Pain, sadness, and loneliness

The shadow of my former self sat in darkness, a beer by his hand, wallowing in the sadness that sought to crush him. All love had left the room, every corner of his mind filled with broken glass that cut with every thought that moved.  He had no power, no glory, none of than which defined him when she was by his side.  The air filled with music, selected for the occasion, and he took deep ragged breaths, not quite crying..though the music filled his eyes with tears as he thought of all he had lost.  He took another sip of sadness, or maybe it was beer, and wrapped his pain like a blanket around himself, and tightened it around his neck, wishing to end his life.

No light reached him, no kind word could penetrate his mood. I see myself now, this sad pathetic creature, gnawing at his cold and broken heart, wishing to consume himself with his own pain.  I can see him so clearly and my future self wants to reach back into time..and slap the fucking shit out of that person, and then hold him.

I want to say to him, have you no small treasure?  Have you no small pile of golden memories to nurse with happiness?  Have you nothing to be thankful for?  Are there no flowers left in your world?  Is there no where you can go to hear the laughter of children? Can you not rise each morning and see the hope that begs you to take it into your arms?

I wish I could be sorry for you but I cannot, I want to fucking slap you.  You make me angry! This life you have been given is not about what you were getting but what you can give!  Have you nothing left to give?  Can you not lend a hand to an elderly person, hold a door for a stranger? Can you not rescue an animal from a shelter?  Are there no soup kitchens begging for volunteers?

Love is all that is worth living for, and worth dying for, but you are a blind fucking fool.  Love is not outside you!  Love comes from deep within you.  You were born as a conduit for love and yet you have shut yourself out from it. Love is like a light, and it longs to pulse through your veins,  to fill you with the pain of knowing that you can never, and I mean absolutely never be alone.

If you want to nurse pain, nurse the pain of the unbearable light of that mana.  You cannot contain all the love that will pour through you when you open yourself to that love. If you must nurse pain, nurse that pain.  When this light peels away the crust from your eyes, so that you see your fellow man through its eyes, and you suddenly love the saint and the sinner, when you see your fellow man struggling in the very pain you now hold, and  you love them for all their flaws and troubles.. then you will be lifted up, and sustained.

No, my former self, sitting in the darkness, nursing your pain.. I cannot feel sorry for you. I am angry with you. You need a wake up call, and I your future self am here now, finally to show you the way.  Your future is bright.. oh if you only knew the joy that you will feel some day.  Now dust yourself off…find that small pile of treasure you have conveniently hidden, and count your blessings.  Then, and only then.. go out and be someones great day.  Namaste!

Ending on a high note

First, I must mention that my slave asked me to not mention a certain something from this weekend, and she reads my blog, so naturally I am starting off by hinting that I might mention it, just to torture her.  Its the WEM in me.

This weekend is an odd one.  In most respects its normal, but a member of the community who has been battling cancer is not expected to make it much longer. Maybe a day or two more.  The reality of that life, and the ones around it are so different from that of my slave and I.  We share our worlds, but we do not live in other peoples worlds.  

To cap off this weekend, I took Izrina out on the motorcycle, which is on road-off road. We stopped at a subway, picked up a sandwich and drinks, and headed back onto a trail.  I had never gone this way before, so out of caution, when we came to gullies and such, I had her get off before I gunned the bike through or over an obstacle.  On the way back, knowing already what I was facing, there was much less of that.  Our objective was to reach a park tower, set on the edge of a vast swamp, a sea of greenery growing up around channels of fresh water running through, and every kind of wild life you might expect in such a rural setting.

As strange as this may sound, I am happy for Lenny, the Master battling cancer, because I know that as much as he is loved here, the love that awaits him is so much greater.  I am equally sorry for his slave, who he will leave behind.  Even if she believes that he is in a better place, there will be a void where his voice used to be, and his touch, and his command.  It is OK, to be sorry for ourselves when someone passes to the next life.  We who are left behind must learn to live without the comfort of those simple things we have come to cherish.

