Receiving and giving love

My experience at the meditation retreat was profound and I've found myself wanting to build on it. I've been quietly mining that experience looking for personal answers, sometimes patiently allowing clarity to rise up and sometimes trying to force revelations by focusing in on them.

In effect the meditation retreat was a sort of  'running away' experience. To put it another way, I was doing a 'geographical'. As my 60th year of life approached, my 60th birthday stood out to me as one day I wanted to completely avoid. When I looked at the dates of the retreat and discovered the final day was the day I turned 60, the deal was sealed. I filled in my registration and sent off my deposit.
I was to be travelling to the retreat with a friend and I mentioned to her the fact that I would be turning 60 on the final day.  She tucked it behind her ear.

The first sleep of my 60th year was not a good one. I woke at 3 am restless and it came into my consciousness that the day had arrived. I managed to get back to sleep but a half hour or so before the morning gong sounded alerting us to the fact that we had to get ready for the morning meditation I woke from a dreadful nightmare. It was a traumatic and confusing dream wherein there was some psychotic man running about causing havoc whilst at the same time I was somehow looking after a young child (who happened to have abilities beyond its age) and trying to keep it safe. Somehow, in all the mayhem and chaos the man was causing I lost the child.

It was at this moment I woke up. I lay there, tired, and bit by bit the details of the nightmare came back to me. It sunk in that I had lost a child for which I was responsible. It was then that I began to cry; soft, woeful, tragic tears for a child that didn't exist. It wasn't the greatest start to the day but I became conscious of birds singing outside my bedroom window and it brought me back to the physical moment. I got up and showered and dressed and made myself pretty. That's a defence you know; a defence against any slings and arrows of the emotional kind that might come my way on this day I'd rather pretend wasn't happening.

There was a knock on my door and when I opened it there was my friend holding a paper plate on which sat  a large golden kiwifruit and a skewer through it with little white tags attached to it with messages written on the tags wishing me a happy birthday. The darling girl had improvised. Without a candle or a cake she'd used what she had. We were supposed to be in silence, but I giggled. She'd made me so happy. I wasn't sure about golden kiwifruit at the time; had been ignoring them, but she insisted I eat it right there and then and I quickly discovered the golden kiwifruit are absolutely delicious. I buy them now all the time. (They are great for preventing bowel cancer by the way.)

The morning meditation was lovely but  at the conclusion of it my friend who led the final morning meditation couldn't resist informing the group that I had just turned 60. They all gave me silent hugs, a little hand gesture we learned earlier in the week. I took in the love. It wasn't easy - I was shy -  but I took it in. I was learning. I was growing. I was healing. At breakfast people silently came up to me and hugged me and it effected me deeply that these people who were strangers to me a few days ago and I were now quite closely connected. It was more lovely than I can say to be in silence but to take in love.

It was a very profound final morning, for all of us. We all spoke and it was clear we were all moved by the experiences of the week. I never have, and I may never again, be in such a stirring experience. We had shared vulnerability and loss together and in the bearing of those sadnesses, we'd bonded as a group.

Our final meal together before the bus would wisk me away to the airport, so that I'd be home to my family for the evening, was lunch. I was finishing off a plate of salad when I saw from the corner of my left eye a woman carrying a huge cake with candles approaching me. Everyone was suddenly huddled around me singing me 'Happy Birthday'. It was such a shock, so unexpected, that when they stopped singing I simply couldn't find words. They smiled and giggled a little. 'Thank you everyone,' I finally managed, 'from the bottom of my heart. I will remember this moment for a very long time.' And, I certainly will.

The bus carried me away shortly thereafter with a group of lovely girls, and I was fine. Happy. At the airport, alone, I checked my phone to discover these amazing messages from my children, how I was the best thing since sliced bread yadda yadda, and that's when I completely fell apart. The emotions of the week but particularly the day had toppled me over. I sat and cried. My makeup dissolved. No-one approached me, probably too frightened at watching a woman emotionally collapse before their eyes. I put  myself together in the bathroom such that the kind gentleman that sat beside me in the plane back to Australia thought, hopefully, that I was relatively normal.

I could go on and on but let's get to the moral of the story. The most important lesson of the retreat for me was that I have trouble receiving love. Although I hold a great deal of love in my heart and express it in all sorts of ways to others, I am, I think, so frightened of not receiving love back and wondering if I'll survive that, that I shield myself from love.

On my 60th birthday I let love in. I let people love me and it felt great.

