Meditation

Fortunately, a short drive away from my house is a place where I may go, twice a week if I like, to be with other like minded people and meditate. Today, I meditated. My writing lately has been about being aware of the writing process, tapping into the mechanism of that, and I found that during the meditation I noticed everything about the process. This is my attempt to put it down in words.

I was the last person to enter the room and I immediately found a meditation cushion. It's round and higher than a regular cushion which means that I can kneel down with my knees in front and my legs to either side of the cushion for the entire hour. I quickly scanned the room looking to get a sense of the energy of the room and took in that they were all strangers, but kind looking people. I felt perfectly at home.

I moved my body slightly so that I was in direct line with the thick white candle glowing on the floor in the middle of the room. It sits in a wide, shallow glass container. The reason why I like to be in direct line is that even though my eyes are closed, I can sense the glow, and perhaps I might open my eyes ever so slightly during the meditation to look at the candle. My eyes were closed and my hands on my thighs even before we were invited to do so. I needed this quiet time with myself today.

For some time I simply luxuriated in being there, so still and quiet. I wasn't troubled, although my mind did go to a troubling thought several times. I breathed through the thought. I located quite easily the black "screen" in front of my closed eyes; the void.

I spoke to myself. "You are safe here."

I became aware of the hands resting on my thighs and registered them as belonging to me. I remembered the moment in yoga class late last night when we were given the instruction (lying on our backs) to bring our arms up over our heads several times. Each time fingers from one hand found the fingers of the other. I remembered how comforting that felt.

I felt an urgent desire for one of my hands to touch the other. I brought my hands together and placed my right thumb over my left thumb and let it sit there.

"I am here with you. There's no need to worry. I'm your friend and I'll be there for you."

One thumb comforted the other thumb. One thumb reminded the other that cindi was her own best friend; that she could rely on herself; always.

I was completely comfortable in this quiet place of rest and peace when warm air was blasted into the room (it's winter here now) and from where I sat I could feel the heat on my cheeks. Some random hairs on my head caressed my face. The sensation was that of the lightest touch of a person's fingers and I sat and radiated in that pleasure.

Perhaps it was this pleasure (I am not sure since the chronology of events is so difficult to reconstruct) that had my mind focused on my bimbo nature. I squeezed the muscles between my legs tight and was aware of my holes tightening. It was a fleeting thought that my holes are such an important part of me; that I crave for them to be filled and used. The thought surfaced that this truth is undeniable; that I like to sit on the cushion for reasons other than peace and calm; that the cushion arouses the holes; arouses the bimbo.

There came a time 30-40 minutes into the meditation wherein my mind determined to use the experience to heal. I've done this before, two years ago now almost to the day, with enormous benefit and I hoped for some visualization that might aid me.

I waited in the stillness and the void for something, anything, to occur. I breathed slowly in and out and focused on my breath. I was aware of flapping. I was a bird with big wings, so big that I couldn't get off the ground. Flapping, flapping away, I was going nowhere. The presence of someone was keeping me on the ground and I got the sense that I didn't want to leave because of him. I was frightened to fly on my own. It was as if I was glued to the earth and all the flapping in the world was doing nothing.

I waited. I didn't force it. I just remained hopeful that something good would happen. I began to lift off, and I was a little above the ground now but still in the one spot. I looked back at the man on the ground and he was still as well, simply watching the bird. I moved a little higher and now the man was more distant from me. I looked down on him. I looked toward the vast sky ahead of me. I looked back. Reluctant. Unsure. Perhaps I could turn around...go down.

He raised his hand. He was waving. I took a tentative look back at the vast horizon. I was gathering my courage. I was beginning to think I might be able to take this journey all on my own. I looked back at him and now he had both hands raised high, waving to me vigorously, encouraging me on; ensuring me that it was all right to go on.

Fly, bird. Fly. Fly. Away. You. will. be. all. right.

My wings were flapping fast. My mind was focused on the job at hand. I began to fly and as I gained momentum it started to feel freeing. It felt right and good to be soaring above the earth, to be flapping my wings and flying; to feel the wind at my back. As I flew further up and further away the clouds enveloped me and hid the speck of the man from me. He was entirely gone. I was alone. I was flying into the abyss. Onward. Upward. It was a new life. There was no going back. I flew on, aware that I could not retreat now from this journey. I was like a plane on a path towards a destination. Planes rarely turn back and I, too, would fly onwards. This was my destiny. There was no choice and I accepted my fate.

But, the price of this sort of visualization is that my closed eyes will form tears from the emotions experienced, whether they are good or bad, and now I waited for them to inevitably fall. I felt the tears race down my cheeks and I didn't check them for several minutes, until the chimes were rung (reminding people to bring their thoughts back into focus if they have strayed) and at this moment I raised my hand and wiped the left check with my left hand and the right cheek with my right hand.

