Order, disorder, reorder

I woke early and slipped out of bed with my novel, 'Wide Sargasso Sea' to read on the couch underneath a warm woolen blanket. In the quiet of the early morning I was fully engaged with the novel, the unraveling of the first Mrs Rochester (of Jane Eyre fame), when I became aware of the experience of sitting there in the quiet and the very distinct sound of bird song close by; some traffic sounds from much further away.

I registered that the sounds were coming to me clearly, as clearly as if I was engaged with conversation with someone right beside me. It was as if a portal had opened in my mind, a portal that brought with it clarity.

So profound was this experience, and yet so simple and everyday, that I turned away from the book and simply sat in the experience of living this moment.

It may be insignificant to the reader but as a meditation teacher it is significant to me, that I made no observation of my breathing, highlighting the fact that as we have revelations in a meditative or contemplative state of mind, that our transformative thought is all that draws our attention. We are fully immersed and engaged with that experience of the mind. The body doesn't come into it.

This was pointed out to me by a wonderful visiting meditation teacher from the USA and came as a surprise to us as students, but she is absolutely correct.

In a theoretical way I knew what I am about to say, but theory and practice are two very different things. As I sat there, silent and alert, it occurred to me that I was living this moment of my life. The past was truly the past and unless I particularly wanted to do so, there was no good reason to think about it.

I considered, 'if I didn't engage with the past, I didn't engage either with difficult moments from the past. In essence, if I didn't engage with the past, I also didn't need to think about, or assess or analyze events from the past which had been painful.' I know what I know, of course, but when living in the moment, so what?

It was like I had an eraser and all the writing of the blackboard, the complicated formula that had taken up the blackboard was brushed away, leaving a blank slate on which to write again.

It also occurred to me that in this present moment awareness I had full acceptance of myself. I wasn't flawed. I hadn't been neglected. I didn't have doubts.  I simply sat. (This, by the way, is the mindset of 'the doll'.)

This transformative thought happened at 7am and it is now 2pm. It wasn't just a flash in the pan. It feels more embedded as the day progresses.

As I communicated with people throughout the morning, this profundity was my constant companion. I was acutely aware that I was my own entity, empty in a sense, and thus in some way, available to them and yet untouched by them. I mean this in a good way. I was untouchable, in the sense that neither good news or bad news seemed to effect me one way or the other.

Words are hard to describe all this but I would say that I was looking out at the world not as me with a constantly thinking brain but as an observer; free floating.

Father Rohr, a Franciscan friar, talks about transformation having three components: order, disorder and reorder. To use his words I would say that this morning I had a sense of what that meant; that the disorder (the suffering) had somehow become reordered. On one level it blows my mind. On another, I am so chilled it's almost too subtle and smooth as to be an event.

Narcissism and the dream space

'The word 'narcissist' within contemporary culture has come to mean something negative. Certainly, Freud equated narcissism to immaturity. But, there have been other almost equally revered minds who didn't agree with Freud. Kohut, for example, saw narcissism as a vital component to well being. He felt this because rather than seeing sex and aggression as central to the human experience like Freud, he saw our need to develop a solid sense of self as being what mattered most.

Dr Craig Malkin who has written the excellent book Rethinking Narcissism The Bad - and Surprisingly Good - About Feeling Special, writes this:

"It [narcissism] allows us to disappear into ourselves, like Narcissus diving into the pool, but instead of drowning, and becoming lost forever, we discover another world, richly populated with shimmering versions of everyone we love...If we are healthy enough, we can reemerge and rejoin the ordinary world, bringing our bounty, such as empathy and inspiration, with us."

Kohut's version of a narcissist, explains Malkin, is "at his best, an adventurer, slipping in and out of intoxicating dreams of greatness."

On reading this material my mind went immediately to the experiences that I have had as the 'doll'. In the best of times, it is a gorgeous dream space where only good things can happen. There is a very loving and tender element to the doll persona. When in that mindset, a lack of mind, nothing feels more authentic than to be exactly and entirely what many men want.

My doll space has no resistance. Nothing is too much trouble and anything that a man may want is entirely desirable to the doll as well. It's easy, of course, to lose yourself in pleasure but the doll mindset also enables acceptance of pain, of doing what you would prefer not to do; of being entirely pleasing. More than that, the doll space doesn't require what the human mind demands. As humans we expect respect from our partners, good manners and empathy for our feelings and state of mind. In the doll space, these factors aren't relevant. There is no brain matter involved. It's all body. So, expecting a level of respect or person hood is quite irrelevant to the play.

In my discussions with Abel I learned years ago that it is entirely possible to play out a strict and extreme reformatory or rape scene with a girl and to find oneself down at the pub an hour later sharing an ale and some beef pie. No girl is allowed to take part in such a scene without an examination of her reasons for wanting to participate in such a scene. It's understood that this can be scary play with the potential for emotional discomfort both during the scene and later, so it's vital that the reasons for the play are established. After the scene, aftercare takes place, bringing the girl back to the real world such that the affection or care for the girl is secure in her mind. She returns to the real world safe.

I think that in terms of play between loving partners it is a very similar situation for the doll and her Owner. Her humanity, and his, may have had nothing to do with the scene, but once the scene is over the participants emerge from that dream state and comforting activities ensue. Perhaps they have sex, a nap, or one cooks the other a meal. As the feel-good hormones flood the body, each person is there for the other. The respect that was no part of the scene is now in abundance. It's all very, very good. I know this because of my own experiences with my husband. He was very strict and sadistic with the doll in Kyoto but then there was loving, and then there was an afternoon together wherein we both walked on air. Happiness and feel good emotions flooded our body. We couldn't even think, and I really do mean that. It was ecstasy.

Internet play can be, is, very different to that scenario. For one thing, it might be interrupted mid way through. Or, perhaps the play is set up whereby there is no personhood allowed at all. Only bimbo/the doll is allowed. Each and every interaction is one where the person must abandon her personhood and melt into that doll-like state.

I'm very fortunate to have an old friend who understands pretty much all things BDSM and I go to him when I need help. He generously listens to me and helps me see where my issue might lie.

me: 'I think the thing that is upsetting me is that I feel so disrespected. I can never be simply the woman that I am; a doll, yes, but also a person with the same needs and vulnerabilities as any other person.

him: 'As the doll you are an object and objects don't deserve or need to be respected. It's okay to never say no in a particular construct, but you deserve to come out of that construct sometimes.'

Even as I sit here and write these words I continue to yearn for doll play. I really do adore it, crave it; thrive on it. However, the fact remains that over time my discomfort with the incredibly strict and prescribed rules began to turn into something else; overwhelming discomfort. I, very simply, needed to know that the play was appreciated; that my efforts were acknowledged; that I was cared for and that, when I expressed some worries about my reactions, that I would be heard and the necessary adjustments made.

