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12/30/2005

Closing the Year


Reluctantly, just about a year ago, I began to put words to thoughts that swirled in my mind, first at The Swan's Heart, and then later here.

As with so much, I was guided into that writing by Master's insistence. He was convinced that I needed to find a way to voice the wanderings of my mind, and that writing would provide that outlet for me. I was unsure, and not at all happy at the prospect, but obedient. His wisdom has borne fruit in friendships formed, certainly, but in growth for me as well. I have worked my way through a good bit of my own "stuff" here in the blog classroom this year.

I believe that I've found a bit more balance though pouring out so many words here this last year. I know that, in times when I have struggled with my own limits, my own boundaries, my own small-minded short comings, it has been in the effort to stay open and honest here, that I have eventually found some way through the confusion and doubt. I grant that it has not always been easy to read my fussing and fuming here, and I admit to a significant wonderment at those who continue to peep in at the curtains to watch and listen to me whine when there are places that are far sexier. For all that, I've found a few dear souls who have come to feel like good friends, although we've not actually met. You know who you are and you have been for me and mine solid rocks of kindness and stability through a year that has tossed us about some... Bless you for that.

I've learned that I am stronger than I once believed I could ever be -- and softer than I ever let anyone know or see. I've learned truly what it means to "be owned" in times when that has meant to be cared for and indulged and protected and treasured, and too, in times when that reality has demanded that I bend to a will that demands all that I have had to give. I've learned to serve and love and open and give, and I've been hurt for the sake of that love. I've wept and I've sung and I've trembled and I've laughed.

I would do it all again.

When the year winds down to the closing moments, I will look back at lessons learned, at joys shared, at sorrows borne together, at pain and pleasure given and received, at love wrapped around it all, and know that it has been a year I will always be glad to have shared with Master and with T.

"To believe in something not yet proved and to underwrite it with our lives: it is the only way we can leave the future open." -- Lillian Smith

Wishing all who come this way much goodness in the year ahead.

swan

12/29/2005

She's Home and Doing Well

My God, as a man who has lived through old fashioned abdominal incision hysterectomies in my former marriage and with my Mom, I am amazed by the new laproscopically assisted procedure. We came out of the hospital seven hours after we initially reported for surgery. Swan has three small bandaids on her abdomen where the laproscopes were inserted and that is all the visual signs of the procedure. She has some discomfort but nothing at all extreme. She is tired and spacey and groggy and all the typical post anesthesia symptoms, but all in all, remarkably well. They told us she was quite anemic despite the rather agressive iron supplementation we've had her taking. They prognosticate that in four weeks when her recovery is more advanced, she should have way more energy and vitality than she's had in quite some time (god help us all:)

I don't have time to say thank you to each of you who have been so kind to our swan and all three of us, with your generous expressions of caring and well-wishes for us through the last couple of weeks and especially yesterday and today.

It is wonderful to have so many friends pulling for us.

All the best and thank you:)

Tom

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.

Surgery Is A Success!

Just a quick word...Swan is out of surgery. She is doing fine. The surgery was "uneventful", per the surgeon. Tom and I were there until the surgeon came out and then I had to leave for work. Tom called me at 11:30 am and I got to talk to Swan. She is groggy and sleepy and chilly but sounds good. Tom is chasing down nurses for warm blankets. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, they will be going home in about 2 hours.

Thanks for all of your love and concern. We will keep you posted.

T

Thank you all... Back soon

It is early morning.
We are off to the hospital.
I am well.
Master and T will let you know as soon as possible what my status is, and I'll be back here when I can.

Thank you so much for all the well wishes. It means more than I can say.

swan

12/26/2005

December 26th

We've made it through all the festivities... all the family gatherings are done and over with, negotiated with relative success (considering the logistics and demands of all the complicated interweavings of our extended tribe). We've feasted, toasted, gifted, laughed and cried, hugged and smiled our way through the days of the holiday together with all the wrinkly relatings of our family here, and today, it is just us three with a rare, quiet day to spend together without a single demand on us from the outside world -- pure luxury!

