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.

A joyous New Year

On the morning of the last day of the year, I'm reflecting a little on this year about to end. It was a relatively quiet year for me with few major highlights. My personal highlight was my time at the retreat in New Zealand. I am so happy I took that risk and flew my wings.

On a relationship level, my mind immediately flew back to a morning in the country, mid-winter. My husband and I had rented a darling little cottage. He asked me what toys I had brought along and I told him of a ripple-y butt plug. He asked me to produce it and he had me lay on my side as he put it into position.

He told me later that the transformation had been immediate; something that he would not have believed possible if he had not seen it with his own eyes. One minute I was a girl and the next I was a toy; soft, compliant, suggestible; hungry.

There is little point in dismissing the life blood of this toy inside the girl. She's hardly a fabrication of my imagination when she rises up and is visible to others.

When this toy gets an opportunity to be fully alive, it's a wonderful time for those in her company as well. There's something about her presence that makes me, and my husband, abundantly filled with joy. I'm younger, more carefree, and what's exciting is that those benefits don't last for a minute or an hour, or two, but for days and days. Here I am writing about a morning in early June, six months ago now, feeling all the delight again of remembering the time of "simply letting go".

I listen to a CD regularly where the man talks about this: "simply letting go". "More and more" he will say in a voice that lulls one further into the trance-like state. "Deeper and deeper", he will say, and a little smile is formed because I wait for that phrase, softening a little more each time he says it throughout the meditation.

The toy (aka bimbo or cindi) and a spiritual state became blended in my mind quite some time ago. I give in to both experiences and I benefit from both experiences. In the main, I need some guidance to get to both states, but I can go solo, if necessary. I can meditate alone and that's good; beneficial, always. But the meditation in a group has a quality that I can't find in meditating alone. So it is with the toy. I can take measures to sink into the toy state; a more, mellow mind. However, it is only with the guidance of a 'top' that bimbo can really come alive. She needs someone to guide her, to play with her; to provide her with experiences that she can't provide herself.

I have a number of goals for the coming year, but none is really more important than seeing to it that the toy has more time to call it's own. She's sweet. She's giving. She's loving. Okay, she's slutty. But, her joy is infectious. More joy. That seems a perfectly acceptable new year resolution, I think.

Wishing you a joyous New Year.

The Bends: Going down, coming up too fast

The best way I know how to explain my state of mind is that when a certain amount of time goes by of dealing with day to day life, the ups and the downs, I can sense within myself the need for something intense; something 'connecting'; enabling; settling; pacifying.

Only migraine sufferers would understand this, but the white light so prevalent this Spring can make  my days most challenging. I want to keep going and to achieve; to be helpful, cheerful, bright. However, all the positivism in the world does not stop my head from feeling foggy and dim.

If at all possible I take to my bed and let sleep take me over, but the weariness is still there when I wake. The yawning begins as if, like Rip Van Winkle, no amount of slumber is ever quite enough. It bores and bothers me. The weather of this city and its effect on me makes me wonder if there isn't some other place to live, where the sky has made up its mind and wouldn't dream of producing a thick layer of dirty cotton wool to hang over my head.

You might garner that I'm not myself and need some cheering, but perhaps not really understand nor appreciate the reasons why this would be so. You might think that a visit to a wonderful exhibition at the City's Gallery would pick me up, and you'd be right. The opportunity to feast on beauty does wonders for the spirits, but home again, and there it is again; that miserable murky white/grey crud called 'cloud' which makes my head spin to the point of feeling unbalanced and unsettled all over again.

There is nothing else to do but take such a girl to her bedroom, undress her and put her miserable head into a tight, black latex covering. Relief is to be found in the abyss; the dark nothingness below the surface of the rubber; the slow breathing of the Objekt; the mindset that she is just a thing, a toy with which to play.

Objects, chairs for example, don't complain, and nor do slutti fucktoyz. You can spank their pussies really rather hard and they will barely register the ruckus. The pinching of the nipples that a girl might have something to say about is purely play to a fucktoy, an enticement.

When such a fucktoy puts her hands to the top of her smooth, shiny, rubberhead, she wonders, 'but where did the fucktoy's head go?' for the brains have been banished. It's part of the great 'nothingness' now; peace.Yet, sensations surprise the toy. If she could speak she'd say the only 'thought' on her mind.

'Fuck the bimbo. Fuck the bimbo. Fuck the bimbo.'

It would be tempting to 'take' the bimbo, wallow in the Objekt; thrust away, cum. But, an opportunity would be missed to blend with the bimbo; watch the Objekt transform. Think of Dana becoming Zuull in The Ghost Busters and you are right on the money. Why not interact with the entity? Why miss the show?

As luck would have it, it was at this moment of the proceedings when there was a knock on the bedroom door. Deep in the Objekt head, all tied up, plundered, news came of the catastrophic event, a friend's death. The girl was needed immediately.

I can confirm in a very real way that it takes time to come back to reality; to resume one's footing in a vast, forever moving and random world; it takes time and space.

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.

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.

Abandonment, again

When my youngest son came home from school I suggested we watch Good Will Hunting together. He'd been asked to be Will in a drama scene recently and was really curious about the character and the film. I had bought it years ago and so down we sat to watch this fabulous movie.

In my previous post, Rollymo mentioned abandonment in his comment and it is a theme that I play around with a bit because I know that I'm inclined to feel abandoned at times. Possibly, that's my dramatic nature at work.

