Gestating

Apparently the last time I posted here was in June.  It's now October.  That's a hell of a long wait.  Sorry about that.

I'm not really sure how to write about what I want to write about today.  (It's positive, so don't worry, if you're an anxious person!)  It's something I'm still in the process of going through, but it's also something I don't really know how to describe.

To put it a little strangely, I feel like I am gestating in preparation for a rebirth.

I entered the kink scene the moment I turned 18.  I'm now 31 - so that's 13 years that have passed between then and now.  And particularly noteworthy in those years has been the last two or three years, where I have been somewhat absent from the scene due to a whole bunch of reasons.  And now I am slowly returning - not at full strength, just gently.  And oh - when I have returned, the incredible joy I feel about being with my people again is intense and wonderful.  But something is still not sitting quite right.

Things change.  People change.  13 years is a long time, and in particular, people always change a lot from their late teens until their 30s.  There is also a particular comic (this one, here) that I find particularly relevant to times like this, although right now I am thinking about it less in terms of "being great at something" and more just in terms of the cycles and periods of our lives that we go through.

I am at a stage, kink and Leather wise as well as generally life wise, where I feel that I am closing one chapter and moving to the next one.  I can't... really put a label on what those chapters are.  I don't feel, for example, that I am changing radically in my interests, nor am I switching or flipping from D to s, or anything like that.  So that also makes this hard to write about - I don't have a clear cut way to express this change.  It is entirely an internal change, one mostly of feeling.

But I feel different.  I feel like I am leaving one life behind and a new one is starting.  There's no trigger for this specifically; no relationship change (my dear boy and I are as happy together as ever), no interest shift, nothing like that.

But this is a transitional time.  I just can't fully express what I am transitioning between.

The other day, I tied up my boy at home.  It felt odd.  The rope didn't feel right.  The energy wasn't right.  That rope belonged in my old life, it doesn't quite fit in the new one.  To get a little spiritual, the rope knows that it's time with me has passed.  It is not the right rope any more.  The energy is all wrong.

I've been meaning to replace my rope kit anyway, and now, having had this experience - I know that it's not just a preference; I need to replace my rope kit if I want to continue tying.  Because I need the right rope, with the right energy, and the rope I have had for so many years is no longer the right rope.  It has served me so well, it has been so dearly loved, and it will continue to hold a place of honour and love in my belongings - there's no way I could give it away or anything like that.  But its time as an extension of me has passed, and it is time to move on.

What a strange thing to feel, over a bunch of twisted fibers.  And yet here we are.

And it's not just the rope - I am going through my own emotional struggles at the moment, well, I call them struggles but perhaps it is more accurate to call them journeys, as wanky as that sounds.  I am trying to heal a tremendous amount of trauma, and to figure out who and what I am once those traumas will no longer hold me.  This is a transition.  Old ways of coping, old ways of feeling, thinking, living, are no longer right.  They were not wrong before - they kept me alive, they kept me as well as I could be.  But they are no longer serving me and it is time to grow beyond them.

I say I feel like I am gestating because I don't feel like I am going through the actual rebirth yet.  I am still in the process.  I am still in the middle of it all.  I don't feel like I am being reborn - I feel that I'm preparing to be reborn.

I don't really know how to end this post.  I don't have answers yet, I'm still finding them.

But I feel optimistic overall, I think.  Whatever I am growing into, I look forward to it.  I look forward to healing, and whatever awaits me both when I get there, and the path along the way.

Dojo Kun

This is a very personal entry and may not make a lot of sense to you, dear reader.  For which I apologise, but I need to talk this stuff out and I want to record it, and this is the best place for me to do so.

I've written about dojo kun before.  Loosely translated, it's "school rules".  It was... I want to describe it in a lot of ways, but all of them are somewhat lacking.  Rules, yes.  But more than that.  Philosophy.  A way to live.  A way to approach life and karate.

Those words will never leave my brain.  They're as etched into my soul as the symbol representing them is onto my back.

Respect others.
Be courageous.
Train in mind and body.
Practise daily, and protect traditional karate.
Strive to reach the essence of GoJu Ryu.
Never give up.

Big things are brewing in my spirit.  Dojo kun means more now than ever, even though the words are shifting in my mind.  Not changing, as such.  The original rules will always be oaths of mine.  But more... an inspiration.  To further oaths.  To further ways.  To further growth.

Hooked Up #6

Hooked Up was yesterday. My friends and I repeated our performance from last time, with big energy work and big awesomeness. I'll post pictures from it when I have them, because I am absolutely certain there will be some great ones.

