Writing to learn what we have to say

My grandmother on my mother's side had eight children. She lost two of them - one to a road accident and the other to cancer. I have a strong memory of hearing her say that her dream would be to live in a lighthouse. I imagined she meant that people weren't likely to travel to the lighthouse and climb all those stairs and thus she'd be able to spend some time on her own.

I had a very strong relationship with her. She tried to teach me about Catholicism. She'd put my hair in rags to create a head of curls. When I stayed with her in the city where she ran a business she'd take me to the best department store and tell the woman in charge of the handkerchief counter that her grand daughter required a dozen new handkerchiefs. I'm not sure if she meant to but she trained me to have a discerning eye for quality items.  Most of all, she was available to talk to me and to a  child that is worth gold.

I've been required to write a short story and I chose to write about my parents before they got married. Interestingly, I included my grandfather into the story but there is no mention of my grandmother. Well, she was not integral to the story plot, you see. It was not an easy story to write but ultimately the theme of the story took shape. I explore the notion that those who have had some sort of a similar experience in earlier life may be well suited to harmonious matrimony.

As well, I wanted to say something about education in that era. I wanted to demonstrate how there were (are?) so many other ways to have a happy and successful life than to be educated and to have a professional life. I wanted particularly to say something about doing things well - that no matter what a person does, the important thing is to do it well and to the best of one's ability. I didn't know that was what I wanted to say until the story finally took shape. This is the writing process sometimes. We write to find out what we want and need to write.

To return to where I began in this writing moment of mine, I desperately need time alone, just like my grandmother. As I sit here on Monday morning at the end of the dining table the dull and dreary weekend has been overtaken by life-giving sunshine streaming down onto the papers beside me, casting shadows on the keys over which I spread my fingers.

My troubled mind is settling. I'm not exactly 'at peace' but I feel calm. I ask myself what set me off. What rattled me so?  My needs are not dissipating with age. My lust remains strong. My desire for connection is as strong as it has ever been. I yearn for physicality. I use my plugs because I must. They provide me a strong and immediate source of comfort. My body and mind were designed for use. I was meant to be submissive to a loving dominant. I desire guidance and support. I long for someone to maintain my sense of stability with his assurances that all is under control regardless of which way the winds blow. I look to rise up. I want to percolate up in a bubble of pleasure and joy - delighted to be alive on this day with this man.

In my marriage vows I said "for better, for worse". This is what we as people do. We marry with hope in our hearts that we will go on loving and being loved until the last day. My determination to honor my vows are currently at odds with my spirit's need to rise up and to seek succor; serenity. It is all boiling down, it seems to me, to my husband's ability to join me in seeking the sun. I cannot remain in some Scottish lair; the bog. I wither there. My spirit is trapped there. I must rise up and smell the roses. He is welcome to come with me but he must know, categorically so, that it is simply not possible for me to sit in the mud any more. If necessary, I will save myself.

Submissive tendencies

I've a friend who reminds me from time to time of the very simple truth that a D/s relationship is what you do with the relationship you've got. Since the power exchange relationship is often intense, demanding and challenging it is entirely possible to forget that it must meet the criteria of any well functioning and worthwhile relationship between two (or more) people. There must be at least some modicum of good will and intent; care, fondness at the least; mutual understanding.

It can be difficult to know what a healthy and high functioning relationship looks like if you haven't had one. Even if one is blessed with a well functioning family it's a fifty:fifty thing as to whether a person enters a relationship that brings them succor. One goes along, trying to make it work as best one can until someone looking on might say, "Look, honestly, you deserve better. You don't need to put yourself through this." It is really important to have someone in your life who can point these things out to you. Yes, we all need to learn for ourselves, but reality checks are really, really important.

To give an example, this gal I know was with a boy for a few years. From the outset, he was a bit of a neanderthal: sitting on the couch watching sports games while she did her best to look interested. She'd dress up for him hoping for a compliment but he didn't seem to notice how gorgeous she was and bit by bit her spirits eroded.

"What are you doing with this guy," I'd say. "How long is it going to take you to get over him? Can't you see he is not worth your time?"

In the end, there was nothing to do but encourage her to take a geographical break; to take a long overseas holiday, which she did.

She'd only got as far as a party on a Greek Island when  a man told her how beautiful she was, and she reported back to me that she loved how he was making the decisions about what they'd do tomorrow and the tomorrow after that. She'd found her groove.

Later, she met a boy who was enraptured with her; he said she was the most beautiful girl he'd even seen and he, apparently, very quickly made the decision to make her his. A quick comparison told her that what she had back at home was of little value in comparison with what she now had. He loved being with her, wanted her to be happy and could envisage a future together.