 I did not, and certainly nor did 'the doll' need to set new rules. But, based on the reactions I was having, akin to the discomfort of a spouse displaying bad manners and a lack of empathy for the other, I needed for the other to acknowledge my concerns, at the very least. Simply, I needed to feel that I was heard. I needed for the narcissistic dream space to be abandoned long enough such that the Other said something like, 'I very much appreciate the play. I acknowledge that it isn't necessarily easy for you all of the time, and I want you to know that I do consider you as a person and as a person you have the right to feel comfortable within your skin. The rules remain, but I will keep your comments in mind.' Something like that.

If you want to play only in a dream space in a very strict, uncompromising way perhaps it is best to choose play partners with youth on their side; those girls who perhaps can enter into the experience with a lighter touch than someone like me. Feeling disrespected is a deal breaker, for those of us who have experienced more slings and arrows. Whoever you play with, have something in place to ensure one another of the other's emotional well-being. This space has the potential for intense emotional sado-masochistic experiences that can creep up on your psyche.

Doll strategies

As time has gone by and I've experimented a little with what turns me on, and doesn't turn me on, it has become clear that my arousal is tied to the whole concept of 'the doll'. Years ago, I would say that I was only interested in the 'mind' aspect of the doll, but once that's all established and simply part of the psyche, of course one wants more.

I determined that I needed to slim down and although my whole heart wasn't in it, in that I would fall off the wagon repeatedly every so often, I did lose weight and continue to work towards losing a few more kilos. Those kilos are important but so too is defining my figure and toning up. Now that I am starting to see results, I'm really excited about getting back to my best body, because, in my head at least, being in my doll space means being the most attractive, fit and supple doll that I can. It's important to my self-confidence because I know all too well that when I don't feel my best, it can weigh heavily on my mind.

Of course, the added bonus is that getting out each day and exercising makes me feel better. Nothing works better on any inclination towards depression or low mood than consistent exercise, and since I've never really been into competitive sport it's exciting to me that I'm getting fit. My Moroccan deli man is about my age and he has taken up running half Marathons just in the past few months. I spoke to him about how to become a runner and he gave me a few tips. (Basically, it's all in my head that I can't run...) I don't anticipate running a half Marathon ever, but if I could run every day around the park, gosh, I'd love that. This is my goal.

Then, there is the matter of underwear and lingerie. To feel my best what I wear against my skin is important and I'm going to do a bit of an upgrade there; more colour. How we present to the public is, of course, important, but it's all too easy to not give the same attention to undergarments, and this is another 'doll' goal of mine.

I'm incredibly, incredibly aroused by photographs of dolls being contained in any number of ways. I worship men who build contraptions for their dolls and buy paraphernalia that puts a doll deep in her dolly space. I wish I could explain this more, but the simple fact is that such images quite simply and instinctively thrill me to the core.  I happened to see some absolutely magnificent photographs yesterday and I'm not sure I got much real sleep last night at all. They were photographs of a doll maker interacting with his doll and, oh boy, did that do it for me!

If I was forced to explain it more I'd say that I think the arousal comes from the fact that a man who wants to create a doll, otherwise known as a 'doll maker', is so aroused by the whole process himself. Although, that isn't really an explanation because at this stage of the game if a man wanted to pee all over me, for example, I doubt I'd feel the same way about it. I don't get aroused by images like that at all, or the thought. So, it's about creating the doll, mutual pleasure; feelings of containment and connection...but mostly, my own very ardent desire to want to be turned into a doll. There is a place for  'service' of course, but service of mutual pleasure is what arouses me.

What has held me back from getting the pleasure and success of feeling more 'doll' is, quite simply, my own doubts about my attractiveness. I've had four pregnancies and they were big babies at birth. My tummy needs toning and slimming. I'm not huge by any means. I'm sure I have given the impression that I am, and I am not at all. But, I'm aware that I could be better, that's the thing, and I haven't been ready until now to admit it and to do something concrete and tangible about it myself.

In other words, I don't feel now, although it would be lovely, that I need direction on these body issue goals any more. I want to lose a little weight, to get fit; to live within my best body so that I can feel confident to move into my true doll self in a permanent and ever present way. This feels very empowering. For the first time in a long time, I'm feeling happy about my self as it exists in my body.

A glimmer of insight through the fog

When I can achieve that 'doll' frame of mind, it is really a wonderfully simple inner life. The news of the day starts to fade in its importance. I often float through the day oblivious to the outside world; not so much 'in my head' as without much news worthy, noteworthy thought.

Naturally, the doll frame of mind comes and goes. I do have to attend to worldly issues and it occurred to me that I best get in touch with someone at my academic institution to ask when class starts for my last subject in the MA. A senior tutor replied to my inquiry and took the opportunity to remind me that she'd like to receive a story for the Institution's magazine. How do I to tell her that I have been in 'doll mode' for the past few months and have not written a thing, except one unsuitably smutty story? Hmmmmmmmm

It was time to get back to putting words down on the blank page. Without a clear idea of where I was going I had a go but was soon distracted onto other sites (e.g. tumblr). I deleted the page and settled down for the night. Would my head ever focus again?

Through the doll haze, for several weeks now, even a short story has seemed such a huge ask. When I read I normally have a pencil at the ready to mark what I particularly love, and a note book to write down thoughts that come to me as I read, to explore in story form sometime later.

Nothing. I've done nothing that I know works for me, except to one day have this inkling, this sense that Richard Flanagan's various points of view that he uses in The Narrow Road to the Deep South - to shift from the mindset of an Australin prisoner in Burma during WW11 to the Japanese Colonel's perspective, from Dorrigo's inner landscape to that of his wife, or his lover - gave the story a richness that I wanted to explore in my own writing (although I wouldn't attempt anything as challenging). I told myself that inklings are worth something. 

I've been watching for free lectures from the Iowa Writers' Workshop and felt compelled to send for Andrew Sean Greer's The Story of a Marriage. His talk affected me in some indiscernible way and I wanted to read his latest story. With a glass of white wine in one hand and his little book in the other, some vague reminder of the writer's life returned to me. More than that, the uncomplicated nature of the sentences gave me hope that it wasn't necessary to write particularly poetically to tell a story well. There's not a metaphor to be had in the following paragraph, save the first sentence, and yet it has us thinking, draws us in.

Beauty is a warping lens. He had the kind of looks that are always greeted by grins and handshakes, extra glances, stares held for a moment longer than usual; a smile and a face not easily forgotten. Even the way he held a cigarette, or leaned over to tie his shoe, had a certain masculine grace that made you want to sketch him. What a distorted, confusing way to live. To be offered jobs and rides and free drinks - "It's on the house, sweetie" - to sense a room changing as you move through it. Watched everywhere you go. To be someone people long to possess, and to be used to this feeling; to be wanted so immediately, so often, that you have never known yourself what you might want.