There's a theory that I'm still trying to digest that says that people like me who have trouble letting people love them are attracted to people who have the same difficulty, and that they are attracted to you. The dance gets going and never stops until or if somehow the cycle is broken.

The experts on this stuff say that healing starts when you can love yourself, embrace yourself - no longer giving without receiving, or receiving without giving.

First comes the awareness; second the putting into practice.

Abeyance

I have always had the desire with this web journal to be entirely honest. If I want to write fiction I can write myself a story. Here, what I write is what I feel, experience and live. This code of mine is not always a popular choice, I suspect, because when things aren't in 'tip top' shape in my life that may not make for great reading for the people that choose to read here. However, this is not a popularity contest and the reason why I write here is most often to express myself in a way that I can't do anywhere else.

Yet, I feel a need to apologize on occasion for the content of the journal. I'm aware it has a readership and that my woes aren't really what you come here to read. On the other hand, Rollymo made the comment not so long ago that he feels that the attraction for him was that I suffer, somewhat. Anyways, you can't please them all all the time, as they say, and I don't even pretend to try.

It has reached a point where I feel obliged to apologize somewhat for the change of direction in the writing. I extended the subject matter some time ago to include not just D/s and power exchange matters but also living well and with peace and calm. I did that because it evolved that the full power exchange arrangement I was attempting to live went that way.

It was and is, in my mind, very much about satisfying and deeply connecting sex. However, through the course of my online mentoring, issues related to finding peace and living calmly and with purpose came up as part and parcel of living more like a 'doll'. I embraced those notions and extended them to include practices that I find very comforting and sustaining on a daily basis.

Pilates, yoga, meditation, mindfulness, breathing through anxiety, finding my own peace, being still and silent are all practices and remedies I use routinely to help me function well. I still take a good deal of care about my appearance and I still very much prefer to wear a dress or a skirt. I still tend to my acrylic nails every two weeks. I try hard to mind my words and my manners. All of this is in place and fulfills and comforts me.

Life with my husband is, regrettably, at this juncture, not all that I would wish it to be. I've not shied away from writing that I asked him to spank me and later, to enter into a full D/s relationship. It wasn't his idea and he would never have brought this to the table.

Sure, he has always wanted to do things his way. He's quite conservative and even old-fashioned, born in an era when women did the inside work and men did the outside work; when men looked after the finances and women looked after the children. More than that, he has some personality characteristics that make it important for him to have things done in his own inimitable style and according to his own personally defined sense of things being done properly and perfectly.

However, dominating a woman physically wasn't something that he sought, desired or thought proper. This was my desire, my need, my desperate life time longing.

My husband needs to live his life in a way that works for him. He works for himself because that suits him best. He works both day and night because he has a strong tendency to define his life through his work. He is nocturnal. This means that although he put in a full day's work he also works through the night. Lately, this has intensified. He's working in overseas markets and he needs to be up at odd times.

Also, he has not been really well for quite some time and this ill health has intensified lately. His body has been in pain and wondering if it might be the lack of sleep that is making matters so much worse, I have quietly got up each morning and left him to sleep as long as he can. This means that we rarely are awake in the bed at the same time.

It is a woman's job to comfort her sick man. I know this intellectually and my heart tells me this is the right thing to do. However, a woman is intuitively restless when her man is unwell. Her 'provider' and 'protector' is not functioning and this makes her unsettled. This is a primal instinct. There isn't a great deal we can do about it. We can make the soup and say comforting things but inside we just aren't at all happy.

For me, it's one thing to not have those heady moments of feeling I have submitted to all sorts of dastardly deeds, it's quite another to not have intimacy, sex, in my life. Sex once a week has seemed lean to me. Sex once a month feels like a mini-death and I can't really get my head around celibacy at all. I'm just not cut out for this sort of life.

I'm not suggesting that I am in the position of some permanent demise. I anticipate there is a remedy to this ill-health, although I am not at all sure from where or when it will come. I'm surprised and saddened at the minimal efforts that have been made to provide some sustenance for me in any form. He could tie my wrists, or put a gag in my mouth at night; he could do little things requiring little effort or strain. Yet, he rarely has done so. He's almost completely withdrawn to his life of work. He's clearly in a lot of physical pain and emotional turmoil.

