself down in tense situations. (At the airport as we were waiting to fly to Phoenix recently, for example, I was extremely glad I had packed my mp3 player at the last minute, because being able to walk around the empty concourses listening to the good tunes filled me with a warm relaxation).

Regarding activities at the Sanctuary, I told Master that I actually do like doing things there, and I was surprised he hadn’t realized that. I told him that, as he knows, I’m an exhibitionist, and I would love to be stripped naked, tied to a cross and experience intense electrical play as he runs a violet wand across my exposed flesh. (Master, by the way, loves violet wands, which is a device that uses glass tubes and metal contacts and creates intense electric shocks for therapy and kinky fun. He’s considered an expert in them, but for some reason he’s never used his equipment on me … yet.) He also knows I would love to be tied up there and left bound and gagged in public. I told him I would love to be flogged there and to use it to enter a trance state – to which he responded that he couldn’t ever find spiritual enlightenment while engaged in public activities in the club, but I smiled and told him that I can pretty much enter a shamanic trance anywhere, and I have (About four years ago, for example, I entered a powerful pre-ritual trance in, of all places, a McDonalds’ indoor playground. I was actually able to transform the sound of children playing into a rhythm in my head that carried me beyond normal reality. Granted, that’s not something normal for me, but a particular spirit … Dragon … wanted to talk to me and chose that avenue of doing it). And as for high protocol, I told Master that I do, indeed, love it. I had told him last month I was sick of it because two draining high-protocol events had been scheduled one night after another, and I wanted to get back to normal service afterward.

Although Master said he agrees that the scheduling of the high-protocol events wasn’t the best, and they should have been spread out, he otherwise didn’t respond much to what I said about the things I might enjoy at the club.

And when I told him that I enjoy going to the club because he enjoys going to the club and I enjoy being his companion, he told me he doesn’t want to do things with me that I’m just “enduring”. He said when we do things together like that, he wants to know that I’m enjoying them, too. In response, I told that enduring things for one’s Master is what a slave does – and that the other slaves I know in the area all tell me the same thing – that giving of themselves to please their Master is what slavery is about, and that definitely includes enduring things purely for their Master’s enjoyment. (I was rather confused that Master didn’t realize and automatically expect me as a slave to be like that, but we were both tired by that point after a long and draining conversation, and so maybe I misunderstood his meaning.)

The conversation moved to me crying again because of us missing the dinner with the other Masters and slaves, and I told Master through my sobs that I wanted to go so much because the dinner was planned to be explicitly low protocol, and finally I might get to really know the other Masters and slaves in a setting that promoted casual conversation. Master said that he was, indeed, very disappointed we missed the party, but there will be other dinners. And, he said, I wouldn’t likely have been able to talk casually at last night’s event because, even though it was low protocol, there still would have been some protocol – and as a result, in comparison with other low-protocol events, the Masters would have likely maintained control of the conversations, and if something I wanted to talk about didn’t interest them, then I wouldn’t have been able to bring it up or would have been quickly dismissed. Such is the life of a slave.

*sighs* I feel Master’s missed so much he was looking forward to this weekend, all because of me, but I wonder how much of yesterday could have been avoided, or how much was something we needed to get through as a Master/slave couple.

Master wound up missing the class on “BDSM From the Knees Down” last night, and he decided not to attend today’s class by Julian on roleplaying. I have to admit, I was really looking forward to the roleplaying class but, after yesterday’s fiasco, I wonder if it would have been worth attending for me. Although I get a lot from some classes at the Sanctuary, other ones leave me telling Master I didn’t understand a word being said – and Master and I realized last night that it’s the classes held in the Sanctuary’s dungeon that are incomprehensible to my hearing. With that in mind, we’ll use that in the future to decide which classes I might plan to attend – and we used that to decide I wouldn’t get anything out of today’s class, despite a topic I’m extremely interested in.