If you read even a little about obsession you'll realize that the state of obsession is focusing on something that you don't have. By the very act of obsessing you convince yourself that the person means more than he or she does. By obsessing, you put more into the situation than is there. You focus your energies on the obsession and before you know it, the object of your obsession has taken over most of your head space. The trick, therefore, is to go out and meet new people; to stay busy; to see things for what they are.

Facebook and the like aren't making things easy for people to get over obsessive love. It's all too easy to see what the other is doing when the thing they should be doing is putting a line in the sand; moving on; putting the other out of mind.

On the other hand, I'm not sure that over-reacting is good, either. My daughter's girlfriend went through the cyber stalking phase checking out her ex-boyfriend's moves and words, only to have a one night stand with a man and to feel pretty shitty about that the next day.

Real emotion, whether it be love or affection, has all the hall marks of wanting the other to be happy. Compliments come easily when they are due; shared smiles and laughter come easily and often as well. There's a certain intimacy because the other has been taken into their world. If you're perpetually kept at a distance, confused and off balance, if the other wants to hold all the cards, refusing to reveal himself or herself, that's not a relationship. It may be a D/s sort of game, but it's not a relationship.

There is a tremendous tendency for the person with a submissive nature to feel that they are meant to endure; to accept any and all treatment. But, that's not a real relationship. That's called something else entirely. There's no strong foundation there at all if that's the case and submissive or not, we need to register that we are worth more and deserve more than that.

The Things We Do

I'm currently reading THE  things THEY carried, by Tim O'Brien. He is a wonderful writer. As he writes, one shouldn't believe a story is a true war story until you feel it in your stomach. Whether truth or fiction, all his stories are felt in the gut. I could point to endless paragraphs that have deeply affected me but this one really resonated:

""To generalize about war is like generalizing about peace. Almost everything is true. Almost nothing is true. At its core, perhaps, war is just another name for death, and yet any soldier will tell you, if he tells the truth, that proximity to death brings with it a corresponding proximity to life. After a firefight, there is always the immense pleasure of aliveness. The trees are alive. The grass, the soil - everything. All around you things are purely living, and you among them, and the aliveness makes you tremble. You feel an intense, out-of-the-skin awareness of your living self - your truest self, the human being you want to be and then become by the force of wanting it."

What occurred to me is that there are moments in that paragraph when he could be commenting on a BDSM experience and the after effects..."the aliveness makes you tremble". I can only speak for myself when I say that experimentation in these activities somehow places me closer to my "truest self"; that pain brings me closer to joy; that there is an "aliveness" once I have been objectified.

As O'Brien makes clear, war is not just death and destruction. It's hell, mystery, terror, adventure, courage, holiness, pity, despair, longing; love. There are no generalizations to be made, just as there are no generalizations to be made about living. We all put one foot in front of the other and the story continues on. Our memories will fade, but if the stories are written down they will be immortal. Thus, we write stories, with the exact details being less important than the essence, the truth of the story.

I sometimes sit and remember an episode of sub-space; the extraordinary experience not just of those divine minutes, but the time thereafter; the experiencing of being alive in the fullest way. In ways, it is getting closer to death, or rather, to the time before one was born; the feeling of being reborn. It creates a very special bond between two people that just goes on and on. How could it not.

Restoration

Cycles being what they are, the desire to write here happened yesterday. My husband was itching to tell me things yesterday afternoon but seeing how hard I was trying to reconstruct the previous hour of my life on paper he left me to my own devices.

This morning when I woke up I had the strong desire to listen to Paul McCartney sing 'Blackbird' and on one of the clips he explained that his inspiration for the song was that girls are sometimes called 'birds'. Ha! While I knew that, I hadn't actually associated that in my thoughts about the song or my mental images during the meditation spoken of in the previous post. I have to say if you allow your mind to just rest and at other times such as walking or listening to music to simply wander where it will, it's so interesting the linkages one can make. If you soften into the process and are in no way impatient, the truth will come to you.

Who we are, what we stand for, what we need and what is right for us is deeply embedded and encoded in our psyche. First, you have to know yourself very well and be scrupulously honest with yourself. I also think you have to ponder important questions. To whom do you belong? From where do you get your sustenance? Are the steps you are taking today leading you to the right place tomorrow? We live in the now, for sure, with no certainty of tomorrow and yesterday gone, but it is now that leads to the next moment. Every decision needs to be intentional. One can't leave the conscience behind. One can't have an empty head when in the process of decision making. This much, I have learned.