Thirty something pages later we learn that Holland was once the lover of Buzz, the 'friend' who has come calling regularly and befriended Pearlie. Holland wants him back and is prepared to broker a deal with Pearlie.

After Flanagan's ambitious tale of the lives of the men who helped with the building of the Burma Railway under sufferage this is a deceptively simple story of a marriage. I was instantly pulled into it.  I found myself interested in the construction of single sentences, in putting myself in the author's seat and imagining how Greer orchestrated the tale. I was starting to think like a writer again.

Responses to the novel have been mixed. Some readers adore the book while others have complaints about being deceived (by omission) for a time that Pearlie and Holland are black. It occurred to me what a long and hard road it is to write fiction. One reviewer even said of Flanagan's brilliant saga that a 'red camelia' occurring a few times during the book was a 'literary devise' that she found too co-incidental. My goodness, but we are picky!

Of course, Hemingway had this idea that we must write only what is 'true'. Jim Carrey spoke to a room full of creative arts students in recent times and told them that the creative and performing arts industry was the last place on earth where they could write and act out what is 'true'.

'What's your truth?' I often ask myself, and particularly as recently as this weekend when I read a long post by another tutor of mine who called for stories for a new world; the kind of stories that poeple are searching for now to help them live their lives better.

If, for me, the correct answer to that calling is to write stories about finding connection, my characters must first experience disconnection, alienation and confusion. Dorrrigo (based in part on Weary Dunlop) never does find the sort of connection he seeks, except in times of crisis. He's a man that needs a crisis before he can 'step up'. Holland, for all his beauty in action, as typified in the above paragraph, is deeply disconnected. Gay and living in the 1950s in America, a quiet marriage to Pearlie is a good place to hide, but not one that allows him to feel much of  a connection to her or anyone else.

I spent far too long talking this morning to a friend after my exercise class. She puts on a brave front but she's had considerable concerns to bear over her life. I've often wondered at how she hasn't journeyed into the land of despair, rather than remain forever forbearing. Finally, she wanted to share with someone that her step-daughter has competed with her for her father's attentions for the past 32 years and that she hates her. I hope my shock at her use of the word wasn't visible.

It finally sunk in. It's not just me that's complicated. We're all complicated, all flawed. This is why the character arc is so essential because innately we know this about the human race and stories need for central characters to learn something so that we can learn something; so that we have an opportunity to be better than we are.

Yes, Dorrigo let his opportunity to find that connection in his life pass through his fingers, but we say to ourselves, don't we, that we must never do that ourselves; that we won't make that mistake?

I've written down these thoughts as they have come to me so that I can return to them, before they fade away. In doll mode, thoughts do come sometimes, and then they very quickly fade away...

Perfection

In my experience, submitting is a 'black and white' experience. The sort of dominance that has worked for me is strict and uncompromising. If it is true that a power exchange relationship is what you do with the relationship you have, then it is only going to work with the right personalities that join as a team or partnership. It seems to me that the union of the two people is the crucial thing and in my case I have responded to the sort of dominance that takes no prisoners; that demands and expects my compliance to the rules set.

Knowing that there is no grey area I eventually accepted the rules as they were laid down. I adapted and I thrived under that sort of governance. I saw the point. I recognized the value and the good. I submitted but more than submitting, I embraced the plan. Under this sort of regime, where I comply and accept, all is so very well and good. Praise and admiration flows and the sense of connection is very strong. Happiness on both sides abounds.

But, (and there had to be a but) the day does dawn when things go slightly awry. Comfortable in my space and place, for no good reason a day is taxing; demanding; overwhelming. Comments ensue. It becomes apparent (and I feel so stupid for not recognizing how transparent it all was) that I didn't do what I am meant to do and that's why the day was doomed.

Sarcasm is the province of the dominant and I never mistake the tone, the intent or the state of mind. There's no sympathy or empathy for this submissive when she jumps on top of the rule book. Rather, left to her own devices, he knows she'll get herself back on track; remember her place; remember what works; remember how this all works.

I don't fight the 'inequality' or lack of 'fairness' now. I recognized immediately where I went wrong and that my (submissive) life wasn't about expecting understanding of a breach. A breach is a breach. How could I possibly forget this? The expectations are high but it works for me this way. I'm challenged but I greatly appreciate the challenge. The delicate and finely woven relationship requires perfection and there is something in my makeup that responds to that; that makes it the perfect arrangement for me.

My journal

I'm so close to the end of the academic year that I can taste it. For the first time in nearly a year and a half I will have some spare time.What to do, what to do...

Well, first I'll play, for sure; do all the things that I have put on hold, meet up with friends, go Christmas shopping, start organizing a holiday for next year; boost up the exercise; see a play, read a book. There are limitless opportunities.

Then, with the long, hot summer ahead of me I imagine I might sit down to pursue a writing venture of my own. I've just read an article about a woman who was imprisoned for several years and whilst in prison she wrote 800,000 words in her journal. That journal became the source material for a one hour play about her journey. I've been quite fascinated at the process and  the collaboration with many others to term it into an art form.

Whilst finishing off a piece of work this afternoon I was reminded that I also have a journal of many hundreds of thousands of words that could also form the basis of a narrative. We all do, actually, my fellow bloggers and I.

One of my readers got in contact with me recently and told me that this web journal is forming the basis of the protagonist for his novel. Of course, this is the price we pay for having an online journal. The material is out there in the world for anyone to use as they wish. There really is no protection against this. He'd actually like me to fill in the dots because as he pointed out, I often spoke in mirrors, not quite spelling out what was real and what was fantasy, or what happened when and why. That, of course, was entirely intentional and my authorial prerogative.

I admit that the knowledge that this situation has eventuated leads me to reveal even less than I have done in the past. As I've said a thousand times before I'm a very private person and I'm not at all sure I want my thoughts interpreted. I am pretty darn sure that I want to be the person to play around with this material and mold it into a story. I've sat here this afternoon seriously wondering if it was time to pull the plug. Of course anything I've written is out there for good, but should I go on adding to this journal publicly? I am not sure.

I think that part of me is troubled by the fact that this material can be spun in so many directions; that what brought me much pleasure and happiness can be interpreted to be seen as anything but wise or meaningful; that there was and is a better way. Maybe so. I don't know all the angles of a power exchange. Perhaps there is a better dominant and a better way.

But, know this. I know what I feel. My instincts are very acute. I had the very best time. I learned things in the writing of this journal that gave me the thrills of a lifetime. There were moments, minutes, hours, days and weeks that filled me with enormous joy and satisfaction. I never imagined that I could be so happy; so filled with joie de vivre and excitement at a new way to live.