We are --

*So much more aware of the passing of time, especially as it impacts Master's parents.
*So much more impressed by the maturing of the children as even our youngest member moves nearer and nearer to his last year of high school and the decisions about college that will take him finally from the "nest" and into a more adult sort of relating with us all.
*So much reminded of the old axiom about not being able to "go home again" as my late Christmas phone call to my son had him regaling me with stories of my own mother's various wickednesses as she tormented the various attendees at my brother's home who did not live up to her standards for decorum and morality.
*So much brought face to face with my own gratitude for a family that loves me as a call to my other brother made clear that he is so awfully alone in a life chosen because there was money to be had in lieu of relationships...
Our presents are all unwrapped and scattered about -- Master's myriad knives of many sizes, T's amazing cooking utensils, my absolutely stunning Hudson's Bay (8 point) wool blanket... The desires of the heart, lovingly sought out and given with much anticipation and joy, now held close to each of our hearts...

Today, we'll wander off, in just a bit, to the local movie house for some time spent escaping into some cinematic fluff. Our list of "want to see" films is actually remarkably long, and our time for seeing them is a bit dauntingly short, but oh well, we'll pick and make a go at it.

Life is good. We are happy here.

Best to you all.

swan

12/25/2005

Maturity Sucks!

Age is nothing we can resist. Oh, sure, there are some who will work like fiends with potions and lotions and exercise and surgery to try to hold off the advances of age. But we are not at a point in our progress, as a people, to stop the ravages of dementia.

My hubby's parents are elderly. Dad is 87 and Mom is 85. Every year, Tom has said "Well, we had them with us for another Christmas. Never thought they would make it thru' another year." And I have certainly agreed. Dad is well enough. He still drives. He still flirts with the ladies in the dining room at the nursing facility. But Mom is not in the best of shape. She broke her hip last year. And since then, the slippery slope of senility has been dragging her down. She is a tiny woman. A mere 98 pounds after a good meal, dripping wet. And she is forgetful. Some days, she thinks I am Tom's ex-wife. I usually just let it go. It is easier for her, less confusing, and who am I to make her life more difficult. She never remembers who Swan is. I usually try to work Swan's name into a conversation to help her to remember.

We have these rituals we do during the holidays. We do Christmas Eve dinner and gifts with Tom's parents and ex-family. It used to be a dinner at a hotel. Now we do it at the nursing facility. We are trying to make it less stressful, less confusing, and physically easier for Mom. She didn't want to be involved last night. Said she was sick, and was going to stay in bed. Was cranky and downright mean until she heard that our ex-wife brought their dog. That perked her up. She joined in. But it was very apparent she was lost most of the evening. Was unable to introduce us to the staff that stopped by to visit and called the dog she loves the name of a dog that has been dead for about 40ish years. Last night she agreed to join the family at our ex-wife's for dinner tonight. Tom drove over to pick them up and she refused to go. She was sick, she was cranky, she was not budging.

Dementia is a scary thing. I am sure that she has to be terrified to step out of her door everyday. The fact that today she might remember most things and tomorrow she doesn't remember why they moved 5 yrs ago....how horrible that must be! It would appear that our future events with Mom will need to be at the nursing facility. It is a lovely assisted living center. They have a beautiful 1 bedroom apartment. But for her to be included, we shall have to go to her. It is too much emotional stress for her to come to us. I cannot imagine how hard she must work to remember the smallest things. To be lost within yourself and not know how to fix it. No wonder she is angry and sick and cranky.

So...My next task, as the "social director" that I am.... will be to "gently" motivate the rest of the family to events and gatherings at their location...not ours. We have been blessed to have Mom & Dad with us much longer that any of us ever imagined...it is now necessary we make her remaining time as comfortable as possible.

There will also need to be times that we get Dad out. He needs a break sometimes. He is good at getting involved in the activities of the facility. But there are times that nothing is better than family, and our family needs to remember Dad's needs are equally as important as Mom's.

T

12/24/2005

Mixed Emotions

We are deeply immersed, now, into the holiday festivities.

This evening, we will take a moveable feast to the assisted living center where Master's parents have their home. We'll be joined there by His ex-wife, her mother, and His teenaged son. We'll grill filet mignon, put out a baked potato bar, serve up a green bean casserole that has been suitably modified for our dietary restrictions (but which will most likely pass as the version everybody knows and loves in spite of all that), and finish with homemade cheese cake and berry compote. There'll be gifts and conversation and champagne toasts all around. We'll once again marvel that another year has come and gone and we've still got the grandparents all with us...