Of course, Will suffers from fear of abandonment, He's an orphan and his foster father was a mean, cruel and violent man. Sean Macguire (Robin Williams) who plays his therapist may not be as brilliant as Will but he knows how to get around Will and we learn through him that Will rejects people before they reject him. He fears more abandonment in his life.

"It's not your fault."

"I know."

"It's not your fault."

"I know."

"It's not your fault."

"I know."

"It's not your fault."

"Don't fuck with me Sean, not you."

(as Sean walks, inch by inch, closer and closer to Will)

"It's not your fault."

And, Will, hearing these words and finally registering them, collapses into his arms and sobs.

(I've not lost sight of the fact Rollymo, that when I felt abandoned you said exactly those words to me!)

Sean teaches Will to trust him and he teaches Will to trust himself. He needs to do what is right for him. Chuckie, his best friend,  (Ben Afflick) gives him permission to get on with his life when he tells him to go and live the life he was meant to live, "for me". They'd all give their right arm to have Will's mind and it would be insulting them if he didn't go and do that, he says.

Of course, what Will needs more than anything is love and we're completely satisfied when we learn that he had to go "see about a girl".  We feel certain that Skylar (Minnie Driver) is able to give him the unconditional love he needs to thrive.

At the final session with Sean, Will hugs Sean and says "Thank you" and Sean replies, "Thank you". They have healed one another.  The circle is closed. We, as an audience are deeply satisfied on every level; an absolutely brilliant script there.

The issue of abandonment is not really my issue but our issue. We all, at various stages of life, can feel abandoned. and it can make us closed to potential opportunities. Perhaps it is best, we think, if we walk away first to avoid the pain of being abandoned, or we just don't make the connection in the first place and thus we can be assured of not being rejected or abandoned again.  It's scary, I know this, but we must forge connections. It is what human beings are designed to do.

I'm not entirely sure that we have endless opportunities to connect with other people.  Real connections are relatively rare but when they do occur they must be nurtured; one can afford to take the risk of pushing forward and getting closer because nothing sustains the spirit quite like recognition of human frailty and efforts made to reach out. 

The doll's free flowing thoughts

It can be awfully easy on a blog such as this to make statements that don't hold up in reality. We're so often in an erotic sort of zone when we read and write. It can be awfully easy for statements to roll off the tongue.

A spanking a day sounds nice

She would wear her plug every morning and all through the night.

She would only wear dresses and skirts.

I want to feel tightly contained.

However, life isn't like that all the time. I am not like that all the time.

In the olden days when I had a mentor he had certain expectations of me and they involved doing things every day. Sometimes, it all seemed so easy and other times I'd rail against it. To this day I have no idea if he really expected me to accept those every day ultimatums. I am after all, human.

I know I bucked. I'd try to discuss it with other Dom friends. They'd walk the line of explaining that he did mean it but he didn't mean for me to look into the abyss and imagine that for the rest of my life I'd be doing this, just like as a dieter you don't look into the abyss and imagine never eating sugar again. You take things day by day. You eat an elephant one bite at a time.

That helped. I tried to take it day by day but even then I felt resistance. We'd be talking and he'd have his expectations and some days, in spite of my best intentions, I'd explain that I was feeling "bellyus". He'd quietly push and then when that didn't work he'd push harder. What he didn't do was relent and in the end, fearful of tapping into his anger, I'd accept my fate.

I appreciated (and needed) this push; this insistence that the rule remained. However, what I came to see and accept rather late in the day was that I always had at my disposal the opportunity to argue my point of view. If the argument was made well and the line of defense accepted, there was room within the rule for an exception. (Realistically, I rather doubt it would have worked to do this except in very rare and exceptional circumstances.)

When something works on an everyday basis, really truly works, there is no need for exceptions. I'd hardly ask for an exception for the rule about acrylic nails, now would I?

I'd hardly ask for an exception to the fact that I am responsible for the household. It is set in stone.

I'd hardly ask for an exception to the rule that I must speak politely. I know all too well the response that a lack of respect earns me, at home or on the Internet.

But, some rules are not so ingrained and maybe they never can be. What I was being asked to do is very hard on a day by day basis. If you add into the equation the presence of the Dominant making it happen, then I think it is entirely possible. But, my husband isn't inclined to make happen what he doesn't see himself as do-able or necessary. There's no-one to insist; no-one for whom the rule is entirely necessary. And so, it is not achieved on a daily basis any more. Whom am I  pleasing? If I am pleasing no-one then why should I do something that requires sustained effort and will?

Yet, if I don't do the task on a daily basis, it is I that is the loser in this equation. I cannot enter into the doll's state of mind without doing that thing daily. Without that task achieved where is the 'on' switch?

I grapple with this; find it endlessly difficult to know that I must do this thing without the Dominant's desire being expressed; must do it by myself; for myself; alone.

Is the doll still a doll alone; without a dollmaker; a puppeteer to bring the doll to life? Is there a value to her simply to know that she exists; that she lives and breathes within the realm of the doll house, ready and wanting; available and prepared?

Of course, there is, there is. But, should she abdicate her responsibilities there is no one to check; no-one to care and she wonders, if no-one is there to see her or speak with her; if she cannot impress or please or give pleasure, is she really alive?

She can feel her heart beating. She is just a heartbeat away from rising to the surface; from bubbly over with pleasure and joy. She is always there; wanting to come out; sitting just below the surface; waiting...waiting...

How much I wish to see her, breathe her air, immerse myself in her, be her. How much I envy her. I've seen her happiness; her joy; her bliss; her sexual satisfaction and profound love of life.  Gosh, but I miss her.