The trails were marked blue and green and by sticking to the blue, we were able to find the tower.  Its old, and rotted in some places, while in other places, new wood reinforcement is quite obvious.  It sits at the top of large bank, rising from a sandy opening in the channels, and breaks out of the trees that ring the miles and miles of habitat.  We climbed to the top, and there among the upper branches of nearby trees, the view is quite beautiful.  To my surprise, we were not alone.

A number of leather family members have posted their love in an outpouring on Fetlife.  I feel like I should be doing something.  I don’t want to sit by a man’s bed, waiting for his death, but neither do I want to do nothing.  I joined others in commenting on Fetlife, but it seems so hollow.  I am sure he has things he still wants to do here, in this life, with his slave.  Its hard sometimes to understand why we can’t have more time in this life.

A mother and her daughter had kayaked in to the beach from the channels, something I too enjoy.  They were standing on the sand just below, and were fishing in this secluded spot.  Izrina perched up on a railing and began to unpack her sandwich to eat.  I asked her to move from the center of the board, since I didn’t trust it. I was worried for my property’s safety.  The sandwich was gone is short order and a pair of cookies was next.  I offered mine to the mother and daughter but they assured me they had snacks.

I gave Lenny’s slave my cell phone number and urged her to call me, or write me if there was anything she needed to say.   I know that she will shortly have a burden that can be lightened only by working through it.  Sometimes just having someone to listen, or hold you and say nothing, is all you need.

We finished our trip into the woods, and drove home, my slave hugging me fiercely, as if she hoped the ride might never end.  Somewhere tonight there is another slave with the same need. 

 

 

Gym time, and abuse

So, I went to the gym today to abuse my muscles some more and after a good upper body workout, I moved to the treadmills to burn a few more calories.  Also to make sure that my heart stays healthy enough for sex.  That’s important too!

I unplugged my music and jacked into the TV attached to the treadmill.  While clicking through channels I came across a dialog in a cop show that made me stop and pause.


Investigator He’s using you!

Woman:   No, he loves me.  He would never leave me. He can’t leave me.

Investigator: That’s because you will do anything he says.

Woman:    You don’t understand what we have.  It’s beautiful!

InvestigatorOh Honey!  I’ve heard that so many times and its never true.


It was a brutal interrogation because they were trying to break her, to turn her against the man she loves.  They were trying to convince this woman that the man she is with is an abuser, using her, and he cared nothing about her. They are making her feel alone.  They had stripped away his protection, leaving her scared and vulnerable. At one point, she runs into her lover in the police station and she is frantic and he touches her face and she is suddenly calm, peaceful, happy, again.  He has incredible power over her and the police are horrified by the control he obviously possesses over her.  He just glares back at them, stoic and defiant. They see a monster, just as the screen writer has portrayed him.

Its my worst nightmare.  Another using authority higher than my own to come between my slave and I, exploiting her, turning her against me.  Making her think that somehow this beautiful thing that we’ve created is somehow all false.  That somehow its all just me, creating an illusion. This power I have is like that, the ability to change her moods, to make her happy, its like being an illusionist.  It all seems too good to be real.  What is real anyway?  What if it isn’t real?

An interrogation like that would tear me up inside.   I would be fighting with all my might to hold on to my beliefs, to keep from having my world torn down around me, by questions I already ask myself.  Being separated, knowing that she too is alone, that I am powerless to stop it, to heal it, to make it better would be a nightmare.  I need to know there is equity, that the happiness is mutual.

I know the show was entertainment and the script was designed to portray an especially clever villain but it made me angry.  There more kinds of love, than the script writer knows.  Control does not a villain make.

But the writer was also right in some ways.  It would be easy, no it IS easy, for an abuser to put themselves ahead of their slaves, to use the control a slave desires to surrender in abusive ways. Its also easy to paint us all the same way, we who would offer Domination, with one broad brush – or script.  I changed the channel.