Well, after everything calmed down and we worked everything out (for the most part), we ended the evening by getting Popeye’s chicken and watching the Batman: The Dark Knight movie together (which Master loved but I didn’t really like, to be honest – I thought the Batman with Cat Woman and the Penguin was a lot better. *grins*)

Looking back on yesterday’s events, I’m still tense from it all, and so is Master, clearly. Yesterday really ripped me inside emotionally in a lot of ways, and I went to bed sobbing while tightly hugging my stuffed wolf and stuffed horse. I don’t even know what I was crying about, but I needed release, deeply, and I only found it by going to sleep finally.

Today, I’m still a bit weak mentally and depressed, judging by the fact I’m still a bit on the edge of tears. I think things will be better as a result of this weekend, however. Somehow, better, in ways I can’t even imagine yet.

Actually, I’m sure of it. It was a hell of a weekend. It was, truth be told, a hell of a month, and I’m very glad January is over.

The final thing is, though, that I know I love Master. And I know this is the life I want to live.

The pain is worth it, without a doubt, for me, so that I can become the slave Master wants me to be.

My prayer is that Master continues to find it worth it to him as well, and that he always wants me as a slave as much as I want him as my Owner.

La kajira.

p.s. Yeah, I promised I’d talk about my experiences at the Southwest Leather Conferences in this post. Such is life. You’ll get a full report next time, though. *smiles gently*

Day 176 -- Rowlf. *cocks her head tiredly*

Mmm … tired. I just got through hiking across open fields for about an hour. Tonight is the largest and brightest full moon of the year (it changes because of the way the moon orbits around the Earth). According to an article on yahoo.com, it’s also the year’s “Wolf” moon, apparently called that by some unreferenced generic Native American tribe.

Whatever the case, I was inspired to go out for a walk underneath it, despite the sub-freezing temperature, and I headed for my favorite place to go for a night-time stroll – a huge leashless dog park in Jefferson County, Colorado. A few years ago, before my divorce and while I was in between jobs, I used to go out several nights a week with our black Labrador named Stella. She’d chase rabbits in the moonlight while I walked along, and we traveled many a mile together in that park’s miles of trails. I love the snow – I’ve often felt as if I’ve been an arctic wolf in a past life – and I think the best time ever I went out in those fields with Stella was in the middle of a blizzard under a post-midnight full moon. I was in heaven.

As we continued to come back regularly, the local coyotes got to where they’d sometimes trot alongside us curiously, more than once scaring Stella and me half to death by setting off a silence-shattering howl just a few dozen feet from us. Not that coyotes are scary per se, but when you’re out in the middle of nowhere at midnight and suddenly the yelp of a coyote sounds practically right under your ear, it tends to shake you up a bit. *chuckles*

Those months walking at night with Stella are among the most treasured memories of my life, and tonight I returned to them briefly. The unfortunate thing was that I didn’t think about wanting to go for the hike until my ex was asleep, and even though I called, there was no answer, so I couldn’t get Stella for the trip and I had to go by myself. There was at first eeriness to being out there all alone, but before I knew it everything seemed perfectly natural. I felt at home, deeply and indescribably. If I could have been transformed into a coyote bitch and stayed out there like that the rest of my life, I would have been perfectly happy. Okay, I would have missed my children and Master, and I know they need me – especially my kids. But other than that, the decision would have been an easy one.

Tonight I yipped like a coyote after reaching a particular pond on the site, hoping to get a response, but I was only met with the still night air. As I walked along, I soon began to feel less like a human and more like a wolf doing nightly patrols of her territory. Toward the end of the journey, I crested a hill and, after surveying the scenery around me, let off a series of long, deep, mournful wolf howls, as if to let all canines in the area know I was laying claim to that land. It took me awhile to shake off the feeling and return to being fully human. I still haven’t gotten over it entirely.

My shifting into being a wolf mentally has been happening more strongly and more frequently lately. Something’s changing in me spiritually, which I feel is definitely a good thing. I feel like I’m going back to the way I used to be when I was very intimately in touch with my spirit guides and with my spiritual connection to the non-human world around me.

Gaah. I feel practically drunk. I can hardly write. That hike really affected me. And I’m not talking about the physical exertion. I don’t feel human. My hands don’t feel like hands. They feel like paws. Words are starting to make no sense. I’m feeling my tail and my muzzle. I’m shifting.

I’m a wolf.

Bed now.

Rowlf.