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.

Danger period

Yesterday morning, a spanking took place, not as any sort of correction, just because he chose to play with me. He took out his special piece of tied rope and he used it liberally not just on my ass but all over my back and hips and thighs. When he made his focus my ass after that, I could literally feel the juices fall down on the sheet.

He turned me over, told me to keep my hands above my head and began to work on the front. My breasts can be sensitive which is why, I think, he likes to do it - to bring the rope down across my breasts. I didn't and haven't told him that it causes a glow in my nipples, particularly the right nipple that I found incredibly arousing, at the same time as I associate some pain with the experience.

When I couldn't stop myself from trying to protect my poor nipples from time to time he brought the long rope, part of which had secured my wrists, around the bed so that I was firmly tied to a bed post. Now the rope could come down on my body where he chose and without my interference.

Unable to wait any longer (I think) he plundered into me and roughly fucked me.

This was all very satisfying on many levels.

However, I really didn't get the buzz from the experience that I had anticipated. The day after that was fine. I did my reading for my weekly assignment, we had a sandwich and a coffee at the club; I made a pasta for dinner and we watched 'The Iron Lady'. Nothing was wrong. Yet, nothing was particularly right either. It was odd.

This morning, he was his feisty self in bed - some comment about Thatcher being right and it wasn't about feelings, it was about thoughts. This was meant to be a line to put me in my place because I hadn't like the way he had responded to my genuine suggestion about why his foot was hurting. I took umbrage and got out of bed, suggesting as I went that Thatcher was alone towards the end of her life and maybe being nice was a better way to go!

We met shortly thereafter in the kitchen.

"Are you all better now?" he asked.

"I'm fine, thank you."

"It's so predictable. You get a bit roughed up and you want to assert yourself."

I just looked at him. It was so true. For reasons I don't understand, every now and again, what would normally be seen as a really good time, isn't. It is. But, my response to it isn't the usual response.

He doesn't really let it bother him. It's clear he's not really bothered. But, it is, as he likes to call it a "danger period" and I gather he feels that what's important is to keep me contained and be clear about the fact that he is in control. That seems to get us over this little bump.

That's true.

What he doesn't know is that since that event, my mind is on fire. The thoughts about how I'm treated in my fantasy life are especially more intense: a more whispy cane, a firmer strike, a louder scream; a bigger plug, a longer containment...a very dumdum l'il thing.

I've had the sort of training that doesn't fade away. It's very much a part of my mind processes now. It's just who I am and how I process. Pride (ego) will rear it's head occasionally, making it all the more important that the control is firm and my place on the bottom well secured.

Journal writing

It is said that a diary is more intimate than a journal because a journal is more public. We have an interesting experience in anonymous online journal writing because theoretically we can say what we want here. But, we don't, do we? At least, I don't. I do say what I feel often but it is tempered by the fact that there are readers of the material.

In a diary that we hide in the back of the lingerie drawer we are much more willing to say exactly what we think. In a diary there is no-one to hurt, no-one to judge and most importantly, if we become embarrassed or worried that we have committed our thoughts to paper, we can cross it out, or tear the page out, or burn the book, if necessary. When writing in on-line journals and publishing those words, we need to be aware we publish them, technically, forever.

When I moved into this house, the previous owner had left a diary. I didn't find it for some time because it was hidden on a shelf, up high and way back. I read the diary (of course I did!) and I was quite shocked at the things she wrote, mostly about her ex-husband and how she felt about him at certain times and her attempts to get back into life as a single woman. The entry I remember best is that her father had bought her a car and when her husband came to the house to collect his art she drove the car to another street so that he wouldn't see it. But, when she returned to the car later that day he had left a note on the windscreen. "Nice car, Linda. Did Daddy buy that for you?"

It was so evident that it had become a rather sordid sort of situation and that whilst she didn't want to be unmarried, she didn't want to be with him either. The writing was straight from the heart and onto the page; full of vulnerability and inner strength to move on; to not be a victim. I felt warmer about this woman after reading it because she presented as a bit of a tough broad when meeting her in person and I realized after reading her private reflections that she was actually a woman who had been hurt and was doing her best to protect herself. The distance she put between herself and us in person was simply a protective layer.

I've kept diaries where I have poured my heart out and later I burned them because if I died and my children found them, (as I found Linda's diary) I would have left them with the impression that I had been terribly sad. Yes, I was sad when I wrote them but I am not now and have only been sad for a  very short time in my life, so why burden them (or anyone) with the knowledge that for a short time I was sad, angry, confused, embittered. I turned them into ashes because that is where they were meant to go.

I keep notebooks filled with ideas and thoughts but they aren't about me. If I am nutting out a very confusing relationship I write down how I feel or what was said in order to try to make sense of my reactions to a certain event or conversation.

 I've kept (and keep) notes about my kinky life. Whilst cindi was always there, so to speak, adapting her into my life was never going to be straightforward and I've got endless notes about that as I endeavored to embrace her simple sense of a happy life into my life. To do this meant that 'the girl' with endless thoughts and ideas needed to make space for cindi and that required a process of 'letting go' that I worked on daily for a few years. My notebooks about those years are about the processes I used to attain that sense of peace and purpose.

Looking back, I had no idea where I was going - simply that I was on my way. My notebook simply entitled '2010' begins with the words:

Lessons

- you have an owner

- you are owned

it is the role of the FT (fuck toy) to be alluring and enticing

FT needs reminders of its role, status and purpose e.g. nails, writing on body, piercings, tattoos, dress code, wearing pluggi (ON switch)
FT must be dumdum - not too much thinki


That was the first page; my entrance into a world of transformation that altered my days; my thinking; my way of living and way of life. Need I add that this notebook is utterly precious to me?