It was a lovely few hours, I always feel amazing at hook events. They're like church for me. A lot of people coming together and FEELING things together, pushing themselves, caring for each other, loving... our little corner was full of people hugging, not just hello and goodbye but hugs because we wanted to, because we were a part of something and wanted to feel it physically, feel each other's touch and skin to ground us and remind us why we were there.

It was so much. It was so wonderful.

I was going to write more about it but I've just started remembering it all and it's savouring away in my mind. Perhaps I'll come back and write more about it some other time, when it's a little further away and easier to use actual words to think about the experience.

Thoughts, Mostly about Hooked Up

Forgive a blathery sort of entry, I feel the need to think into text, but have little idea about the actual direction I'm heading.

My mind was drifting back to Hooked Up a few weeks ago. I've already written about how I find hook events to be profoundly spiritual, a place of connectedness and community that is just delicious and warm in sensation.

I was pondering about the pull I took part in, and what the others involved in it have said of it. Particularly the puller, and the heavy spiritual things that pull meant for him, what it meant for him to succeed and what it meant to even take part in it at all. Now that it is some time later, I am finally in a place to truly consider what it all meant to me, as well.

It's not that I don't know these things when and directly after they happen, simply that I am someone who likes to move slowly. I like to think about things a lot before deciding on how I feel about something. I was heady and ecstatic after the event, euphoric even, and continued to feel a strange fuzzy joy and elatedness for weeks after it.

I am extremely susceptible to my own brain chemistry. While my body has a resistance to most drugs (something which can be very annoying in a hospital, let me tell you!), when shifts come from within my own biology and chemistry I am more very vulnerable to them.

I actually enjoy this; it means that when I have a crush, I can spend weeks floating on a cloud of euphoria (as I did when I first began seeing Princess). It means that when I love someone, I love them with a fiery, painful passion. And while, yes, it means that heartbreak and depression also hit me harder than they might otherwise, they are valuable experiences that I try to appreciate.

Being so vulnerable to my own chemistry means that my tendency to move slowly serves me well. It gives me time to let the chemistry return to normal before I go making decisions or shooting my mouth off.

So in this vein, I have finally settled enough to think about Hooked Up in a meaningful way, that is not coloured by euphoria.

Oh, where to begin.

When I was a child, I fancied (like many children do) that I would grow up to be a rock star sort of person. In the spotlight, the centre of attention. A brilliant thing that others would behold. As I began to grow up and become the person that would become who I am today, I began to accept that this was not actually where I was headed.

No, I seem to do best a little behind the scenes. Not in the shadows, by any means, but not in the spotlight either. I am the supporting character, so to speak, or even perhaps the stage manager in some cases.

It's been a strangely difficult journey coming to accept that. Part of me still wants to be a rock star.

But, the show doesn't go on without the stage manager. The story cannot continue without the supporting characters. I would never feel satisfied feeling like a cog in the machine, but then again, that's what I am best at. A large, sparkly cog, perhaps, but a cog nonetheless.

When I guide, this is also my strength. I do not often simply tell people things. I instead ask them questions, and let them find the answers themselves.

At Hooked Up, this was definitely my place. The ground, to hold everyone steady. The one who keeps an eye on the others. Protector. Nurturer. A few steps back from the spotlight, making sure there was enough room for those who are supposed to be there.

And I didn't mind, at all. I felt that I was happily in my place.

There was a moment at the beginning where it was revealed (to me, perhaps it was obvious to everyone else) that I would be rigging pretty much the whole show. Even the cord that went from the hooks to the rope to the pulley system to the woman in rope was my responsibility. It was me that directed those around us to keep back or come forward.

And in my hands, two people. The literal life of one in one hand (the woman being suspended) and the health if not life of the other (the puller, with steel through his flesh, who could be jarred or injured by a wrong move).

I spent most of the pull squatting or kneeling on the floor, just between them both. One hand up to steady the suspendee, so she could watch and feed energy forwards as was her role. My eyes flicking between her and the beast pulling her up, watching for signs of fatigue, weakness, or just a general vibe of "I'm done".

Giving off as much of my love and calm and care for them both as I could. Keeping my senses alert and sharp. Watching. Waiting. Letting them have their moments.

Being the first one to start, examining the rig and preparing my gear before hooks even went near flesh. To say, yes, I can do this. Being the last one to leave, still coiling my rope and watching others talk and smile and congratulate and cheer.

And I was so terribly, terribly happy.

I feel that this is very much a large part of my role in my life, not just in D/s, but in everything. I have written before that I am very much a nurturer. Always that has had a certain innocence, or simpleness to it. Nurture is affection and food and somewhere to sleep.

But at Hooked Up it took on a much, much more powerful tone. To assist in a journey, to help make it possible. To literally guard over people's lives and the health of their bodies. To lubricate a challenge, an experience, to make it just that little more possible, that little bit more enjoyable.