Every day of my life I am aroused by the erotic thoughts that play out in my head. My libido is high and my mind is on fire with the possibilities that will always be alive to me so long as I hold onto the doll inside me; that sweet l'il thing that lives to be fucked royally; to make others happy; to follow commands and to wallow in her own appetite; to always, always be hungry for the next meal.

To my husband I am 'cindi' and every time he uses that name I am reminded of the reality of my doll. She's very real to me; she's an aspect of my personality that sits just under the surface; always waiting and always ready to come out and play; to thrive in the presence of a dominant force that commands and demands that she rise up and revel in her own demise.

Nothing and no-one will ever convince me that it wasn't a good thing. Only I can make that judgement. Trust me. It has been the ride of my life.

Tumblr account

Thank you to the several people who have sent messages of support. I will respond to you as soon as I am able. I am perfectly fine but real life has become very busy right now and I need to attend to a number of issues before I can return to writing here. I will do so as soon as I am able to carve out some time for this.

In the meantime, if it would please you, you might like to take a look at my tumblr account: http://bimbocindi.tumblr.com/.  You will find a link to the account under 'Blogs I Read'.

I call it Carefree Cindi now because the account these days relates to my reduced bimbo/doll state which I adore, but also to thoughts and images that arouse the fully grown woman that I am. I am updating there quite regularly. It's quick and it gives me little boosts through out my days to get in touch with that side of me and provides me with carefree moments.

Back asap.

The philosophy behind IT

Since my research of BDSM encompassed all sorts of philosophies and mindsets it took me quite a while to figure out where I fit. I was particularly unsure about the differences between 'submissives' and 'slaves' and I'd read the definitions over and over trying to get it straight as to what or who I was. However, I don't think my mind ever really strayed from the notion that I definitely wanted more than to be submissive in a sexual way; only in the bedroom, so to speak. I'd read that category and feel immediately that this was not going to be enough for me.Within the training and the acceptance of all things 'doll' I found what I had been looking for; the philosophy of living out my life that made sense for me.

Instinctively, I understood that I wanted to be 'owned'. I honestly don't recall any degree of resistance or negative reaction to that word at all. I may have forgotten it if I did. When I agreed to be 'trained' I had a bit of 'hair trigger' anger going on and I do distinctly remember being darn mad about the comment that I needed to be tethered when I was angry. I remember saying that a person who was angry needed to vent and he responded that he agreed; that an angry woman should vent all she wished but that for her safety she needed to be tethered whilst doing so. I could feel the bile rising when I read that. Speaking of barking dogs needing to be tethered for their safety (an analogy he used) I wanted to tell him to get 'dog knotted'. Instead, I said that I needed to go. Even at the beginning of training I was aware on one level that it wouldn't pay to let my anger get too out of hand with him.

Over time, I learned that I needed to do much more than not express my anger in inappropriate ways. I needed to walk the tightrope of being honest and open at the same time as I kept a hold of my anger. I came to appreciate that there is a marvelous sense of satisfaction for a man in seeing that a woman is trapped. She understands that it is her duty and her place to accept and obey commands. Even though she may be reveling in her capture, in spite of some discomfort potentially, she has mixed emotions about the fact that the man is radiating in her mixed state of mind. How much fun to have control of a doll, so perverted that she revels in her own demise; that she knows full well that displaying a peak of anger will result in correction she does not want! What a devilishly dirty trick to say things to the doll that she knows she must not respond to, if she has a healthy respect for her fate.

"Wuts da dolli goin 2 do bowt it?" is the sort of question that she might be asked; caught, captured, bound. There's a little bit of resistance going on here but the game is enticing; intoxicating for her too. You must trust me on this. It's the sort of moment that dolls live for. Oh, I think I've digressed.

I can't speak for younger women but I think that older women, born in a different culture to the one today in so many ways, understand that marriage was for a reason. A woman, back then anyway, instinctively understood the benefits of ownership and it wasn't a particularly negative term in her mind. If you were his wife, then he was your husband, you see. Of course, generalizations are useless but with less equality back then, this was one area where there seemed to be mutual benefit. If I look after him, then he'll look after me. How that notion looked to each couple I cannot say but in my mind was the understanding that marriage was something that I wanted. So, being 'owned' wasn't a stretch for me. I wanted to feel owned and I wanted to serve.

The creation of the 'fucktoy' takes us much further in philosophy; much, much deeper, but not necessarily problematically. First, there must be the understanding that one's body belongs to the owner; that the holes are for his use. If the training is done well, the object realizes that although it is about the owner's happiness, use is what the doll wants; needs; requires. The whole idea is to entice the owner to use her; to keep her well oiled and serviced. There was nothing about this idea I didn't like. The new terminology - pussycunt, asscunt and mouthcunt - turned me on. I loved (and love) to use those words. I love to be used; to sink down in my mind to a place that arouses my body and provides great pleasure for us both.

The idea of permanent changes to the body really excited me although I went slow, reticent about how my owner would feel about this sort of thing, probably needlessly. Somehow or other I never managed to get 'owner tags' (nipple rings) but I intend to. Removal of some pubic hair, long fingernails, anal training, longer hair - all these changes turned me on. I love to feel like a fucktoy and to think like a fucktoy.

So, to return to my opening remarks, feeling like a fuck toy (or doll) 24/7 is really my goal. Most importantly, I don't want difficult times, times of academic pressure and long work hours to interfere with this mindset. I want to hold onto the doll state of mind no matter what is happening in my life.

Whatever rules I live by I live by for this reason  - to have one all consuming and all abiding philosophy with which to live my life - that I am owned, that I must do that which entices my owner; that I must obey commands and live according to my nature. It is not for everyone but it absolutely turns me on. Living with a turned on, happy and peaceful woman, it turns out, is exactly the all consuming philosophy that suits my 'owner'  as well.

On a day to day level, it is resisting the impetus to put all my focus into my work and family during peak times of activity that is the goal I have yet to master. Accepting with all my heart and mind that I do best in the doll state, even when tackling difficult tasks or coping with time limits and deadlines as well as the demands of family life is my Achilles heel, sometimes.  Being a doll is not something that you pick up and put down as life alters but rather a state of mind (and body) that one lives with 24/7. Some concessions can be made (asked for, at least) according to the needs of the doll but removing oneself from the dolly state of mind altogether for periods of time is a slippery slope and one that leads to grazed knees. I know this but at times I still do falter. But, I'm getting there...inching closer to an ideal state, thank goodness.