Tomorrow, we'll gather at the ex-wife's home. The cast will be nearly the same with the addition of Master's daughter and her boyfriend. More gifts, more food, more family time.

In between, the three of us will weave time for "us" around the more public events -- time when we will cocoon into our own home and celebrate the amazing reality of our small family unit.

Last night, our evening at Phantom was wonderful in some ways. Our seats were fabulous, and the performance was excellent. T, I believe, had a wonderful evening. Unfortunately, Master was scheduled (at the last minute) for a sleep study the night before which left Him exhausted, and He wasn't in any shape to really enjoy the evening. Still, it was a gift that was just perfect for our T...

A week ago, I called my son, who still lives in Colorado. He is the older of my two children and will be 30 years old this summer. I still remember the moment that they laid him in my arms the first time... I promised myself then that I would raise a good adult that I'd be proud to know some day -- and I am. He is kind and good and decent in ways that make me so glad to know him. I needed to tell him about my upcoming surgery, and try and assure him that there was really nothing for him to be concerned about. In the event, it was my wonderful son who had me laughing as he explained to me how critically important it was that I get this resolved so that I don't continue to hemorrhage in my junior high classrooms and risk traumatizing some poor young guy... "Really, Mom!"

And then he got serious, telling me about his sister -- she's in jail, Mom. Charges in two different counties: distribution and conspiracy to distribute. Crystal Meth. Again. Likely a sixteen year sentence this time. She'd called him. Asked him to call me and call her grandmother and see if we'd spring for a legal defense fund. And, my good, strong, decent, kind, truthful son asked her if he could bring her some cigarettes when he came to visit her. He knows that the other thing is no-way going to happen. Shouldn't happen. I can't look too closely at that -- not really straight on. I've been here before. Know the pain and the anguish and the absolute futility. She, too, was laid in my arms at the moment of her birth. My heart breaks, and I cannot save her.
I am feeling quiet. Emotions reined in tight. Leashed. If I let them go, I'd shriek, and that would be so awfully unseemly on this eve when the world waits for the promise of peace and joy.

I am choosing to believe today and tomorrow and for the new year. Because I must, because I cannot imagine what else to do. Because...

Happy Holidays to all of you. For your friendship and for your love and for your words of wisdom offered here and in private -- thank you. May all good things be yours in the new year.

swan

12/22/2005

In the Clutches of the Medical Profession

The run up to "The Day" has commenced.

I've been on the phone pre-registering with the hospital and confirming insurance information and all that rigamarole. In the next few days, I'll be put through a variety of pre-operative tests and physical examinations to make sure that all the health-care providers and facilities have taken all the necessary steps to cover their proverbial asses against any potential catastrophe which may befall should they fuck this up in some significant fashion.

I understand the drill. Annoyance and aggravation added to insult and injury. OK. Fine.

I'm not here to grouse about that. Much.

What I am most hacked off about with all of this is the simple reality that all this poking and testing and peering at me over the next week exposes US to the potential of some medical professional noting a wayward bruise or area of broken skin, and then becoming suspicious of the origin of that marking. Suspicion of that nature can trigger a report of suspected abuse under the requirements of laws that designate physicians, and many other professionals (like social workers, therapists, and teachers) as "mandated reporters."

Because a doctor could see bruising resulting from a spanking and decide it might indicate that I am abused, we always avoid SM play that might result in any kind of marking prior to medical appointments. Logically, we know that the odds are against anyone seeing my butt in a routine pre-operative physical. However, the penalties, if we guess wrong and a doctor makes a report of suspected abuse are so potentially horrific, that we just can't afford to risk it. So we err on the side of caution, and abstain. For days ahead of the appointment. Days ahead of the surgery. And then, of course, there will come the days after...

All because our kind of loving leaves marks that the world doesn't understand. Or accept. Or approve of. Simply because the laws insist that I cannot consent to Him spanking me -- that what we do is "legally" assault, no matter how either of us feels about it.

And so, right now, when I most need His hand on me to steady and center me; to calm my fears and quiet my mind; to wipe out the shrieking fear for at least a bit of time... We dare not go there.