And in return for all this, I received such joy and beauty and euphoria, the likes of which many people spend their whole lives chasing. To be part of something so great, so incredible. Truly, I am the one who got the better end of the deal.

When I was younger, I was convinced that my gentleness would somehow make me less excellent as a dominant. The more I grow and learn, the more I realize that that gentleness is part of what makes me an excellent dominant, and person besides.

One of the most important things any man does is decide what kind of man he will be. It is clear that I am a gentle man, one who loves and nurtures. I could not be more pleased by this. Not only do I consider them good traits for a man to have; but in a society where masculinity is so frequently measured by aggression, I have the opportunity to present a different kind of masculinity. Neither more nor less legitimate, but merely an example that there are as many kinds of masculinity as there are men.

What a weekend.

Where to even begin?

I was doing demonstrations at the Kinky Fetish Demonstration stall at Sexpo all day on Friday and Saturday - I was supposed to go back on Sunday but I pulled a muscle and couldn't do so. It was fantastic - it was basically just like a long play party, I got to hang out with people I adore and do lots of fun things. It was just so much fun.

It made me realize that while I have very little showmanship, I do enjoy having people view my work and watch me do things. There's a line between "performance" and "demonstration" and I definitely fall on the demonstration side - but I still feel greatly energized by an audience and I enjoy having them there. A little nervous too, but in a good way - that kind of nervous you get when you know you're doing something awesome, and that people are enjoying you in return.

Sunday was Hooked Up, a hook suspension event. I was honoured to be a part of a spiritual pull, the ground for some energy work and the rigger for the rope suspension side of the pull. I rigged a lovely woman to a pulley system, and then our minotaur for the hour, with hooks through his back, pulled her up into the air. It was a very beautiful thing that I was just so pleased to be a part of.

Hook suspension events are the closest thing I have to a church, I think. The energy and the emotion that flies around at those things is so intense, it's incredible. I feel connected to everything and everyone at them, a truly spiritual experience just by sharing a space with so many brilliant people pushing themselves to the edge. Just wonderful.

I feel like I should have more to say about my weekend considering how intense and huge it was, but that's all the basics, and it's pretty difficult to put feelings into words when that's all they are and they're not anchored to much else. This weekend was fantastic, and it's everything I want and love my life to be.

Rope

I am a rope top. I flag grey on the left whenever I am flagging.

I am spiritually, emotionally, psychologically connected to everything I do. Rope is not unusual in that capacity.

But with rope...

Rope feels like the serpent swallowing its tail. Rope is the red string between lovers' pinkie fingers. Rope is strength and ugliness and beauty and it's a gladiator pacing in their cage as the crowd screams for blood.

Rope is an extension of me. Rope flows from me in ways that I cannot describe, ways that people do not believe until they see.

People see me when I use rope. They watch my hands and my face and they feel everything that is happening. People talk to me about my rope work more than anything else. People ask about my rope work more than anything else.

People ask to be beneath my rope, in my rope, between my rope... more than anything else.

Rope is my martial art, the one that has replaced karate.

Rope flows from my feet and my chest, rope gives me control over every situation. Rope is hard, soft.

There was a beautiful moment once, when I was to bind a submissive, and I had the choice between handcuffs or rope. After a moment's consideration, I chose the rope, because I knew it would be faster.

Rather than mess with buckles and keepers that are so delicate and precise, I throw my rope. Two seconds, bound arms behind the back. Safe, secure, and with more precision than I could ever wield a buckle.

I know my rope.

Tomorrow I have a suspension. Tonight I went over my rope, laid it out, ran my hands over it. Checked each and every part of it, so that it's ready for tomorrow.

I know my rope as intimately as my own body.

I know every piece. I know how long it is, just by looking at it, even in a messed up pile on the floor. I know how old it is, and who treated it, just by touching it. I know which pieces are are safe for suspension, and which pieces can only be used for simpler ties. I even know which piece was used on every body it has ever touched, whose body it was, where the rope lay.

I own a lot of very high quality rope. My rope collection alone runs my toybag value to about $900 Australian. I have amassed it over time, ever since I was eighteen years old.

I often wish I had less expensive tastes. My tastes run to hemp. There is nothing 'better' about hemp, or jute, or cotton, or nylon, or any type of rope. It is all about preference, and what speaks to you. I still remember picking up my first piece of hemp. It was love at first touch, and I knew nothing else would ever compare.

I still have my first piece of rope that was bought purely for bondage. I often wear it as a belt, keeping it with me at all times, so that I am always prepared. It is not hemp, it is a nylon rope, bright red in colour, ten meters long. I keep it braided in such a way that should I need to use it, I pull one of the 'threads' and it comes undone in a flash.

Rope is my soul.