Doll dives deeper

It is a few years now since I was introduced to the notion that there was, perhaps, a dolly inside the girl; inside me. The notion immediately excited me, although I didn't necessarily understand exactly what that meant. But, I gravitated to it immediately and with the emergence and expression of each little new aspect of the doll, as I grew closer and closer to the feelings of the doll, I became happier. I have learned that there really isn't any aspect of embracing the doll into my life that I don't love. It makes me softer, more patient and understanding, more alive and very definitely, much more happy to feel my 'dollness' ever present in my life.

One aspect of the doll that I hadn't quite understood in a full and encompassing way until recently was that the doll is really always switched on, under the right regime. I'd understood that she understands that she was always to be ready for use, bur I hadn't fully understood that she may always be switched on herself (itself?); that she isn't necessarily ever in 'girl' mode; that the doll has to learn and understand that she (it?) has no choice but to accept the state of arousal 24/7 and to learn to work with that arousal; to work through it and to sleep through it; not at all an easy thing but a required thing and something that the doll eventually accepts as her way of life. I've learned that you can't fight it; you have to simply 'let go'.

The girl has to do real life girl things and there is no getting around that. But, the doll may be ever present in the girl's life and the mind of the girl may be aware of the doll inside her; aware of her sexuality, of her desire for control, of her acquiescence and of her constant readiness in mind and body to be taken.

I've been working away at incorporating this mindset into my life, at pushing the boundaries of my mind and my body and I find it a profoundly uplifting experience; one that makes my spirits soar. The more confined the doll feels, the more this woman floats. I think it must be that accepting myself for who I am has sustained me and allowed me to reach deep into my subconscious and embrace myself for all that I am. I have certainly never experienced such a coming together of my mind, body and spirit in any other way.

A friend yesterday told me of her sense of a lack of purpose in life at this time now that she is not working. I was sympathetic, of course, but the doll knows her purpose without a shadow of a doubt. Feeling myself and being able to express that entity, finding the deep sense of relaxation that that knowledge brings to my life is a priceless gift that I will always cherish.

I've no way of knowing how many dolls there are out there. I've come across only a handful of other examples in my life of this incredibly happy place for a woman in complete surrender; this deep deep need for use and for control. No doubt there are many others out there and yet it's clear I'm in a category all of my own with this web journal. I don't fit at all neatly into any category out there; not the spanking community, or DD or HoH. I've plenty of readers still and maybe they too are looking for a way into their doll, or perhaps they are doll makers who have a doll or want a doll.

The word 'objectification' doesn't terrify them or make them squirm for they know already, consciously or subconsciously, that this is how they want to feel too. One or two of these people have corresponded with me over time and it is always brilliant to read how two slightly odd (I know I am slightly odd!) people have come together to make a perfect fit. It always delights me. Dreams really can come true, if you are open to them.

With Ringo

It is not often that I write in a particular state but since I am sitting at my desk in that particular state, I'll document my thoughts. I'm aware of the big pluggi stretching me out. It's not really possible to focus on anything else. When I squeeze my muscles around the plug, or when they involuntarily squeeze themselves, as they regularly do, I'm aware of the plug controlling me.

A large anal plug is challenging and the mind wrestles with itself. One could go and take it out and experience a degree of comfort and relief but is that what I really want?  I've been here before, of course. Each size plug, from the smallest I've worn to the very large one I am wearing as I type these words has been a challenge. Each time, I have needed to wrestle with my mind and my resolve. I've had to learn to accept that I don't (if I am to be true to my desires and my natural state of living) have a choice; that I am controlled and that I crave that control and very much want it.

I've had times with no plug; times with no control and I can say, without a shadow of a doubt, that I am less than half of what I am capable of being with considerable control over me; when the choices are taken away; when I experience the sense of dominance and acquiesce to it.. I am more sexually inclined, more content with life and more at peace with my life when I experience a very deliberate and quite intense control.

Control comes in various forms. I've experienced anal training of course and I've experienced the giving of regular pain; sometimes for discipline in order to correct, but much more often because it has seemed I'd do well to receive it.. I rally to either form of physical control over me and I rally even more when I have both forms of control. I'm not adverse, however, to more subtle forms of control. I prefer to narrow my choices of wardrobe, for example. I prefer less to more.

The intellectual side of my brain may attempt to take control because that is what the intellectual side of my brain is designed to do. Do I want to win? Oh, that would be a diabolical result. No side of my brain would be at all happy with that outcome. I've experienced that and believe me, it's a Pyrrhic victory. Me without a sense of control is a sad thing. I'm here, but just. I just don't feel at all right. I've had plenty of time to think about this and I assure you it's not a desired goal for this woman. 

The thing about the doll state is that even though there is minor resistance when presented with a new challenge, dolls understand they are dolls. There is no sense of jealousy that they're not girls with clever thinking brains. Dolls actually understand that being a girl isn't a life that is going to work for them. They've seen the holy grail and why would they drink from any other cup when the one they have is filled with the elixir of life?

(Of course, sometimes I need to think, but time is allowed for thinking and doing. There is no harm done; in fact a lot of good to come out of allowing me to think intellectually, but for limited times and in limited ways. The more time as doll the more doll is present throughout the day, at any time of the day.)

I haven't the tiniest clue what made me this way. All I can say is that it makes me extraordinary happy to have the opportunity to feel this completely certain that  this is how it was always meant to be. 

Doll returns

Perhaps the more people we know, the richer the life. It's possible. I'm open to the idea that every interaction can have value and meaning, however fleeting. However, I wonder, if you look at your lives closely, you might discover that there are only a handful of relationships that mean everything to you.

Even in those relationships and my guess is that you have a deeply caring and sharing relationship with those people, you need to tread relatively carefully. If you want to try to persuade and convince, to teach and instruct, to influence in positive ways, you need to be a skillful navigator of the human psyche. Come towards that person in the wrong light or using inappropriate words and the best of intentions go up in a cloud of smoke as they become defensive and close down.

It strikes me that the greatest asset at our disposal is our own self-control; the ability to pause and reflect before choosing words; to come at any matter with intention in order to effect a positive result.

I don't divide people into 'dominant' and 'submissive' when I speak of self-control because on both sides of the ledger, we need abundant self-control as well as to begin with the end in mind.

One of the goals of exploring the power exchange relationship was to improve my own self-control and I had that goal for various reasons, but all roads led to the fact that I wanted to have a positive influence on other people, but I didn't have all the tricks of the trade. I needed to learn to control my temper, anxiety and emotions , to pause and reflect when I didn't get the responses I was wanting and expecting, mainly because I let my temper get in the way.

Capturing and containing the doll is an effective way for me to be held in a small space where my responses are limited and expectations very clear. The doll has rules that make it almost impossible for her to break away from her place, not that she would want to do that anyway; just saying.

Cultural theories I may have studied, 'reading against the text' I may have done but absolutely nothing sustains me more than expressing that mindset and honing deep into the psyche of a happy, slutty fucktoy. Of course, it's not just that she (it?) may emerge and run free that creates the sense of enormous well being and happiness, but that there is interchange. Nothing is more doll enhancing than running up against control, expectations, appreciation and enjoyment of the object-state.