In essence, the meditation was over for me, although there were at least ten minutes to go until it would be brought to a close. I opened my eyes a tiny crack to reveal shards of light formed from looking at the candle; Star Wars light sabre lines of light. I focused on them until my mind stilled again. I was now aware of my body; of some discomfort in my legs, of the weight of the places I'd been; of the upheaval of thought and the calming down of thought. I felt a little tired, a little hungry. I'm not sure what I thought after that except a willingness to stay deep down to the very end; not to give up.

Now, I heard the final chimes alerting us to the end of the meditation and as we stretched and returned our energies to our moving bodies I felt happy to be returned to good people in the room with me; to a sense of comradeship and good intention. Unusually, we even shared some laughter this day. No-one really wanted to leave, least of all me. But, I did leave and I did return to my life; rested, calmed; certain that I had the ability to face the challenges ahead of me.

(P.S. It was while I went searching for the photograph of a bird after writing this that it came to my consciousness that for the past week I have been unable to get a song out of my mind.

Blackbird singing in the dead of the night,
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free.

How extraordinary the mind is!)

Dracula and his victim

In  a power exchange there is the possibility for an infinite amount of control; an infinite amount of transformation. Once the trust is established and secured there is endless opportunity to explore the energy created from giving to another and taking from another.

An article I read recently about Dracula referred to "an uncanny collaboration between vampire and female victims" and those words spoke to me because it isn't true that one person takes and the other gives in some neat formula. The word "collaboration" is what is important here.

When I first read about submission I took umbrage at the word 'service'. I'd been serving my family's needs for quite some time on an hour by hour basis so I didn't feel that my innate desire to express my submissive nature related to wanting to serve. To the contrary, my inclinations were to receive: to receive love, attention, affection. I'm not adverse to being spoiled.

I think I missed an important factor in the power dynamic there. When you burrow deep down into a sense of comfort in the dynamic the desire to serve, to please, to impress and to make happy abounds. It is simply there. This desire compounds and grows as the dynamic shifts into a smooth running gear; when the resistance is very low and one's place well understood, accepted and enjoyed.

This sense of wanting to please the other opens pathways previously unconsidered. I want to show that pathway and yet it is so difficult to demonstrate the process on a web journal page. The '"victim" discovers, to her surprise, that what the "vampire" wants is what she wants as well but I can't express that in any other way, I strongly suspect, other than with dialogue. Only the dialogue can express the perfect synergy of the vampire and his victim; the mutual feeding taking place.

The connection between them is so great that the two minds merge. The "victim" is reliant on the energy of the vampire and gives of herself freely. The giving of herself is, in fact, more than a gift; a sacrifice. She gives happily; readily; consistently. She gets off on giving not because she is the good submissive (although hopefully she has become that too) but because his darkest urges and desires have become her darkest urges and desires.

This is to imply that "Dracula" is dark (bad) and the "female victim" the light (good) - that one entity has influence over the other and undue influence at that. I've not a doubt that "Dracula" has powers of persuasion difficult for the female victim to ignore or deflect. She is drawn to him; helplessly. Yet, I'm not convinced that hidden below the surface of the "victim" is the not the already present desire to be fed off; the desire to be made to do Dracula's bidding. Perhaps it is possible that "the victim" lured Dracula to do his worst.  What would the feminist readings of this story make of that, I wonder. 

Powers of persuasion

Even a girl with a most submissive nature sometimes needs convincing of the rightness of things, I believe. A dominant or top could direct a submissive to go and do something, and that would probably work. She is, on the whole, attuned to doing as the dominant directs. But, having her wholehearted enthusiasm for an idea of his is rather pleasing, too, I suspect.

There are many ways to skin a cat and sometimes it pays to seed a thought in the girl's mind. She doesn't need to be directed to do something, necessarily. The dominant or top could use his powers of persuasion to have the girl think that it is all her idea, for example. Should she say something like:

"I thought to go to the nail salon today, as you suggested."

He might reply,

"But, I haven't suggested you do anything."

Incredulous, she might respond,

"But, you did, many times."

Then, he might say,

"Not at all. I merely told you how wonderful n slutti nails are."

Confounded, the girl takes herself off to the nail salon. She gets acrylic nails, 'french style', square shaped. If she is going to do this at all, she is going to do it his way. He asks so many questions. It is better that way. She is delighted. She wonders why in the hell she waited all these years to do something this much fun! She looks at her new nails every chance she gets and she takes great delight in her new more feminine hands."