I have written so many words about all this but still the words flow. It is not just a desire to express myself. I don't really seek to be understood but I do seek to understand. I put so much energy and time into this process. I embraced it with my heart and soul. I remember asking one day (and I didn't ask a lot), "But why do I want this?" I genuinely didn't know why I was so adamant to experience this process and to see it through to the end. And the person that I was speaking with said, "Because you seek the Divine".

Within all this writing is a desire to tap into something that I don't really understand. It's a passion that isn't logical. There is something that drives me onward.

This afternoon after school I mentioned to my son that I happened to check into my Face book and I saw his U tube video and liked it. That began a conversation (or rather, I listened to him and nodded) of over an hour's length as he explained the process he had undertaken and what every little decision he had made along the way meant to him. He was animated. He was as passionate as any human being can be about a subject. He is, quite simply, driven to express himself through animation, film, drawing and even editing. He was meant to do this. I totally get that.

And I am meant to write about my transformation until I have all the answers.

Transforming depression to peace and joy

To return to the spiritual man who took a yoga class last week, he said that when people are found having been buried under rubble for a week or even longer, the press often refer to it as a "miracle". It is not a miracle, he said. We can all survive for a week or more without food or water. The reason why people survive is that their spirit is strong. I mentioned this to my husband and he said, "Well, people panic. That's why they die." But, it does goes to resiliency, I think. Some people are extraordinarily strong. Awful things can happen to them but they seem able to overcome them.

I happened to catch a BBC radio show just now about depression. Researchers were trying to uncover the reasons why some people are resilient and some people fall down to depression. It is a subject that absolutely fascinates me and I have spoken to several people about it. My third child was born with a number of issues and I was told he would never go to a regular school. An American psychologist told me this when my son was three years old and it put me off psychology for nearly 20 years. My husband said it was hogwash and that I should just pretend I never heard that statement but I confess it shook me to the core. Anyway, we just proceeded to educate him like the other children, mindful that there were issues and undoubtedly I gave him an extra dose of my time and attention and of course I found experts to give him the necessary intervention therapies.

He graduated from school a few years ago, was a senior member of the outdoor program; Captain of his summer sport. His marks didn't enable him to go straight into a degree course but he did a diploma course and got very good marks which earned him a sideways transfer into the Degree course. Initially, that was rough. He failed a few subjects but once he realized the expectations he knuckled down and next time it was all Distinctions and Credits. He wants to be part of the industry based program and he has been for an interview - just missed out because one other candidate had experience already in that particular field. It didn't bother him. Whatever happens, he never ever gets depressed. If something doesn't work out, he immediately figures out how to overcome the hurdle. I have huge admiration for this quality. I wish I could bottle and sell his resilience.

The theory goes that if you have had a bout of depression, you are more likely to have another episode. I definitely had post-breastfeeding depression, as I call it. I was blissfully happy after the birth of my fourth child until he one day decided he didn't want to feed from my breast. He simply turned his head away and that was that. I was dumbfounded. For 8 months, he had fed from my breasts several times a day. He had a sucking action that none of the other children had and I would sit there having multiple orgasms every day of my life, usually four times a day. And then, one day it was all over. Chemical changes in my body, I think, led to depression.

My husband tried to seek help from some helpline he located but the woman who answered left him with the impression that it was all his fault and that confused him all the more. I continued with life. I wasn't stuck in my bed or anything but I just wasn't getting joy out of my life. It probably is worth bearing in mind that I had, as well as the baby, three children in primary school, a husband doing an MBA and no help whatsoever from family members. That could have had something to do with it too. Fortunately, after a few months the depression lifted of its own accord.

 When I try to imagine what it was like to have depression, I can't recall it or imagine it in any detail. I do know that many days I felt listless and I recall walking into the laundry one day and looking at all I had to do and imagined the work of climbing Mt. Everest. To call a spade a spade, I was seriously overworked; relentless work that started at dawn and didn't end til last thing at night, and then I'd wake up the next day and do it all over again. Although I loved my children fiercely, the job of motherhood was eating at my marrow. It was sometimes my own resilience and determination to get through those years (in spite of the depressive episode) that kept me going, I think.

Last year, nearly 15 years after the first episode of depression, I reached a point where it was becoming clear to me that I was depressed and fearing it, I chose to begin psychological counseling (which turned out to be a kind of cognitive behaviour therapy approach) So, where was my resilience? What had taken me to this point? Well, remember, I speak now in hindsight. I can't remember all my thoughts of 12 months ago. But, this is what I think happened. For a few years by then, I had had some wonderful SM moments; some of the best moments of my life. Somehow, that made the lows all the more low for me. If my husband or my mentor was at odds with me; if they were disappointed with me; if they were angry with me; I hit an all time low. Of course, good times would return. Stability would come. But, it was that see-saw approach of life that was really overwhelming me.

When I entered therapy I told my psychologist that I wanted to just live happily and calmly but also to have the very good times. She once told me that I was incredibly lucky; that almost no one else had these incredible moments of elation like I was describing. But, without being able to explain it then, though I can explain it to you now, I wanted to experience the same highs but in an environment where I felt more stability. I didn't want to give up the highs but I did want to say goodbye to the lows; those dreadful occurrences where I felt that I made someone else so mad with me.