I asked him recently if he ever read my journal and he said that he wasn't aware that I was still writing here. That said it all, in my mind. His mind is so clearly filled with worry and distress and his body so full of pain that he hasn't got the ability to address our relationship at this time. Oh, we still have a cuddle on the couch. He still sometimes rubs my back in the wee hours of the night when he comes to bed. He had me wear an anal plug when we went to the Market a few days ago which was lovely. We are still the best of friends. We still talk and interact. We both hang in there. But, it isn't the same. It is a fraction of the relationship it was a few years ago.

I read about his condition. I have tried to get him to take a lack of sleep seriously. I have identified that he may be responding to tea and in the past few days he has had a lot less pain. I think we may be onto something here.

I am trying to stay positive. I get on my with life. I still have a household of people to care for. There's still a lot of cooking and caring going on. I meditate. I assure myself  that I have strength in reserve; that I have the tools I need to get through this period of my life. I do my academic study. I am mindful of dark thoughts and I know to challenge them and to move on. But, I am lonely. This is not something I can share with anyone but with myself (and you) in this journal.

I haven't much to report in the way of wonderful D/s experiences right now. There really isn't much reason to come here at all and I apologize about that. There have been much better days but this too shall pass.

Open for business

I had a security scare. There was the potential for my real identity to be revealed. If anyone remembers those times I bravely (and stupidly) said that it would not matter to me if my identity was revealed, I was wrong. The thought of people talking about me behind my back, aware of just about every thought that has passed through my head, put me into a state of shock and had me reacting with a defensiveness that made closing the blog to readers immediately essential.

I think the threat has passed. Nothing has happened to suggest that there is any real danger and so I want to open the blog to readers again, to peruse at their leisure.

I have had some really nasty, personal and quite vicious comments. According to anonymous sources, I have multiple personality disorder and as a 'doll' I can be thrown in the rubbish at my owner's whim, and so it goes...

I can't say that they didn't affect me. I made some regrettable decisions in reaction to these happenings. But, I'm over that now. I know who I am and I know what's right.

By sheer co-incidence I just realized that I opened this blog on March 2, 2009, exactly three years ago today! So, let's call this 'the second coming of Vesta' and see what comes of that.

I hope everyone is well.

Reading dreams

I managed to recall the happenings of a dream. The dream occurred two nights ago and when I woke I could remember it in some detail, which is very rare for me now. Alas, it wasn't a happy dream. I've been thinking about it on and off, trying to understand it.

It was a rather simple dream and probably happened within a few seconds. It was, fundamentally, an email, or maybe it was a long google chat message; one or the other.

It seems clear that I had done something to piss the man off. He was really angry with me. His language was intense and for him, it was verbose. (I had a sense of who the message was from although no evidence that I could point to in the dream.) This was a message of two or three long paragraphs making note of all my transgressions; all the ways that I had let him down.

I cannot remember everything he wrote; not even close because nowadays I really do need my reading glasses to read the screen comfortably and in the dream I was having trouble making out all the words. However, I do recall that he said something like, "Sure, this is a M/s relationship but you are incapable of obedience and time and time again you have let yourself down..." I recall that particularly because I never ever thought of myself as being in a M/s situation so I thought it pretty amazing that he said that.

Then, at the very end of the message he wrote something about the fact that he had had enough of me. And, when he said all that he wanted to say, he didn't say anything like, "Goodbye and good wishes". He said, "The end." I don't think you can get any more definite and final than those words and that is what he wrote.

The dream woke me instantly and I lay there thinking about what I had done. It took me quite some time before I could convince myself that I had received no such message. It all seemed so real and my sense of an 'out of body/confused experience seemed so real too.

I felt rejected; dejected; an abject failure and for a time I berated myself that I had behaved so badly as for this to be the outcome. Finally, I convinced myself the experience was nothing more than a dream conjured out of my own head.

I think the dream relates to a number of issues actually; a bunch of insecurities and little worries that my mind must have held onto and then decided it would expunge by dreaming them away. I won't bore you by going into all that here except to say that I felt myself torn by opposing thoughts.

In the same way as I wrestle with the value of being completely truthful versus the notion of keeping my own council and sorting out my issues myself so as not to bother the dominant, so I wrestle with the disparate ideas of forging a treasured relationship with the dominant versus the fear that to expose myself for all that I am - (the strengths and the weaknesses) is to expose myself to his ultimate judgement that I don't measure up. It can seem such a fine line between a truly special bond and a bond that is torn asunder and that can relate (in my subconscious mind) to the fact that I am not necessarily aware of my mistakes and thus they can occur randomly and spontaneously; almost out of the blue. The opportunities to not impress can seem infinite.