If you had the ability to observe my spirits soar,  my mind and body relax, the softness of being that is appreciated by all who interact with me when the doll has come out to play, you'd be completely convinced, Feminist, cultural theorist, academic and/or  naysayer of role play and BDSM that this is a very good thing.

Cumpelled

The very good and kind folk at my university had no issue whatsoever with my idea to research and write a chapter of a novel regarding a couple in a power exchange relationship. I've loved doing that but at the same time it meant so much to me to get the characters and the essence of their relationship right that I have really labored over the tone. I really, really wanted to have my vanilla reader (and I am pretty confident she is that) be convinced that this was a loving relationship between two people with particular needs. Most importantly I wanted her to read them as two whole people who functioned best together. That is to say, they weren't two halves to make a whole. Granted, they had issues but we all have  issues. They were two people who functioned. They just functioned more beautifully, dynamically and passionately once they found one another. I'd submit it right now but I can't quite let my baby go...later today is soon enough.

I wrote in my explanation of my research that "I felt cumpelled..." and the computer immediately picked up my error. Oh yes! It is c o m p e l l e d, isn't it?! But, you see, I was deep within myself as I was writing, feeling closely connected to the deepest and darkest part of my soul; the most beautiful I think as well, and when I am there, correct spelling is the least of my concerns. Lucky, I guess, that I have a computer that insists that I spell like a gurl.

A picture says a thousand words

This photograph doesn't need my words. You surely don't need my words today. Just let the photograph have its effect on  you. Happy days.

Heavenly delights

When it all falls into place, when everything feels totally natural, there is no struggle at all. In the head space of the doll all instructions are good instructions because the doll doesn't struggle or have doubts or worries. She very much lets it all go and just bunkers down into that tiny teeny spot where she feels ultra comfortable and totally relaxed.

For a myriad of reasons we can feel anxious about aspects of our life. Some of us are inclined to be more anxious than others, often with good reason. Some of us had better starts than others and it's those first dozen or more years that really do dictate how tough that road will be.

How marvelous then that we have a vehicle with which to relax. In the space of the doll all commands make total sense because she's doesn't have the the slightest interest in control, or power, or struggle. She isn't worried about anything actually because she's only got one purpose. Keeping the focus this narrow guarantees that all day-to-day concerns can't fit into her head. It's such a teeny tiny space.

Not all men, but certainly some men find interacting with a woman who has let it all go, let her shoulders drop to the point where you can visually see the stress leaving her body, very relaxing as well. Oh sure, there's the voracious aspect about it - the fox with his mouth open and the saliva dripping from his jaws - but he also enjoys the fact that he is suddenly dealing with an entity without a care in the world, someone who wouldn't dream of not doing as she has been instructed.

The dolly head space, certain bars of music, vistas, words, sounds and thoughts can transform my everyday world into moments of heavenly delight and a lightness of being.  I'm really always on the lookout for those special moments that transport me above and beyond into some other planetary orbit, even if just for a few minutes, or even a few special moments. It's what keeps writers, painters, sculptors, landscape gardeners, musicians, chefs and many other creative beings doing what they do - trying to create something truly beautiful; a heavenly delight.

She only wishes to please

It's a rare thing for a woman to have the opportunity to spill her mind's contents to another person. She knows that if the thoughts are too slutty, it opens her up to correction and castigation. I've been lucky. I had someone who was happy to know all the corners of my mind until one particular day when I was in a very sharing sort of state of mind (when cindi lets loose all bets are off) and I told him about a visualization I had had in group meditation class.

I was in a gorgeous, gorgeous violet colored cave and in that cave I felt incredibly aroused and content. I came to a contained space in the cave and laid out on the floor were a mass of beautifully colored cushions. I laid down naked on the cushions and along came a man, a beautiful man, and he ravished me with kisses, entered me and brought me to climax. I was in a sort of reverie because it had been the most amazing visualization and it really was nothing short of a body and mind climax.

However, I didn't quite get the response I was expecting.

"Well, cindi needz correktin der coz she shood nut hab tots bowt enebodi but her onnir."

cindi studied those words carefully because nothing quite like them had ever appeared on her screen before.

"ohhhhhhh, cindi hab no ideuh hoo dat man. cood onnir or cood nut. He nut hab identiti, no fays. She nut no hoo he, jus wut he did wif cindi."

(something like that, it would be a long haul to find the exact words, but that's the gist of it)

The next time I was asked to share my thoughts about a similar sort of thing I reminded him that last time cindi had been corrected.

"tel mr d"

Cindi did tell and no such correction was again uttered.

Now, fast forward to last night. A doll and I were having a very intimate conversation sharing all sorts of intimacies, as dolls tend to do when they get going. It put me in a dolli frame of mind. It reminded me of how utterly divine it is to be the doll in all her glory; immersed in her happy and slutty, her obedient and completely willing state of mind. I absolutely adored this state of mind. I glowed as the doll. When nothing but 'cindi' this woman who writes to you now in  the English language (needing to correct every second word because she feels the doll within her and really cares not to express herself in English) was the happiest and the most gloriously complete  she has ever been.

It was very late. I had a shower, went to bed and straight to sleep. Sometime thereafter I dreamed. Whatever I dreamed I cannot say, but something happened. My sleeping psyche had merged with the psyche of the doll and some entity was with me, kissing me all over and demanding of me what he wanted. Whatever he wanted was what cindi wanted and it seems he wanted to enter her ass. I semi woke, realizing that I had brought my knees up under me and was making myself available for him. I wanted very much to feel him enter me and I was disappointed when I realized it was just a dream.

However, I wasn't unhappy. For a few fleeting moments I had reached the cindi state of being and I welcomed her like the old and dear friend that she is; the very deepest, darkest,  lightest and best part of me.

 Who was he? I do not know. I only know that cindi wishes to please.

She 
only
wishes
to
please.

Vulnerability

I happened to watch 'Sex in the City 2' in the past few days. It is rather ridiculous but fun entertainment, of course, and I was mildly enjoying it until Carrie met Aidan in the market, they had dinner and kissed and then she rang Mr Big to confess. It was creditable that she had grown up enough to understand that she needed to tell him, I thought, but it was apparent by his total silence that he wasn't responding well. As the silence wore on I could feel myself becoming more and more uncomfortable and when he said, "I'm at work Carrie, I have to go" I experienced much the same sense of abandonment and disapproval as Carrie must have experienced. She suffered. He suffered. It was not until they were reunited and he told her her "punishment" and the matter was taken care of that I began to feel some level of comfort again.