Desperation is a nasty state of mind that leads to no good thing. At the same time, to admit that one is desperate is good. I did that. My mind that is capable of intelligent thought knew that my husband had deadlines and very critical deadlines at that, but there was no other choice. I was, quite simply, desperate. I expressed my desperation. It makes me smile to say that his associate on the other end of the phone was having a similar experience with his girl. We both wanted to get laid and stuff the deadline! Like the good men that they are, they put down tools for an hour or so and took their women to bed; played with them and made life sweet again; returned to their conference call and got on with the job at hand.

I noticed the spring in my step immediately. My daughter and I went to see a fabulous one woman performance last night and I noticed how alive I felt. We were driving into the carpark when a man in his car heading out held out a ticket for me. "It's good until 1 am," he said as I took it out of his hand. "You are very kind," I said to him and we both smiled wide. We picked up a Thai meal before the show and I told the woman how delicious it was. She was happy and smiled back widely too. At the show, we needed to sit separately and I immediately engaged the lovely young man beside me. I was in really good form. I sorta wanted to spread the joy I felt around.

The show was great! She's a woman from NYC who has worked in Harlem in challenged school districts and the script is outstanding; her acting sublime. So, we stopped off in a fancy wine bar on the way to the car and had a lovely talk together, engaging as best we could the darling young man serving us, recently come to Australia and with very little English as yet.

The sex for me was restorative; to be loved; touched; used. This is a requirement of mine.

Meditation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How extraordinary the mind is!)

me

It's been one of those perfect days. Apart from a few errands mid-morning (like ordering the corsage for my youngest son's girl to worn on her wrist to the formal school dance, which i delighted in doing for him) i've been in writerly mode all day, completely alone.

A few of my fellow students have been commenting on my writing lately. One fellow student said that i write in a stream of consciousness way but remain logical and ordered in my thinking. Another student said today that my passion for writing was apparent and that she felt I was writing in a new way.

i thought about that. This is academic writing we're talking about. i'm aware i have to follow guidelines and criteria and i'm aware that i prefer to inject something of myself into any type of writing i do, but i wasn't aware of writing in a stream of consciousness way for school and i wasn't aware that it was anything new.

Now, here, on this web journal, that's not important. What is important is the analogy i draw between my style of writing and my style of submission, or, the way i think about myself in terms of my desire to be dominated.

For a long time now there's been the girl, Vesta, if you will, and cindi, the bimbo. When my mind is filled with worry and things to do, the girl has won over the bimbo. It's rational (or irrational, if you like) thought and it's not particularly sexually arousing for me or anyone around me.

Then, there's the bimbo who hasn't a care in the world; who wants use and plenty of it; who caves in at the slightest sign of the dominant's displeasure; who has a dirty, whore-like mind.

It's been like living on a see-saw. When bimbo reigns, it's all up. It's all good. It all works. When the girl has her way and poor bimbo has to hide, there's a whole other mindset. It's mostly down; mostly a pining for better, smaller, teeny tiny days when the bimbo knows her place at the bottom. Thinking and writing can completely absorb me. i know i must write. Yet, when the day is done, i must also return to a part of me that is waiting to play; to shine; to impress; to be saved all over again.

i've been mulling over this idea, as if it were some sort of revelation when in fact it is quite obvious to the observer, i am sure, that the girl and the bimbo are both me. Duh.

Well, of course i knew that on one level but, trust me, if you were in my head you'd see that it is easy to forget that. When cindi isn't expressed she feels a million miles away from me. It's like a twin. If she is not well and content, then neither are you. You just...pine away.

It occurred to me today that just as i am learning that my style of writing is a stream of consciousness writing that simply requires craft to be altered for circumstances, so my true identity is cindi. Now, sometimes she needs to be expressed in a way that is more suitable for the academy, or the establishment or the real world. But, cindi, i am, at all times.

People learn when they learn. It's taken ages for me to really get this simple fact. But, I've got it now. Hooray!  This isn't just about my mindset. This is pertinent to everything: the way i think, the way i go through my days; my body; what i wear; how i feel; my sense of self; my happiness.

The true me is a vessel. i need to be filled in all sorts of ways. i radiate in dominant energy and i provide submissive support in a very natural way that brings pleasure all round. i can write. i can plan. i can lead a full life. But, i'm always bimbo; always cindi; always at peace with myself, so long as i can remember this.