There are so many sex laws that need to be changed in this country. So many silly, antiquated, out-moded and out-dated notions that ought to be let go to fade into memory. Tonight though, I'd settle for just a simple change in just a single arena -- let go of the laws that make it impossible for me to tell my doctor that the bruises and marks I wear are not signs of abuse but badges that declare my free choice to love and live as a woman who knows who she is and what she wants...

Where is the wand-waving fairy godmother that could make that happen?

swan

12/19/2005

I Gots the BESTEST Famdamily In the Whole Wide World!!!!

I am a theatre geek. I adore all things theatrical. I like watching them put it together. I am the one who will find the "oops" in a movie, where they made a bad cut & splice. I did alot of theatre in High School and in College my major was Theatre with a Speech minor. I wanted to teach High School Drama and Speech and Direct on the side in local theatre.

Last year for my birthday I asked for, and got, tickets for the family to see "Oliver!" at the Aronoff. It was fabulous. I was in the show when I was younger.

This season "Phantom of the Opera" is being done. **sigh** I didn't even ask. It is Christmas time. We have family obligations. There is alot of expense. And for the 3 of us to go....well...it is huge. So I figured I would get to see it the next time it came to town. In 2 or 3 years.....

Well, Swan is about to have surgery. So Tom and Swan went shopping for me for Christmas this past weekend. They came home with bunches. And she took the bags to her side of the condos and came back to my side with LOADS of wrapped packages. I got oodles of gifts! And last night I got to open one. I have been wanting new champagne glasses. I have all these bits and pieces of different sets. I wanted 12 matching so when we have the entire family, I can set a matched table. AND I GOT THEM!!! And they are beautious and unusual and ME!

Tonight there was another package at my place at the table. Before dinner I got to open another package....I opened a Coldwater Creek box. I like Coldwater Creek. Always snuggy clothes. Very good, but the box was VERY light. I moved the tissue paper and in the bottom was a picture of the flyer for the "Phantom of the Opera"! I started crying. Swan started crying. I could barely breath. And Tom said look in the tissue. There were 3 ticket....ORCHESTRA SEATS, no less!! We are going to see "Phantom" this Friday night. It seems they had it all planned for New Years Day, but with Swan's surgery they had to BEG Ticketmaster to take back the other tickets and they got new tickets. And I get to go. And the best part of all is that I get to go with the dearest people in the world. Who else would realize that there is nothing else that would thrill me more than an evening of theatre?

Yep, I will be the one in the Orchestra section with the HUGE smile, holding hands with my family. Who could ask for a better Christmas?

I love you guys! You are the BESTEST famdamily in the Whole Wide World!!!

T

12/18/2005

A Small Wager



OK. This is a game that everyone can play :-) There is a small, un-redeemed wager here in the Heron Clan... It has to do with the picture you see here. Hint for our non sports-minded friends: the pictured fellow is the quarterback for the Indianapolis Colts football team -- Peyton Manning.

To play our little game, all you have to do is guess the nature of the wager and figure out who is holding out.

Simple.

Let your imagination run free. It is the season to spread a little joy and merriment, so feel free to join in our simple pleasure.

Have fun!!!

swan

12/17/2005

When the choice is given

All is settled now. The date has been confirmed. I will report to the hospital at 6 AM, escorted by "spice," on the morning of December 29th for a laparoscopically assisted vaginal hysterectomy. The doctor tells me that (barring complications or the need for unusual pain-control medications) the procedure is "out-patient" and that I should go home the same day.

I am maintaining my composure at least some of the time, although I am honestly terrified and frankly pissed as hell at the whole business. Unfortunately, this has come to the point of undeniable medical necessity. I am resigned. I have intractable bleeding and continual and escalating pain which simply must be dealt with now.

I have made this choice rather than continue to try and deal with this using the only other available medical options which carry unacceptable levels of risk and potential side effects that are too seriously dangerous to consider.

The interesting fact, in my mind, is that I have made the choice.

It is clear to me that Master is relieved and glad to have this decision made. He is clearly of the opinion that this is wise and good and will result in my improved health and vitality when it is all over with and the recovery period has been negotiated. I can see that He has struggled mightily not to push for this decision much sooner. He has waited patiently (through a good deal of horrific womanly messiness) for me to come to this point on my own. He has allowed this to be and to become entirely my choice and my decision.