It bothers me that I can give no clear cut advice to those suffering depression, but then again, the English researchers on the BBC didn't have answers either. I once was depressed. I am no longer depressed and yet, I can't express the process of recovery exactly - although perhaps there are some answers in my journal entries of the past eight  months or so (I rarely re-read here).

For me, I think it was about gaining some autonomy. As someone who clearly has a submissive personality I tended to give too much of myself away and my psychologist steered me towards doing something for myself. When we isolated 'writing' as something I had always wanted to do, she wouldn't let the bone go. One day, I said that I had identified the course I wanted to do but that I would wait for 2012 to commence.

"Oh no you don't! You are enrolling right now!!"

I thought it was bossy and a bit pushy but you and I both know that I respond to that and enrol immediately, I did.  Whatever depression I was experiencing seemed to lift almost immediately. It was as if, by virtue of finally doing something that turned my frontal lobes on, I was immediately cured. I equate this to ADD where if you allow a person to do the thing he or she really wants to do, concentration is virtually assured. Quite suddenly, I was on my way to having a totally happy life. I finally had some autonomy in my life.

Of course, it won't be a surprise to learn that my relationships are my lifeblood and so I also needed to ensure that I was pleasing; that the moments would be rare that I displeased; that I had the strength to put those moments in their proper place, too. I know it sounds cliche, but in embracing my training, all the training, I  have developed skills that enable me to make both myself and those in my life happy. I can say better what I need and want. As if by magic, 'asking' is a piece of cake. My expectations are reasonable. Stability and accord reign. I don't try to control. I live in peace. I experience much joy.

I hear the medicos talking about depression as if there is a magic bullet they are yet to find. I believe that depression tends to occur when someone cannot cope. Teaching those people strategies to cope may help better than any medication could, at least in some circumstances. I think the author of 'Eat, Pray, Love' discovered that. Sure, the medication was important at first but she learned balance; how to look inside herself to find the answers to a happy life; how to give back to others and love them well; how to find autonomy and be close to someone at the same time.

This was the answer for me in large measure; to go on loving and caring as fiercely as I had always done but to refine my skills at communication; to re-gig my expectations; and as well, to leave aside some space for me to do those things that gave me great satisfaction and joy - learning, writing, the world of yoga and meditation; BDSM/objectification practices. They all sustain and fulfill me.


Of course, what I want out of life is individual to me and probably nothing to do with you. Each reader of these words will have their own goals and wishes for their life. This is entirely right. But, if you do suffer from depression or if life isn't as good as you would like it to be, it pays to think of this day as the first day on the path to the life you want. I think the first step is to acknowledge that there are people who can help you with skills and that you can help yourself by identifying exactly what you want. How do you want your life to look this time next year?

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.

Thank you

Some readers will be aware that recently I was unsure as to whether to continue writing here and that I made a determination to keep writing. As one reader rightly pointed out,  I would stop writing when the need to write here went away. Of course, there is no knowing about the timing of such things in advance. It happens when it happens.

Some readers may also be aware that the anniversary of my birth day is a difficult day for me. I have never really come to terms with this. I can offer no plausible explanation. I have just come to accept it as a fact.

Today is my birthday. Today, I am fifty five years old. Curiously, I have written 555 posts here. For reasons I can't fully explain, today is the day I have decided to write my last post here on Vesta.

It seems only fair to offer those readers who have read here over time and come to know me through these pages, some sort of explanation. Generally speaking, I feel that "Vesta" has said all that she should say. For a long time, I worked on the basis that I could combine Vesta and cindi into one entity: thus they are both on these pages. I was wrong. They are really two quite separate entities and the entity that needs a voice from now on is not Vesta but cindi. I am most happy and most myself when cindi  is at the forefront of my mind.

For a long time, I held onto independence of thought (Vesta) at the same time as I craved (and continue to crave) that state of grace that is cindi. I am most happy when I have a very deep connection; when I accept my nature; my place and the limitations and advantages of that place. Both my heart and my head tell me that this place of grace is most easily attained in a quiet place; that as long as I hold onto the position of hosting this site I won't reach the place that I seek.

I want you to know that I leave here in excellent shape. I have just returned from having lunch with my husband in the city. I lost count of the times he told me how beautiful I looked; how "hot" I still am; how lucky he is to have me; how happy I have made him; how much he has revelled in the places I have taken him on this journey (and whilst journeys have no end if you are a wanderer, the lucky ones do reach moments when they feel they have arrived).

I am rich in love. A loving husband, the soul mate of my life and four handsome, intelligent and loving children have made my life abundantly rich.

I don't discount either the great feelings of warmth I have felt here. I felt truly wrapped in your care a few weeks ago when you wrote in to speak with me. I had thought perhaps I no longer resonated with you.

Although he will forever be anonymous, I give huge credit to my mentor of the past few years. I don't know how he did it but he tapped into my soul, my heart and the very essence of me to truly transform my mind. Words cannot convey my gratitude. Words cannot convey how sorry I am for the times I disappointed him.

For me, submission is synonymous with connection: a connection between people that is felt in one's heart, one's soul and the deepest recesses of the mind. It is not for everyone but it is very much for me. Whilst I no longer will write here, nothing has really changed. I still believe in love. I still believe in being true to one's nature. I will still live as I was meant to live.

The blog will remain. You are welcome to read here as it pleases you, whenever it pleases you. I wish you all the very best and shall think of you fondly. Thank you for having me and for taking such good care of me. You were very kind.

