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!
Showing posts with label shamanism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label shamanism. Show all posts
Monday, March 8, 2010
Sunday, January 31, 2010
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*
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*
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