For that, I am deeply grateful. I realize that, within the boundaries of the life we live together, that did not have to be the case -- that Owner could have pushed much harder in this instance, and perhaps even insisted. I know He chose to not do that, and I know why He did not. My heart overflows with the knowing.

Even now, as we navigate through the scary waters of these next few days, I can feel the gentleness and deftness with which He is holding me and guiding me. The sadist is turned lover, allowing me to say what I need and how I am in each and every moment. I am feeling as volatile and as fragile as a glass bubble, and still He is there, cushioning each little bump.

Thank you, Sir. I love you, Sir... always and all ways.

swan

12/13/2005

Not an Angel


One of the annual events of my year is the Christmas program that happens at school each year. Even though I've long since outlived the point in life where I have any children of my own participating in Christmas programs or Christmas pageants, the very fact of my teaching means that once each year, "my kids" take part in the ritual of song and performance that is the re-enactment of the traditional Christian story of the birth of the historical Jesus... I never see the nativity story re-told that I am not transported in memory back to a winter long ago when my own daughter was small, and she was dragooned into a church pageant to play the part of one of the "Heavenly Host."

She was, at the time about a month shy of her second birthday -- really just a baby. However, because she was quite verbal, and tall for her age, those who were in charge of the festivities viewed her as older than she really was. They were quite sure that she'd make a wonderful angel. I tried and tried to convince them that she wasn't old enough for a role in the play yet, but there was no swaying the mavens of the church. They were determined, and so it was that my wild child was set to make her acting debut in the role of Christmas angel.

The appointed night arrived and all was in readiness. Wings and halo and shining white robe were donned and my darling looked somewhat angelic, but she was not a happy camper. I tried my best to soothe her, but she was having none of it... I feared the worst, but hoped things would go alright, after all, angels really only had to parade onto the stage and flutter a bit -- I was willing to hope that her natural instinct for the lime-light might see us through.

Well, onto the stage filed the Multitude. They made it all the way to the center and the lights came up. My precious one got right to the middle. Stopped dead center. Put her little baby fists on her baby hips, stared out into the crowd, stomped her baby foot and declared in a full stage voice -- "I AM NOT AN ANGEL -- NOT AN ANGEL!" She ripped her halo off. Tossed it to the floor and marched directly down the aisle and plopped into my lap. So much for that. That's my girl -- then and now... Not an angel, but a teller of truths.

I eventually learned that there was no pushing the child where she wouldn't go. Still isn't. She taught me about telling your own truth.

Anyway. As the holidays approach and you listen in your own way for those heavenly strains, I hope you maybe hear, above all the cacophony of the season, the voices of all the little ones who declare in honest baby voices the truth of their lives -- "NOT AN ANGEL!"

swan

Buster the Crab

For me, in my journey, Barbara Kingsolver's sturdy and adaptable hermit crab, Buster (High Tide In Tuscon), has been instructor, mentor, model, friend...

If you are not familiar with Kingsolver's anthology of essays, and Buster in particular, the short version of the story is this:

Kingsolver, on a trip to the Bahamas, collected a variety of shells for her young daughter. Upon arriving home to Tuscon, it turned out that one of the shells was actually home to a hermit crab, subsequently named, Buster... Buster was given an aquarium home far from his familiar ocean, and life proceeded apace. Except that Buster seemed to display periods of depression interspersed with manic episodes that no one could explain. It turned out, eventually, that Buster was responding, in ways that no one fully understood to what would be tidal patterns in Tucson, Arizona -- hence: High Tide in Tuscon...

Like Buster, I sometimes feel myself ripped from an environment I understood, thrust by forces larger than myself into a strange and foreign world. Like Buster, I am sometimes hard pressed to adapt, responding to tides I cannot see, but only feel. Like Buster, I am reduced to being what Kingsolver calls "a good animal." Here, in this life that is mine now, my responses are more primal, simpler, less tied to the life that was. Here, I am simply present in my world. Finding what is and fitting myself into what is given. Buster finds his home in the place where he is. Some days there is quiet, some days there is intense wildness. Always there is sure knowledge that we are simply who we are called to be. Nothing more. Nothing less.

swan

12/12/2005

What Does a Collar Mean?