With love,
Vesta
xo

Limbo

I have received some lovely and very helpful comments to my last post and I do intend to respond to each one of them. If you put them together they tell a story - little fragments of me as you have come to know me. I just put up Jake's comment. He made me laugh. Ah, Jake, if you only knew how little self-control I have. Of course, I would peak at it! It would be like saying, "See that New York cheesecake on your desk? Well, you are not to touch it! Now, honestly what are the chances that I would be able to walk away?? So it is with the Vesta/cindi blog.

Anyways, heaven only knows why thoughts are gushing out of me at this time but that's what is happening. So, for now I am just going to keep putting the thoughts down here and see if I can read the tea leaves. Part of me hates that Sir J is right; that I am not ready to put this thing down. It makes me so desperately want to put it down...that I have this need still...but he is right. I feel there are things that have to be expressed or I will explode.

I don't know how to say it any other way. What happened to me over the past two years was a true transformation. It wasn't something I expected to go away and it didn't go away. If anything, things got more intense in the past few months and cindi became a much bigger part of my life. My husband calls me cindi almost exclusively. He has become adept in taking me to that mindset and keeping me there. It is a completely freeing, 'out of body' experience and afterwards, I don't hit the ground for many hours. I float in a bubble of satisfaction. You simply can't take the smile off my face. For opening "Pandora's box", I will be forever grateful.

But, there are emotions going on within me and for some weeks now that are not so attractive - a sense of sadness mixed in with a sense of waste and even some anger and disappointment. He tried his best, I think, to prepare me and encourage me and help me to understand his decision but cindi never really did understand. She said to him several times comments like, "But how dis ebin pussibl. Wood leef babi lone? How ken leef cindi lone n nebr chek in on her?" One of the last things he said to cindi was that it was "ber sitin"and that cindi "hab lots trennin". That is true. She did have lots of training and maybe it was time for her to venture out into the world all on her own.

I am not proud to say that I cannot overcome my feelings of "abandonment". I want to overcome them and on certain days I convince myself that I have overcome those feelings. But, honestly they never go away. And, in amongst those feelings is the sense of waste. "Such a waste" someone used to say regularly and that is how I feel. What arbitrary measure is being used here to deny cindi?

Of course, I'm aware enough of the real world and its limitations to acknowledge that there are good reasons for caution and restraint. I do understand. But, cindi does not really understand at all. Her sense of faith and trust and loyalty and smallness doesn't allow her to understand such a grown up notion as that someone is there, alive, well and breathing but not able to speak to her; absent for an unknown length of time; quite probably forever.

And, she wonders, would it have been better to say "bi bi" without hope rather than "c u l8r" and be left wondering forever if he might return to give her some energy some day? Is she stuck in the land of limbo, poor bimbo, unable to accept?

There is no regret here. It is a far, far better thing to have had this thing and lost it than never to have had it at all.I will never feel differently about it. I feel ultra confident about that statement. And, cindi is not just sitting on the shelf pining either. She is getting on with life, is cindi. It is just that she lost her friend and that is rather sad.

Lovely long nails

When I get my weekly writing assignment in there is a little window of opportunity, before I think about the next one and the major assignment to be done, to have a little fun. Call me strange, but coming to this web journal is what I call fun. So, here I am.

Today has been a good day. I went down to the nail salon and asked for a new set and when it was time to determine the length, I made sure they kept them long; longer, in fact, than I have ever had them before. Times have moved on and I don't have the pleasure of sharing that information with anyone any more. Remember when getting a long set of nails was incredibly hard for me, in spite of expectations? Well, now I don't really have any expectations to deal with, except my own. A set of long nails was what *I * wanted today. I recall that thought actually earlier today as I sat there. It was a little lonely to know that my sharing days were over; that I wouldn't get the pleasure of making someone else happy. But, even so, I knew that I needed very long nails right now and I was entirely correct about that.

For one thing, they are incredibly beautiful. My fingers look amazing and I feel very graceful; contained; at peace. My husband wanted to see them, of course and he wondered if I would be able to manage. "Are you sure you can type all right with them?" he asked. But, I can type perfectly well with them. In fact, I feel more balanced and able with them this length than the way they were before.

It is a strange and wondrous thing how much I took to heart all that I learned over the past couple of years. So much of the 'education' has become ingrained; so much of what I learned feels as if it was always this way; as if *I* was always this way. Of course, I was not always this way. I never pined for long nails before I learned how to have the mindset of a doll. I had no real idea that by being contained in various ways I would find my peace and my contentment. It didn't really occur to me that I was desperately in need of being saved. But, I was. I was desperately in need of being saved.

It is true. I had lots and lots of training. I have changed for good; for the good. But, ohhhh, how utterly marvellous it would be to share such a day as I once did. My goodness, you would think I would stop missing those conversations. But, I strongly suspect, I never shall.

So much less

At the current time, my life is incredibly full and complex. There is so much to do and so little time to get it all done. It will be some kind of miracle if in the next 10 days I can do what I have to do.

Yet, I come here to this web journal of mine to write a little something. I do that because this web journal is my retreat from the real world of 'to do' lists, of people who rely on me, of people for whom I am responsible. In this little space, I can be just the essence of myself. I can be nothing more than an object; a plaything; a doll; at best, just a hole.

When the world of responsibility and labour gets too much and my head spins with all the details of not just my life but many lives, it is this space which soothes and settles me.