Of course, this all speaks to my fragility; something I try never to put on show (outside of these pages) and to my inner knowledge that I have so much to learn. Oddly, the dream has encouraged me to behave well and to do those things that allow me to take care of myself to the best of my ability, not so much because I believe I can expect such an angry message from anyone at all, but because the sheer possibility of it has me preparing for its outcome in order to contain the devastating impact.

Frederick and Agnes: The nightcap

Agnes followed where Frederick led her. She felt a little as if she were being led in a dance. Thinking of the dance and the music playing in her head, she began to hum. It was something she did instinctively and even without consciousness. Suddenly, he turned a corner into a darkish alley and she pulled on his arm and enquired where he was taking her. When he informed her that they were to have an after dinner drink, she was secretly delighted. It seemed such a grown up thing to do.

Frederick took Agnes by the wrist and they made their way through the bar, closely passing by people sitting at tables and on couches. She made note of the fact that several people spoke to Frederick and that once they had greeted him, their eyes went to her. She always felt self conscious when she was watched and particularly this evening. Agnes tried not to make contact with their eyes directly but it was clear that a few of the men were taking her in from head to foot. It reminded her of being at the zoo and being watched by a tiger. If Frederick were not there, she would be their prey. She drew closer to him for comfort and protection. She tried to ignore the potent smell of cigarette smoke in the air.

Frederick had her sit at a rather worn, red velvet couch but to her surprise and a little disappointment he sat down on a black leather chair at a 90 degree angle to her. It would have been so lovely to have him right by her side and be able to whisper comments about the patrons into his ear. Frederick ordered them both sifters of B & B. She had never had this before but was perfectly prepared to drink it, regardless of the taste. She would never think of letting on at her ignorance of such things. She wanted to appear as sophisticated as she could, especially here in this bar and in the presence of women whose style of dress seemed so chic in comparison to her simple clothing.

As Agnes looked around the bar, she took in so many things new to her. Whilst she was aware of her own innocence in such a bar, she was also revelling in the new experience and grateful for the opportunity. This was the sort of experience that she had hoped to have in Paris. Agnes observed the waitress come towards them again with their drinks and as well, she noticed Frederick watch the waitress’s breasts as she bent down to put the drinks on the low table.

It was not lost on her that Frederick was most likely one of those men her father had warned her about – one of the “lascivious men” he had said would take advantage of her. Frederick turned towards her at that instant and caught her watching him.

“Gretchen is an old friend.”

Agnes was momentarily wounded that Frederick must have had many women in his life. It was a pang of jealousy combined with a sense of insecurity that made her retort,

“She doesn’t look very old.”

Frederick ignored her comment and asked if she liked the bar. This gave her an opportunity to recover from her strange feeling and she responded that whilst she hadn’t been anywhere quite like this before, she liked it and was enjoying the music. He wanted to know where she went with her friends when she went out and she replied they met at local bistros and there they drank the local wine. She considered that even to her ears her response was one of a naive and sheltered girl.

Agnes watched as Gretchen returned and placed an elaborately carved wooden box on the tray and a glass appliance that looked something like a kerosene lamp. She had never seen this before but she immediately felt insecure about it. She turned to Frederick in the hope he would give her some sort of explanation and he answered, "Water pipe, hashish”. She asked him if he ordered it and seemed relieved when he said he had not and that he would have it removed.

By now, Agnes had taken several sips of her drink and having drunk the wine with her meal she was a beginning to feel slightly light headed and a bit sleepy. When Frederick began to ask her several questions about her dating habits, she answered them compliantly but she chose her words carefully. There were matters she did not wish to share with him. Her weekend dating habits were innocent enough in the main when she would join friends for a meal or a movie. She had nothing to hide on that account and she was happy to tell him about this.

If Frederick was at all like her father or her uncles, he would anticipate that Agnes was an innocent young woman who had yet to fully understand the appetites of men. He would never guess, and would be bothered, she suspected, if he knew that she had once had an encounter with a teacher at her school. She had a crush on Mr. Jacques, the drama teacher that had led to her going for a drive with him after school. In the woods just out of town he had kissed her, had her take his penis in her mouth and used his tongue to stimulate her pussy. He had not tried to fuck her.

This first sexual encounter with the handsome Mr. Jacques was a memory she held dear. She was disappointed when Mr. Jacques told her next day that they could not meet privately again. The images remained vividly in her mind. It was her secret and not for Frederick’s consumption; at least not yet. Although unworldly, she prided herself on being sensible and astute.

