Holidaying in a foreign country gave my husband and I the opportunity to immerse ourselves in a bubble of bliss. We very quickly and painlessly established a comfortable dynamic whereby he instigated a plan and I followed along with that plan.
The decision to go to Japan was a joint decision. I asked if he might like an adventure, to explore Japan, and he quickly indicated he would like that. We discussed parts of Japan we'd like to get to know better and then I made the arrangements. Once there, he did the reading about that locale and determined where we would go and what we would do. This enabled me to have the experience of being led through the day and I thrived on this arrangement.
There were three small experiences where this arrangement was put to the test and the rules laid down emphatically. In the first experience we were at a Buddhist garden just outside the Bamboo Forest of Kyoto when I lost track of my husband. He was there one minute and gone the next. In a 'bimbo' mindset practically all the time on this holiday - a huge blast for me - I got it into my head that he had popped into the toilet that was close by, so I did too, only to find on emerging that he still wasn't visible. I moved on in an effort to catch up, which, of course, was the mistake. In fact, the garden was bigger than I anticipated and instead of making my way back to the Entry gate where I thought he'd go, I found myself at the Exit gate. I then decided to make my way around the garden again until I reached the point where we had started but time was going by and anxiety was building.
I spotted him by the big pond eventually, exactly where I had lost sight of him, and seeing that he was mad with me, made the next mistake of trying to explain what I was trying to achieve, instead of expressing my apology for the whole episode. I was meant to stay close, and if lost, to stay still. Very simple.
I did express my regret, of course, but not fast enough or with adequate expression of a sense of sorrow at the disruption to the day. A 'telling off' ensued. After several minutes where he chose to walk faster than me, me tagging along at a suitable distance, I asked if I could hold his hand.
'Not yet,' he said.
More expressions of regret were made on my part. We reached another place he had planned to visit. The Japanese lady came and got us when we began to embark on a tour of the garden without having our tea first (rules are rules in the Japanese mindset), and it was over tea that the ice was broken such that when I pointed out a beautiful book of the garden, he bought it for me.
The experience of losing sight of him, and his upset about it all, had me keeping extra close to him from there on. I stuck like glue to him in fact until at least a week later when I lost sight of him at 'The Great Buddha' in Nara. There was a relatively light crowd when we arrived and we were hanging out at the entrance, entranced at the scale of the statue. I walked three steps towards an example of the gold etching on the statue, when a mob of people on various tours arrived together. My husband walked straight past me without realizing it and for a good ten minutes I stood at that spot awaiting his return.
I wasn't concerned about being in trouble. I was just concerned full stop. My commonsense told me that we'd meet up in just a minute or two, but I could feel my body's response at the anxiety of being separated and all I wanted was his presence. When he returned to me, he was only mildly cross, but somehow over the course of the holiday I'd become deeply attached to him and didn't like at all that something could have happened to him.
In the third experience, we had just exited a subway car in downtown Tokyo when he said to me, 'I had to turn around to make sure you had followed me off the train'. I replied, 'I'm watching you and you're watching me'. It prompted him to say, 'If that had happened and you were still on the train, I'd make my way back to the hotel and wait for you.' I nodded, but something about my response registered a query in his mind.
'You've got money, right?'
'Not a note. Not a coin,' I replied.
'You mean, you haven't ever had money on the trip?'
'Nope'
'But, why didn't you ask for money?'
'Because I didn't want money. I've loved not having money.'
He looked at me, as if the reality of his wife's mindset had quite suddenly fully registered in his brain.
'You really do want an Owner, don't you? You really want me to make the decisions.'
'I do.'
He wanted to know if I had touched a note at all.
'Do you remember when I asked if I may have the notebook at the monk's stall in Koyasan, and if he could write the message of the Healing Buddha in it? The note book was 1400 yen and the message 400 yen, and you handed me a 2000 yen note to buy it? Well, that was the one time I handled a note and I remember the feeling in my hand, this note of currency, this real world, big girl note. But, as I handed it over and told the monk what I wanted, I felt very small indeed, more like a very little girl. He put in my hand a 200 yen coin as my change, and I handed it back to you. Do you remember?'