Taylor asked, in her comment on my last post, what the collar worn by a woman in her mid-seventies might mean. Truthfully, without knowing the woman in question, there is no way to answer that question, but it set me thinking about my own collar, and what it means for me to have it and wear it.

Collars, within the life, are freighed with such symbolism. We who are given them, or who give them, sometimes allow that symbolism full value, somtimes not. Some of it is made more lurid by the fiction that is drummed up about us by those who look in at our lives from the outside and try to imagine what we must be about...

I know that the collar I was given by Master has deep significance to me -- and I do not wear it all the time. My life, outside our home precludes that. In fact, I did not actually have a formal "collar" to wear in the beginning of our relationship. I had the marks of His ownership, His initials, cut into the left shoulder blade of my back. That scarring served as the mark of my slavery. It was sufficient, I think, in His view.

There came a day, when I asked Him for the collar. It was a need that I felt. A lack that I suffered. He generously, feeling my need, granted my wish in this instance. I remember, with great joy, the moment He placed the collar that He and T picked out for me, around my neck.

The collar, represents for me, His presence, His power, His steadiness in my life.

It serves to center me, to calm me. I often seek it out when I am feeling lost, small, unsettled. It brings me a sense of peace that few other things do. In those instances, I will generally put it on myself if I am in a setting where I can wear it without risk.

Nothing moves me like having Him put it on me. It touches me deep in my soul.

Unlike the wedding ring that I wore for over two decades, the collar speaks to a committment made of soul and heart, rather than of legalities and social norms. It is purely chosen.

I have other pieces that I wear that also speak of our lives together. A ring, purchased before we were all together that matches one that T wears -- I think of it as my "sister" ring. And our heron clan pendant that I wear all the time. And the BDSM logo that I wear daily.

None of these are equivalent to the collar.

Together however, they make up the suite of pieces that speak to my life and my call...

swan

12/10/2005

A Different Look at SSC

I've been caught with lots of "thoughts" lately -- many of them heavy. I'm not unhappy precisely, but aware that there is a weight to life just now that is keeping me from dancing through the days as I might otherwise.

If I review the year we've come through, the reality is that much that we knew we would face as a family has come and gone, and we've weathered the storms. We are here all together, and for that I am grateful. I am also tired, and a little wistful. I look around, and note that, by and large, we are surrounded in our cyber neighborhood, by people who are significantly younger than we are, and who consequently do not face the same sorts of "issues" that we face (never mind that we have the freedom to come and go without having to find babysitters)... Somedays I really do find myself jealous of all those years I let go in clueless youth, when I knew what I was but did not understand it or embrace it -- so much wasted time now lost forever.

I can and do get scared, when the days go by, as they have lately, and there is no energy or physical well-being sufficient to "play," or really even to make love. Our M/s remains in the pouring of a drink, in the ironing of a few shirts, in the routines of bedtime preparations, and basic moment to moment courtesies rendered. Ownership patterns, by now, run deep. Still, I can see ghosting across our days, a time when we will be wrapped in one another's warmth, and the physical reality of the SM part of our relationship will forever be stripped from our grasp, and I fear that will come long before either of us are ready for it.

I've never liked the BDSM community slogan, "SAFE, SANE, CONSENSUAL (SSC). In play, it never seemed to make any sense to me. It seemed some sort of pablum to try and make the outrageous a bit more acceptable. I didn't come to this to be acceptable. I came to this when I finally accepted that I was outrageously fine just the way I was.

There is NO safety from the depredations of time. NOTHING sane about finding only to lose the race because we were too slow to make the connections. TOTALLY non consensual fading happening here even as we fight to hang on to the moments and the patterns.

This life is about passion. About promises made beyond what is sanctioned. About risks recognized and accepted.

I want to live right now. All the moments. All the feelings. All the promises. Always and all ways. Darkness or light, I will walk this way.

swan

12/07/2005

Grinch


The season approaches, ready or not, and I am NOT ready. Christmas time, for me, is always difficult.

Difficult on so many different levels.

Difficult because it implies a religious practice and observance and simple faith in which I do not partake and cannot find any path into anymore. There are still the imprints of the music, and I can sometimes get lost there, but most of that is so hackneyed that I can't even enjoy the largest percentage of it most of the time.