The next conversation is bound to go something like this:

"I got acrylic nails today. I love them. They are wonderful!!"

"Oh, so you decided to do that in the end, did you?"

"Yes. Thank you for suggesting it."

"But, I didn't suggest it at all. Still, I'm pleased that you decided to do this for yourself. You deserve to be pampered."

There was no directive. She remains confused as to whether it was, in fact, his idea or hers. Still, she has acrylic nails now and they are both very happy about it.

Mission accomplished.

The only tiny, teeny problem is that she is having a devil of a time tap, tap, tapping away at the keyboard making endless mistakes and thus this post must come to an end.

I did want to advise you kind folks however that I'll be taking a little vacation. I'll look forward to seeing you here again in around a week's time. Take care.

Acting genteely

As readers may note from the sidebar, where I list the blogs that I read, 'Marriage Bliss' is a blog that I follow, and have followed for some time. As a bystander, it seems to me that sometimes the readers of 'All Knowing Man' have been upset because he didn't subscribe to their way of thinking. Some people were expecting this and instead, they got that. It happens.

Personally, I don't feel right about mixing religion and relationship dynamics in together. If that works for you, great! But, when I talk about dominance and submission, I don't think religion at all. I think about people who might be happiest if they are in a power exchange relationship that is in line with their nature. I definitely don't think that power exchange relationships work for everyone. However, I do believe that a power exchange has a great deal going for it.

In my readings over at 'Marriage Bliss' considerable space has been given to the fact that a wife has the power to get what she wants without shouting, screaming, freaking out, or otherwise being nasty. In a power exchange relationship, a wife, who is cared for and deeply loved by her husband, has the opportunity to ask sweetly for that which she wants. She may not be granted her request, but if that is so, it is either because her husband is unable to grant the wish or that, at this time, he doesn't think it a wise decision to grant her wish, for whatever reason.

I do not wish to leave the impression that I have this skill nailed. There are times when my voice rises, when I nag rather than politely request, and when I don't accept the words, "No, I am sorry. We are not doing that right now." with grace. I am not a saint, an angel or in any way perfect.

However, I do see the logic and common sense in this train of thought, and I do feel that a woman has more chance of living in harmony with her man if she can nail this skill. Working on the basis that he would not deny that which his girl would want, if it is in his power to agree, or if he believes it in his girl's interest, then asking politely and accepting his decision seems fair.

In the case where his priorities are not those of his girl, and this does happen, the art of feminine persuasion is at the girl's disposal. There is more than one way to skin a cat, my friends. Let us not delude ourselves here!

You want him to want to come home to you, right? And you want his agreement on certain matters, too? Well then, be nice! Then, chances are higher that you both get your way!

The Headmaster wants to see you

“The headmaster wants to see you in his study."

You wish you could run away, but you know you cannot. He would find you and it would be much worse. With a grim determination, you walk down the corridors until you reach his big, wooden door.

You stand there, trying to find the courage to knock on the door. Eventually, you walk up to it, and knock lightly. There is no answer. You knock again, this time a little more loudly.

“Enter.”

You open the door.

“Yes, Williams, what is it?”

“You asked to see me, Sir?”

“Ah, yes, Williams! Come in, girl. Over here.”

He is pointing to the spot in front of his desk.

You close the door behind you and very quietly go to the spot and stand in front of him, seated at his big, old oak desk. You put your hands behind your back.

“Williams, I have been told that you are persistently making spelling errors in your writing.”

You consider this unfair. You love to write stories, and are much more concerned with ideas than with boring things like correct spelling.

“Yes Sir. I am sorry, Sir.”

“Well, you should be less sorry, girl, and more focussed on spelling correctly.”

“Yes Sir.”

“I am going to teach you, Williams, that spelling is very important and that spelling errors will not be tolerated.”

“Yes Sir.”

You see him walk over to his cupboard. You watch while he brings down a few of his favourite canes and selects one.

“Perhaps, when you are sitting on a well striped bottom, Williams, you will focus better on your spelling. We’ll see!”

You begin to panic. You are familiar with the cane he has chosen.

“But Sir...”

“Are you arguing with me, girl?

“No Sir.”

“That’s wise, Williams.”

“Yes Sir.”

“All right. Bend over and touch your toes.”

Gingerly, you bend down and wrap your hands around your ankles. You feel the cane being tapped across your summer skirt. It provides little protection to your poor tight, waiting bottom.

“Keep down, girl. Once you’ve had six of the best, I have a feeling we won’t be seeing too many more spelling errors. My cane has a way of making a girl focus.”

“Yes Sir.”

You await the first, searing stroke, and make a mental note to keep your dictionary at the ready for the rest of your life.