'I do remember. I remember thinking it an odd thing to do. I remember wondering why you didn't put the coin in your purse.'
'Because I didn't want one single coin in my purse. I wanted to stay in my bubble of bliss, completely reliant on you.'
The next day we visited Roppongi Hills, nowadays an upmarket part of Tokyo where the smart set hang out and purchase exquisite goods.
'Is there something that cindi would like? (He always called me 'cindi' on this holiday and I so appreciated that.) cindi should point it out to Owner if she sees something...perhaps a cocktail ring, or something else?'
But, honestly, I had what I wanted. The opportunity to melt into this dynamic with him was all I wanted, save for a few inexpensive souvenirs of these wonderful three weeks together; a little bowl or plate here and there was more than enough for cindi.
Often, he'd consult me on a purchase, but my response was nearly always the same, 'It is up to you.' One time he said to me, 'You can have input. If you don't tell me what you are thinking, then you have to accept my decision.' I took the point, but the overarching point was that 'bimbo' was more than happy to accept his decisions. This is when bimbo is the most present and the most content, being her (it) self.
We're home now. We talked about keeping the happiness going, but he quite rightly pointed out that reality was likely to pull us back into the real world of business and endeavor at times. Perhaps, I suggested, we could go together to see a film on 'cheap ass Tuesdays', to keep the pleasure of life flowing. He agreed, we could.
I find myself asking what procedure could be put into place whereby this sense of being led might continue in my life. I can honestly say I get little pleasure in a purchase made unilaterally for myself. Should I, perhaps, engage him in conversation about a possible purchase, or show him the purchase with the tags attached, to ensure he likes what I have bought myself?
I'm incredibly happy and content and I just hope it can last. My true nature has been able to be expressed for a goodly amount of time and the last thing I want is to lose the wonderful gains we have achieved on a holiday I will never forget.
The decision to go to Japan was a joint decision. I asked if he might like an adventure, to explore Japan, and he quickly indicated he would like that. We discussed parts of Japan we'd like to get to know better and then I made the arrangements. Once there, he did the reading about that locale and determined where we would go and what we would do. This enabled me to have the experience of being led through the day and I thrived on this arrangement.
There were three small experiences where this arrangement was put to the test and the rules laid down emphatically. In the first experience we were at a Buddhist garden just outside the Bamboo Forest of Kyoto when I lost track of my husband. He was there one minute and gone the next. In a 'bimbo' mindset practically all the time on this holiday - a huge blast for me - I got it into my head that he had popped into the toilet that was close by, so I did too, only to find on emerging that he still wasn't visible. I moved on in an effort to catch up, which, of course, was the mistake. In fact, the garden was bigger than I anticipated and instead of making my way back to the Entry gate where I thought he'd go, I found myself at the Exit gate. I then decided to make my way around the garden again until I reached the point where we had started but time was going by and anxiety was building.
I spotted him by the big pond eventually, exactly where I had lost sight of him, and seeing that he was mad with me, made the next mistake of trying to explain what I was trying to achieve, instead of expressing my apology for the whole episode. I was meant to stay close, and if lost, to stay still. Very simple.
I did express my regret, of course, but not fast enough or with adequate expression of a sense of sorrow at the disruption to the day. A 'telling off' ensued. After several minutes where he chose to walk faster than me, me tagging along at a suitable distance, I asked if I could hold his hand.
'Not yet,' he said.
More expressions of regret were made on my part. We reached another place he had planned to visit. The Japanese lady came and got us when we began to embark on a tour of the garden without having our tea first (rules are rules in the Japanese mindset), and it was over tea that the ice was broken such that when I pointed out a beautiful book of the garden, he bought it for me.