When I talk about my time in 'the doll' state I almost always talk about these wonderful feelings of lightness and happiness; of feeling deeply connected to my true self and the person that brings out 'the doll'. I mean it when I say  that it's a happiness unlike any other that I have experienced and that I'm grateful, exceedingly grateful to know that space; to have been introduced to that aspect of me; to have times when I can release my ego and all worldly concerns and just live life in its purest form. However, there are times when being the doll has caused me much angst and left me feeling that it may not be safe to enter such a vulnerable zone of living.

Even on a day by day level, I experience my husband's dissatisfaction as quite traumatic. To give an example, I said something towards the end of the evening recently and I have absolutely no recollection of what I said (something that seemed incredibly bland to me and of no importance or at all remarkable) but it bothered him; struck a nerve somehow. He berated me. It went on for maybe a minute, maybe less, I really don't know, but I had one of my out-of-body experiences where my mind responds like this:

'I must have said something wrong. Now, he will say a whole lot of things and I don't understand why he is saying them and I don't understand what I did wrong again and this is so troubling to me that my mind has switched off and I'm not here...soon it will be over and he will be he again and I will be me again and life will go on just as it did before we had another of these odd, unexplainable and very troubling events...now he has stopped talking and he is leaving the room and I can go back to living as we did before...and I get up and go and have a shower and get ready for bed...and have no recollection of the words spoken but only that I have upset him again and I don't know why or how this happened.'

This is not at all new. It's a much rarer event than it used to be a few years ago, thank goodness. I spoke to my psychologist about this experience last year and she said it was my mind protecting itself and it was a very healthy response. But, nonetheless, it is deeply troubling to me and I do what I can to try to avoid experiencing that sense of disapproval in me.

Now, in 'the doll' state I became quite vulnerable. In that state, one is well aware that the idea is to impress, to service and the doll does that quite naturally. It's a very happy and richly rewarding place for me to be; to be providing service and contentment, and as long as the doll continues to impress and for people to be happy with her, all is well.

However, over time, and as she was corrected and even punished for what was considered poor behavior, she became highly vulnerable because when she was dismissed or when she experienced the owner's anger or the mentor's anger, this absolutely crushed her. It would leave her in a puddle on the floor and more and more, she worried. There were times when she couldn't relax as the silly dumdum dolli because...what if she said something that displeased...what if He got mad...what if she was dismissed...abandoned...all over again?? The very connection that she so adored was now something that could potentially cause her to break. Better to be mindful of everything she said and everything she did and have certainty that she would not experience that sense of disapproval; not have to go through the trauma of a sense of abandonment. As much as 'the doll' has extraordinary, mind blowing and heavenly highs, she has experienced lows that leave her bewildered; confused; absolutely crushed.

Well, of course,  I am much too sensitive as 'the doll' or as the full blooded complete woman that walks this earth. In either state I long for a deep connection; for affection; for approval and to please at the same time as I have so many things to say, some of which people don't like to hear.

Porn

I am partial to a little porn. Every now and again, my fingers find themselves typing into the Google search bar words  such as 'spanking videos' and I choose a few little snippets of free clips to observe.

Two days ago, I came across a minute clip that I thoroughly enjoyed. The girl was bent across a wooden old world school-style desk - the type with a place for a fountain pen and a hole for the ink well. I like those types of desks because it conjures up all sorts of images of the girl sitting at her wooden desk on a plain wooden seat writing out her thoughts for the man after her thrashing. But, I digress.

At this stage of the video the girl has already been thrashed quite severely. Her lovely bare buttocks are a haze of red and back blotches and there are stripes running horizontally across her buttocks. She is whimpering, poor lass; lifting her hand to hold her forehead for some sort of comfort. However, at no time does she move any other part of her body. Her feet stay firmly on the ground. When he holds the cane across her rump again and then lifts it high enough in the air to produce another loud crack of the cane as it thunders across her already very well beaten bottom, her knees don't bend, nor does she move slightly to one side to try to get away from the awful instrument.

She is completely obedient and accepting. For several more strokes, she lays there completely still, whimpering nicely with each new stroke but never flinching, never raising her chest; nothing.

Of course, this is staged for my benefit. The idea is that I'll buy the video if I like what I see and thus the camera hones in on the state of the girl's bare and well beaten bottom. It becomes apparent just how severe the thrashing has been. We see where the cane has slightly opened the skin and there's just no doubt in my mind that for the next several days, sitting is going to be quite a chore.

I don't buy the video. I've never bought a spanking video but since the first viewing it is true that I have watched it again several times. I love that video! I've been wondering to myself why I love that video so much and I think I liked that she didn't have to count, for one thing. She simply bent over due to the man's displeasure and she'll stay bent over like that until he tells her she may rise.

The pacing is entirely at his discretion. Perhaps he has already told her it will be twelve hard strokes. I don't know. But, I like to imagine that he has simply said that for her crimes and misdemeanors she will be soundly thrashed until he is convinced that she has learned her lesson. This is why, I like to imagine, she is so completely still. The only way she can convince the man that she is reformed is to be very accepting of the pain he is providing her with, for her instruction and benefit, of course.

When he does finish caning her, (and we know that because suddenly his arm which is dressed in a stiff white cotton shirt moves into view and slightly away from the girl, as if he in the process of returning the cane to its resting position), she moves her hands to her bottom and begins to feel the stripes, providing herself with a little well-needed comfort.

That's where the film maker lost me really because what girl in her right mind would take the chance after such a darn hard caning of meeting the ire of the man all over again?! Did he say she could move a hair on her head? He did not. Perhaps she hasn't had enough stripes after all....Well, perhaps that is what happens next in the video and I am just too cheap to buy the video and find that out.

The little clip has really captured my imagination. I've brought myself to climax twice now on the thrills and spills of the blond headed girl in the video and each time I like to take it a bit further. This morning, she wasn't in a school-type situation at all but rather it was her Dominant who had said to her that the time had come for her to re-learn a very important lesson: respect. She's a girl used to receiving 4 moderate strokes of the cane every morning of her life. The idea is that this correction will keep her in good order; remind her of her place and her status. However, her behaviour has been a little shabby lately; her manners and words a little out of line and he's explained to her that something more is required.

She's whipped in a manner similar to the blond-haired girl with no idea how many strokes will be considered enough. In the same way, she stays very still. He's not partial to a moving girl and should she rise it's a repeat of the stroke +1 and that can really add up. She's learned that lesson the hard way in the past.

In fantasy land, enough is never quite enough and the man determines that she needs to be contained for the next month in a way that will ensure he receives her co-operation in a more intense and sustaining way. She wears her anal plug to bed each night, but let's face it; that's a pleasure and not at all arduous. He decides to up to the ante. The four strokes will be given in the morning as usual, of course, and after that she will wear her bedtime anal plug in the daytime instead. He will place it in her after the strokes and she will wear it for the next eight hours of every day for the next month. Perhaps, he suggests, it will be a stronger reminder for her of his expectations of her behaviour.