I heard yesterday of a man who killed two wives and several other people, it seems. His victims were nurses of a certain age: women who had served all their lives and he enchanted them by providing them with attention and being of service to them. Suddenly they had a man in their lives who would have dinner waiting for them; who was willing to give them a back rub. Having fallen in love, their money was his for the taking and when he was ready, he planned their demise.

It is understandable; a woman being attracted to a man who offers care. The vast majority of women work very hard; care very deeply and happily give to their families quite selflessly. A man who offers them attention and affection; who is willing to tend to them is certainly an aphrodisiac.

The woman with a submissive nature is giving; caring; unselfish. Service is part of her makeup and she tends to go the extra mile to see that all is well in her home. Perhaps this is why she can so readily melt into a very small space; to find succor in giving up all control; to let go and simply follow instructions; to allow her body to be used (and thus pleasured) at will.

Seeing the need to bunker down to my small space after months of intense labor, my Owner objectified me on the weekend because it was clear that I needed that. As he "used" me he talked quietly to me: "You are just a hole, cindi; a hole for me to use...You need your holes filled...A hole needs no words...Just do as you are told...

As the minutes wore into hours I could feel my state of mind soar. I felt revived and revitalized. I felt lighter; brighter; energized. I floated through the rest of the day and my invigorated state of mind was evident to me and to him.

Some time ago, I underwent a transformation of sorts and it was not for the short term. I know who I am and I know what I need and what is good for me.

When I am less, I feel so very much more.

Acceptance

If we know what it is to fall in love - the blood rushing to the head, the pitter pat of our hearts, the endless thinking about someone and wanting of someone, the way the world changes on a dime in terms of light and a sense of beauty that was not previously there - then we have some vague idea of what it is to reveal our innermost desires and thoughts.

I speak of those thoughts that have been our shadow for so many years. Speaking about them, writing about them, experiencing them for real is a heady, light hearted experience not unlike falling in love. You feel extraordinarily lucky. You feel sorry for all the other smucks who don't know what you know. You feel rather full of yourself and feel sometimes that you might burst, holding in this delicious secret that you would like to share with the rest of the world but dare not (hence this web journal).

There were endless opportunities for me to feel superior. How could you all be leading a full life, I would think around a table of friends or people at a dinner or lunch, if you don't know what I know; if you have not experienced what I have experienced? I just felt so extraordinarily lucky to be living finally as I wanted to live, you see.

I have always wanted a very deep connection, to feel a total sex pot; to be done over repeatedly for hours and hours. I wanted to feel a little fear; to not be sure what was going to happen next; to be told what to do, even if I was not at all sure that I wanted to do it. It provided me with the rushes of a lifetime. To have to bite down on the fact that I was being forced (well not literally forced but in my mind, believing there was no alternative) to do something according to the will of another was mind blowingly thrilling - the resistance, the eventual conviction to do it their way, the sense of elation of mission accomplished, the praise...ahhhh, the praise...all more than worth it in the end.My journey into the world of submission was orgasmically, spectacularly thrilling for me and I regret not a single moment of it.

And, then one day, it came to an end. It didn't so much peter out as simply dry up. There were offers to pick up from there but I declined. I seemed to have lost the will. I leaked (tears that just came at inappropriate moments) for too long, was vulnerable for too long and my self-preservation instinct kicked in. I needed to be busy. I needed to find succor in other ways. I needed to look about me with fresh eyes and see what I may have missed while I had been intellectually absent.

I absorbed myself in life in endless ways. I took on new challenges. I faced the fact that I was needed and I dealt with those needs, attended to other people. I determined to focus on calm and a serene peace of mind and as I did so I discovered I had more in reserve - felt better equipped to face and deal with the challenges in front of me.

I could see adjustments in attitude, in resilience and in willingness to try to look at life in new ways in those about me. Either it was an enormous co-incidence or my more serene state of mind was having an effect on others. Again, it was like discovering a whole new way to live. I was not abandoning what had brought me joy before; not at all. But, in its absence I had chosen to love, to forgive, to understand and to accept that I held the keys to change. It was again up to me to find the path forward and in my solitary pursuits such as meditation I had enabled myself to soften more; to be loving in spite of loss I thought might well be inconsolably sad for me. I began to feel the path to the future opening up to me and embracing me as if to say, "You have found your way. Now, it will be all right." There was a divinity about that feeling.

Last night I attended a chamber music dinner which was indeed sublime. Yes, the room was gorgeous: the flowers, the lighting, the table settings, the food and wine. But, it was the music played by boys as young as 14 and as old as 18 that was heavenly. They were passionate, meticulous; united and inspirational. We are talking 'creme de la creme' here; boys who could easily make music their career if they so chose.  It was one 'wow' moment after another and clearly moved, the musical director of the school stood up and said something like, "These boys will never live in the same way again.  Actually playing this music at this level...they will always remember it...hold it in their hearts...and it will effect their lives in a positive way for as long as they live."

This is exactly how I feel about my explorations - those explorations that I have reported in this journal. Even if I never experience again what I have done in the past in quite the same way, that I lived as I wanted to live, experienced what I want to experience, means that I will never live the same way again and will hold those experiences in my heart for as long as I live. I have been truly blessed.

Reinvention

I had five couples to dinner on Saturday night. It was an old fashioned dinner party with everything laid on. It wasn't out of any sort of obligation that I did that but rather a strong desire to do things very well and give everyone a good time. They were effusive in their praise at the time and I have had some lovely phone calls thanking me for such a wonderful evening.

In fact all six couples have been together since our 20s and our marriages are all very strong. Patricia (let's call her) said to me just now that my husband was "devoted" to me and it pulled me up with a round turn. She is absolutely right. He is devoted to me; still passionate, loving and turned on by me.