The experience of losing sight of him, and his upset about it all, had me keeping extra close to him from there on. I stuck like glue to him in fact until at least a week later when I lost sight of him at 'The Great Buddha' in Nara. There was a relatively light crowd when we arrived and we were hanging out at the entrance, entranced at the scale of the statue. I walked three steps towards an example of the gold etching on the statue, when a mob of people on various tours arrived together. My husband walked straight past me without realizing it and for a good ten minutes I stood at that spot awaiting his return.
I wasn't concerned about being in trouble. I was just concerned full stop. My commonsense told me that we'd meet up in just a minute or two, but I could feel my body's response at the anxiety of being separated and all I wanted was his presence. When he returned to me, he was only mildly cross, but somehow over the course of the holiday I'd become deeply attached to him and didn't like at all that something could have happened to him.
In the third experience, we had just exited a subway car in downtown Tokyo when he said to me, 'I had to turn around to make sure you had followed me off the train'. I replied, 'I'm watching you and you're watching me'. It prompted him to say, 'If that had happened and you were still on the train, I'd make my way back to the hotel and wait for you.' I nodded, but something about my response registered a query in his mind.
'You've got money, right?'
'Not a note. Not a coin,' I replied.
'You mean, you haven't ever had money on the trip?'
'Nope'
'But, why didn't you ask for money?'
'Because I didn't want money. I've loved not having money.'
He looked at me, as if the reality of his wife's mindset had quite suddenly fully registered in his brain.
'You really do want an Owner, don't you? You really want me to make the decisions.'
'I do.'
He wanted to know if I had touched a note at all.
'Do you remember when I asked if I may have the notebook at the monk's stall in Koyasan, and if he could write the message of the Healing Buddha in it? The note book was 1400 yen and the message 400 yen, and you handed me a 2000 yen note to buy it? Well, that was the one time I handled a note and I remember the feeling in my hand, this note of currency, this real world, big girl note. But, as I handed it over and told the monk what I wanted, I felt very small indeed, more like a very little girl. He put in my hand a 200 yen coin as my change, and I handed it back to you. Do you remember?'
'I do remember. I remember thinking it an odd thing to do. I remember wondering why you didn't put the coin in your purse.'
'Because I didn't want one single coin in my purse. I wanted to stay in my bubble of bliss, completely reliant on you.'
The next day we visited Roppongi Hills, nowadays an upmarket part of Tokyo where the smart set hang out and purchase exquisite goods.
'Is there something that cindi would like? (He always called me 'cindi' on this holiday and I so appreciated that.) cindi should point it out to Owner if she sees something...perhaps a cocktail ring, or something else?'
But, honestly, I had what I wanted. The opportunity to melt into this dynamic with him was all I wanted, save for a few inexpensive souvenirs of these wonderful three weeks together; a little bowl or plate here and there was more than enough for cindi.
Often, he'd consult me on a purchase, but my response was nearly always the same, 'It is up to you.' One time he said to me, 'You can have input. If you don't tell me what you are thinking, then you have to accept my decision.' I took the point, but the overarching point was that 'bimbo' was more than happy to accept his decisions. This is when bimbo is the most present and the most content, being her (it) self.
We're home now. We talked about keeping the happiness going, but he quite rightly pointed out that reality was likely to pull us back into the real world of business and endeavor at times. Perhaps, I suggested, we could go together to see a film on 'cheap ass Tuesdays', to keep the pleasure of life flowing. He agreed, we could.
I find myself asking what procedure could be put into place whereby this sense of being led might continue in my life. I can honestly say I get little pleasure in a purchase made unilaterally for myself. Should I, perhaps, engage him in conversation about a possible purchase, or show him the purchase with the tags attached, to ensure he likes what I have bought myself?
I'm incredibly happy and content and I just hope it can last. My true nature has been able to be expressed for a goodly amount of time and the last thing I want is to lose the wonderful gains we have achieved on a holiday I will never forget.
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