Resting place

Every now and again, i have a look at the statistics for this blog and it never ceases to surprise me that several hundred people make their way here each week. i'm not sure how they get here but more and more it relates to Google search words, i think; random events.

it occurred to me to put up an update here - not reigniting the web journal at all, just randomly visiting myself. Whether i ever visit again is something i can't say. It's not at all an easing back into 'girl' mode, into the intellectual space of inquiring mind or teasing through my thoughts to make sense of my thoughts. i've done more than enough of that. i really do know my mind very well now. No, this is simply a statement about me; time with myself after considerable private writing and much reading.

What prompted this little moment of sharing here? Well, lately i've been one of The Book Depository's very good clients and in my parcel yesterday was The Diary of a Submissive by Sophie Morgan. The world just isn't at all fair because it is so much more arousing than Fifty of Shades of Grey; so much more revealing of why we do what we do; or perhaps i should say, how i think as i think.

James, the boyfriend, is all i could ever want. Testing, teasing, disciplining, exacting, kind, loving, sadistic, concerned about his sadism... He's the full package and provides the sort of full time dynamic i can only wish for in my dreams. He's unpredictable and he conditions her to his own specifications - to take his words very seriously, to do as he says, exactly as he says. When he pulls away, she is terribly sad. He's worried that as his feelings for her deepen into love he can't dominate her and she is worried that as her feelings deepen into love he won't dominate her. So much guilt. So much worry. So much angst.

In fact 'Sophie', a bright journalist, learns very fast what she wants. Well, i did, too. i learned decades ago that I am turned on by certain words, certain thoughts, certain images and feeling a particular way. I crave to be dominated every day of my life. My intellectual 'girl' brain seems to operate all right if you look at my scores and comments from tutors and professors, but it is getting harder for me to remain in that mindset.  It's exhausting, really.

i adore to feel completely dolli; bimbo, fucktoy, it, a dirti hol. I answer to all these words. I can go down the rabbit hole with no more than a few words of introduction. It's an enormous relief to feel completely under someone's control - to be even a little frightened. More than that. I luxuriate in a state of fear. Totally trusting is the bimbo. That's very well established. So, pushing me, jarring me, confusing my brain with disparate thoughts that remind me of how deeply i can be contained; how trapped i am in the dominant's control is interpreted as a feeding of my soul; intensifies the lust, throws me against the wall and insists that i support my own demise, ever further down; ever more bound to my own lustful longings.

i go about my life. Of course i do. My creative inspiration is flowing fast at the same time as English words aren't particularly easy for me. It's hard, if you haven't seen it before, to imagine how dumdum the bimbo truly is. bimbocindi is an airhead; completely dependent on someone special to take care of her; to ensure she cum to no harm. Bimbos can't take care of themselves. Of this, i am sure, although the training of the dumdum mind edges towards it; to the bimbo demonstrating  self care regardless of the circumstances of it's life. It's not in the least ideal but anything less is self harm; irresponsible.

My submissive nature and my very natural desire to have a dominant in my life, to love me and take care of me and to dominate me, as part of that love and care, comes from deep within me. Alweyz bimbo. Alweyz. My sexuality is part of my spirituality and i'm never more happy than in those moments when i may let the bmbmo looose 2 shine, 2 revel in her own demise.

Along the way, i've learned to meditate, to quieten the mind, to find the peace within myself. i had a brief exchange with Lazi Yogi recently on tumblr which was almost an out of body experience: The peace is within you. i took that message deep inside me as if it were a direct communication from God. i no longer have to wearily search; to trek any further in this journey. i could be my own best friend. i could, in times of angst, in intense frustration of not being controlled, find my own peace within myself. The peace is within me. Alweyz bimbo. Bimbo plezir ting.

Was i meant to be with a loving dominant; someone who could take care of my needs? Of course. Life didn't work out exactly like that. My husband is willing, in his own way, to provide me sustenance for my soul. One day it might be more. When his head is not filled with the complicated and intense nuances of business, i am quietly optimistic it will be more. Truly,  i can't write here now because 'the girl' barely exists. She comes and sits and does her academic work - forces herself to her higher order thinking and then grateful it is over for the day returns to bimboland, to a place of comfort and a place that works for it; to a place where it can feel whole (hol!) and at peace.

i'm not entirely sure why God planned it this way, to challenge me in this way; to come to know what i am, and what I need in this way but for the complete package to be denied me. But, i believe there was and is a reason and that through this emotional torment that i have endured, one day the reason and the benefits will be explained. One day i will understand; completely accept.

Meanwhile, i'm eternally grateful for what i have and have been given. The opportunity to know myself and to revel in power exchange experiences is one of the greatest gifts of my life.

May you find your own peace.