When Frederick said it was time to head for home, she was happy he had said so. She remained very quiet and followed along without comment.

Burdens

My children have a very different life to the one I had. My parents were occupied most of the time and their work ran over a seven day cycle for most of my childhood. I remember some lovely childhood holidays when we managed to relax as a family, but outside of holiday time, every day was a work day.

My natural inclination is to be quiet but as well, I learned early that I must entertain myself. My mother encouraged me to be an active person and I was an active person. I danced my spare time away and there was also the piano. I adored to read. I had good friends. I was happy.

When the children came along, I loved them with all my heart and soul and I wanted them to have my full attention. We did a great deal together. We still do. I think they feel they have a good mother. They made and wrote me a card for my birthday and their messages were full of praise and love. I think I've done a good job with them. They are four stunning human beings.

My husband, for his own reasons, grew up with a strong desire to succeed in life, and he has succeeded. There have been great highs in his career and some disappointments, too. It is his nature to care for us and give to us all that he can. In his efforts to do that, to ensure that the future is secure for us all, he works very hard. He's a very bright person and he chooses complicated ventures. He seems to be drawn to that which is intense and convoluted, perhaps because his mind needs to be challenged. He is, in fact, in a seven day cycle now, much as my parents were. Nearly every day is a work day for him.

I learned very early to occupy myself and I'm good at that. I have plenty of interests and things to do and I never allow myself to be bored. I am what is known as a 'doer'. But, it is more than that. Surrounded by busy people, the thought of being a burden to anyone is perhaps my greatest fear. I avoid it at all costs.

I've been thinking about this; this feeling of being a burden as it relates to the D/s dynamic. For a girl who worries about being a burden, the dominant must understand why she does what she does. He needs to understand why she withdraws if she senses that she is a burden to him. It is not necessarily a rational response and must confuse him, at times.

It's not at all easy for a girl to discuss this feeling. Even the discussion itself implies that she is burdensome, you see. But, if there are dominants out there who think that this might be the case with their girl, a discussion must be had to sort this out. I'm not a professional person and I cannot offer advice. All I can say is that she should be given regular dollops of your love and reminded that she is the light of your life at regular intervals. This should help. Good luck.

Pushing her edges

"Are you cursing me, little one? Be a good girl for me!"

It is the dominant man's job to push at the edges; to get the girl to do what she has some difficulty in doing. She's been used to dressing in a certain way and it is time to shake things up a bit. He wants her to think about her body in a different way. Not so much her body naked, accessible and available for use; rather, her body put into an outfit that makes her feel vulnerable; different.

She's a slut and she knows it. She loves being a slut and there aren't too many edges to push as far as that is concerned. But, he has a notion to dress her a bit like a slut and this challenges her more than she could have known. She wants so much to be a good girl and yet he has burrowed deep into every chink in her armour. So used to making the most of her assets, she is being asked to embrace the parts of her body that she does not appreciate at all. She is being asked not only to see herself in a different light but to think about herself in a different light, too. A writer needs, does she not, to put herself into the mindset of a girl other than herself?

Who is this little girl? She has created a persona for herself, as all girls do. She has dressed carefully to hide what she does not like about her body. She has chosen clothing that she enjoys wearing and that shows her in the best light. Her clothes say about her those parts of her personality she wishes people to see; no more.

Now, he asks her to peel away the top layers of her carefully honed persona and expose every last vulnerability. As if she were an actress in a movie playing a stranger, he asks her to dress unlike herself. He asks her to dress in a way where she cannot be herself. He asks her to reveal what she usually hides; her inner thoughts.

She begs him to reconsider. He won't relent. Why all the fuss? Is her body not exposed at the beach? The dress would allow her more protection than a swimming suit?

It's not the point and she knows that he knows that it is not the point. The dress he asks her to wear may have more material than a bathing suit but a bathing suit doesn't make her feel like this.

She wants to please. She wants to accept the challenge and defeat her insecurities. Yet, she can't do it. She returns the dress to the rack and leaves the store. She cannot bring herself to buy the silly dress. She curses his tactics, and smiles to herself at the same time. Of all the things to be looking for!

She wishes she were making the purchase for her daughter. Alas, he wishes to challenge her.

She has an idea and sends him photographs of stylish dresses; longer dresses. Does he not think they are lovely? Does he not think she would be able to feel a slut beneath such a sophisticated dress?

It is a last ditch effort.

He's a nice man. Surely, a nice man would see things her way.

Nice try!