She is moving to Singapore with John (let's call him) and although she doesn't want to move to Singapore again we agreed she needed to think of it as an "adventure". She said to me "at our age, darling, in our 50s now, we have to reinvent our marriages." I smiled. Little did she know that I reinvented mine some years ago and have had a blast doing so, revelling in being "the slut", that object that needs use. That would be too much information so instead of telling her of my debasement, I simply agreed. As you do. Time indeed to reinvent our marriages!

My husband and I remain full of love for one another; deeply committed to one another and we look forward to the next part of our lives with a great sense of excitement and vigor. Honestly, who could ask for more?

Once upon a time..

Once upon a time in a faraway land there was a girl who dreamed. She dreamed of a way to live and love. But, no matter how hard she tried, the dream was a little beyond her reach.

One day, a boy reached out to her. Over time he showed the girl how to achieve her dreams. He showed her how to live and to love so that she was true to herself, just like in her dreams. He fulfilled her dreams. He rescued her.

The girl became attached to the boy. She was grateful to him and fond of him and held hope that they could always be friends.

One day the boy told the girl that it was soon time for him to leave. His work with her was complete.

The girl was very sad. She did not know how she would find the courage and the will to say goodbye for the final time.

As she sometimes did the girl returned to her notebooks for inspiration and guidance. She read these words:

“I’ll remember having loved you.”

“What shall we do tomorrow? Let’s think about it tomorrow.”

“To live is to prepare for goodbyes.”

“On death, some look back on having loved and some look back on having been loved.”

“I love you.” “Was that so hard to say?”

All these words she found on the one page, notes she had written a year ago, almost to the day.

And, in these words she found her strength. She could do nothing about the fact that it was time to say goodbye. This was out of her control. But through him and his guidance, she had both loved and had been loved in a way that she had dreamed about ever since she was a little girl.

It was time to say goodbye and she was as ready as she would ever be.  It had been a very good thing. She would never regret it and she would never forget; altered for good.

Sayonara, my very dear and noble friend. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Live well. Be happy. And, so shall I.

Bimbofic8n a mentil ting

A frend sent cindi a link 2dey 2 a cumvers8n on fetlife bowt wedda bimbofic8n harmfil. cindi gotsa lotsa tots bowt dis.

First ob ull, sum bimboz hab beri intens fiskil modifik8nz but dis nut reeeeli reel8 2 cindi. Sur, she liki dress beri feminiinli, dressz n skerts, n she liki looki pretti but she wood nebr hab sergeri 2 mek adjustminz. cindi liki stey fit n she liki get mor toned n lose few kiloz, wich she doin wif gr8 resultz, but she nut modify her bodi in deez xtreem weyz.

Habin sed dat, cindi liki da tot ber much onnir tagz n wen onnir abil 2 gif cindi sum of his fokus, she wanna da nippel rings - doz onnir tagz da mek her feel ebin mor owned. Dat a bodi modifik8n she def wan.

N, speekin of bodi modifik8nz, cindi happi wif da anal treynnin dat mek 4 a bodi chenj 2. Deez fiskil chengz beri beri persinel n sum bimboz liki tattooz, or get der brestz enlarjd n so on. Dis up 2 da bimbo n her onnir. cindi mek no jujminz bowt deez tingz. 4 sampil, it took cindi lung tym 2 feel cumfertibil in bi-n a corset. Ull deez modifik8nz tek a gud deel ob tym reeeli. Nuttin bowt dem hapinz obr nite.

So, in fakt, da bimbofik8n a mentil ting reeeli. It bowt a mindset; a leest it bowt a mindset 4 cindi.

Sum yeera bak, wen cindi unda lotslotsa pressir n stress, she discuberd dat ternin off her mynd helpi her gr8 deel. 2 dis end she a beri natiril bimbo n beri beri soootd 2 lyf az a bimbo. She beleef dat Pilates sayv her saniti. Nowdeyz, she regooorli dus pilates az wel as yoga, n now medit8n. She lubs 2 go 2 dat plays wher realiti nut introod, wher she peesfool n joyfool n where she cunnektz wif da sole.

Commoonik8n wif peepil hoo unnerstan wut cindi needz a hoooj gift in her lyf. She 4eva gra8fool 4 dis opportooniti n she feel she hab a sole 2 sole connekshin dat terribli importin 2 her. Dat she akoosd nut kerin bowt dis reeeli hirt her feelinz coz she sed meni meni tymz wut da troof; dat she mor gr8fool dan she cood ebr ebr sey in werdz. Bibofik8n streeemli importin 2 her n she nut no wut she hab dun wiffowt it.

Da pluggiz def tek cindi 2 da plays where she getz beri close 2 IT - wher she just a slutti hol. Cindi noz dat dis sownd liki hooome8n n degrad8n but dat nut da wey she cz it et ull.

On da cuntrari, cindi elev8d so much bi da pluggiz, da bimbofik8n n da peees ob myn dat cumz wen she pluggi regooorli.

cindi tryin 2 akept her punishmin graysfooli. But, heer da troof: she miss da pluggiz mor dan she ker 2 admit n she beri hopefool dat soon she hab bak so dat she ken speriens da joy ob da pluggi st8.

cindi nut spekt da hooz 2 unnerstan. Hoo ken unnerstan foooli wut dey nut speriens? But, cindi noz n she wanna her pluggiz bak! Pleeeeeeeeeeeeez.