As the days wear on, the girl becomes acquainted with the sensation of sitting on a tender backside and of feeling the hole stretched and used. She bunkers down in her mind to a place now where this sensation is quite ordinary for her. She begins to think of herself much less as a girl and much more as a doll. She has less thoughts and more time when her head is free of thought; empty; joyful. She feels a very strong connection to the man who has given her these instructions and now her mind only looks to obey; to impress; to receive his praise and pleasure in her. The girl has been transformed. She is no longer capable of making decisions for herself and she awaits his instructions, ever mindful of her place and her position; eager to please; even more eager to be used.

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.

Good working order

cindi follows quite a lot of people on tumblr and let's face it, all of those people are naughty and put up very suggestive and sometimes, downright rude pikkis. There are little one or two second videos that really capture her attention. Recently, her owner walked into the bedroom and there was cindi watching a man thrust into a girl's ass over and over and over again. It didn't bother him initially that cindi was spending her time watching this video. However, he did eventually find it distracted him from the point he wanted to make to cindi and he told her to turn it off. Unfortunately, she didn't have time to save it for her later enjoyment. she just can't understand why someone hasn't reblogged it by now so that she can see it again. Perhaps some things are just too naughty for girls to reblog, she guesses.

cindi came across the above pikki in the last day and she loves it just as much as she loves the rude pikki. She used this same pikki in her private blog just this morning and she said this:

" Dunna let newun tel diffrinli. Bimboz need lotsalotsa luv n tendrness. Dey no der plays. Dey no dat der job 2 obey but wiffowt da warm feelinz n da tuchi, cuddlz n gud tymz, dey nut happi bimboz. N Y wood newun wan netin difrin dan a happi, ditzi, fun luvin bimbo? So, if wan a bimbo in ya lyf, beri portin 2 lookiz afta her wel. Dat da deeel. She getsa da gud tymz n she stey beedien n gif gud servissss. Dat da onli deel bimboz inristd in"

I think cindi is 'spot on' on this score. Whilst there might be some people out there who have a drive to serve and be loyal to someone that is not dependent on receiving a sense of affection and tenderness in return, I can say without a shadow of a doubt I am not one of those people and it's pretty clear from her words that cindi, who after all is a simple minded doll, feels the same way.


Obedience isn't some sort of quality that is built in regardless of how one is treated. Well, perhaps initially it is and perhaps a doll can remain obedient regardless of how she is treated for a time. Eventually, it's not going to work. When she realizes that she doesn't have what she really needs, what this gal is receiving in this pikki, then she's going to start to feel pretty downhearted about that.

When bimboz get sad (or even mad), this is what it is about. I have heard say that a doll isn't entitled to much. She is just an object and she needs to accept whatever treatment comes her way. I don't agree and cindi clearly doesn't agree either. You need to look after your doll. You need to look after your toys because toys can break if you don't. Give them a pinch of praise, a dose of love, a little whisper in their ear and in this way, owners can keep their possessions in good working order.

Blessings

Frank cuts my hair. He’s early 30s; Italian; gay. We get on very well; the conversation always flows effortlessly. But, last week the conversation reached a new level of depth. I could tell immediately when he began talking that something significant had changed in his life. 

He started from the beginning. He’d moved in with a person who also worked at the salon. She was there with him all day at work and at night in the apartment. He felt imprisoned in a situation that he had come to detest. Unable to speak to anyone about it, he felt he was going slowly mad.

A good friend of his, a single mother was to come to him for a weekend in the big city. Frank lives right in the heart of the area where there is an abundance of wonderful cafes and restaurants, beautiful stores; great entertainment. But, he told her he didn’t think it would work this weekend, given the situation. She immediately suggested he come to her in the country. It isn’t really Frank’s style but something told him to go, he said.

The clever girl involved a friend in the weekend; a woman who is into meditation and healing and it was this woman who said “What’s the matter Frank?” She was sitting in the back seat; he in the front. He didn’t answer. “It is a relationship, isn’t it Frank?” “Yes, it is,” he heard himself say.

They took him for a walk; a very special walk up 1000 steps. Then, they took him to a place where he joined them for a group meditation. He said he found it extraordinarily easy to do; that it was the most blissful, wonderful and enlightening experience. 

I think it was probably clear to them that Frank was open to this; that all he needed was to be shown how to find his own internal happiness and salvation. They had a healer work on him, giving him love and they also had him come to a sort of church service where the person leading the service said that he had noticed Frank; felt his energy all the service and that he had messages for him; that his grandmother in Italy was proud of him; that she was proud that he worked with his hands and carried the family name.(They worked on the basis, without knowing anything about Frank that he had not truly believed that his family had accepted that he was gay.)

The whole time he was telling me this story (and I can’t type it all because he was telling me so much so fast, I can’t remember it all at this moment) he was the most animated he has ever been. I know this will sound odd but in the few months since I had seen him last, his hair had grown curly and now his eyes were beaming with life. He really was a much, much happier man.

He told me all this because he knows I have studied the chakras and meditate and so on. He doesn’t know that I am really ‘a doll’ but he senses something, for sure.

He told me about his past; about his mother. When his father divorced his mother, it sent her into a deep depression and she has been in a psychiatric hospital several times. The youngest son, he felt obliged to mother his mother all this time but he told me that he has learned that he must tell her now that it is time for her to act like the mother and for him to act like the son.

He kept me at the salon long after my hair was cut; playing with it so that it looked like he was still working when he was really just wanting to talk. He told me he was going to Bali to a meditation retreat and I asked him for the details since it is a great passion and desire of mine to do that. I am sorely tempted to go with him!

We reached a very new level of friendship on that day, Frank and I. He showed me how to hug, heart to heart, and we practiced it several times, much to the amusement of the busy salon that late afternoon, I suspect, but who cares?

He walked me to the door. “I love you Frank,” I said. I don’t recall what he said in reply because I was too busy watching how his face softened to hear those words. It all felt much deeper than the relationship I have with people I have been socialising with regularly for years. I was on a high myself. This sort of interconnecting with another human being is so very special and important to me.

This morning I read over a chat between D and me. I was wearing Mr. Ringo and I was clearly very, very happy – on the high of being so low. It had come out and it talked in the way that only it can. It is a slut, no doubt about that and it is giving, peaceful; ditzy; happy. It is the best of me.

The opportunity to interact with people who have explored the workings of their inner lives and come to terms with themselves in a way that allows them to shine and to spread joy is a wonderful gift for me. It makes my life rich. It makes me realize I have so much more to learn; so much more to give. And for that, I am eternally grateful.