Difficult because there is the massive push to festivity that I simply do not feel right now. I am not the least bit festive feeling at the moment. My job is evaporating under me, and likely my career along with it. I go to school each day and take care of the children given to me for the day, and by the time I get home, I am emotionally wasted. And I am furious at the people who have brought this mess to pass... Their stupidity and naivety and just mean-spirited ugliness is unforgivable. Oh well, there will be some way to stay alive, but it will be without the singing joy of the classroom...

Master is ill, and no one can tell us what it is. Or why or how? Or what to do. Tests and more tests and no idea what to do next. Only days and nights of worry without a plan.

Money is tight and there are gifts that should be bought to send to so many people so that the season can be bright. Why? How?

And I must deal with the stupid body that rebels and bleeds and hurts. And I can't get it scheduled or planned or settled.

I am grumpy and grouchy and grinchy. Hurting the ones I love who love this season and want to sing and dance and make merry. Someone ought to stick me in a big box with a shipping label and call UPS. Send me off to who knows where... Just get me the hell out of here until sometime after Valentine's day...

I am the Grinch

swan

12/05/2005

Focus

Enough wallowing.

I really do appreciate every, single, dear, one of you who has reached out to me in these days to offer support, and encouragement, and words of comfort. Thank you. The kindness of strangers... I am humbled.

Still, I have work to do. Here. Where my heart must be. No matter the vagaries that life brings.

I have read, around the circle, of disquiet, and I do understand. I, too, have been uneasy, and lacking in calm and peace -- not a happy slave; more pouty than pleasant. It has been noted, and not with pleasure. Before the news of the impending departure of the parts... Before announcements on the employment front that make my economic stability less comfortable than any of us like... I was fussing, for no good reason. Just because, and duly called on it.

I live this life intentionally. I mean to do it with integrity. I want to meet the obligations I've assumed and the committments I've made with grace and growing skill. I too often fall short. Most often that is because I forget where my focus should be. Must be.

It is when I get wrapped up in what I want, in feeling lost, neglected, abandoned, lonely, needy -- that I forget that my promise was to serve, to surrender, to be guided, to trust. The needs of the One I serve provide the marker for my life, the beacon on which I have vowed to fix my sight. When I fall out of that line, I do, indeed, get lost.

I don't know what is coming. And I am afraid. Trust doesn't remove the fear (at least not for me -- not yet). It only assures me that I'll be held when the trembling shakes me to my core... I only need to try and remember to focus.

swan

12/03/2005

I Give Up

If you grew up female in the 1960's, there came a day, inevitably, when your mother handed you a pleasant looking little box of goodies labled "Today You are a Woman." Inside were all the "feminine hygiene" products that introduced you to the secrets of the club of menstruating females: pads of various sizes, and the elastic belt with the little metal or plastic clips that rubbed the hide off of you (front and back). If you had a mother who was more interactive and more emotionally supportive than mine, you might have been talked through all the cryptic "stuff" inside the BOX. In my case, I was given a stack of single sheet newspaper to keep in the bathroom, and told they were for wrapping the pads in so that my Dad and brothers wouldn't see them.

So, was I initiated into the secret of womanly bleeding...

From that moment forward, I've warred with my wayward uterus.

Irregular periods throughout most of my young womanhood made me the girl you didn't want to be dating. I was nothing if not exciting on that score...

Still, it cradled and nurtured two healthy pregnancies with barely a murmur. And likely would have welcomed a host of others had I been so inclined. Birthing babies was the strong suit of the uterus from hell...

There were the days of my stint in the halls of the "good old boy" world of Oil and Gas Corporate ladder climbing, when the uterus seemed to understand that I was pretending to be a guy. Through those years, I seldom had more than 3 or 4 periods a year, and at least one medical practitioner opined that I might be menopausal -- at 26 years of age. Once I escaped from the dog eat dog world of really big swinging dicks, trading in my balls for something more civilized, my periods, interestingly, resumed with a regularity that I'd never experienced in the years prior to that lengthy stint...

28 days. 28 days. 28 days. 28 days.

Then, a few years back, things started to shift. Still 28 days, but the tide began to rise. Slowly at first, barely perceptible, but heavier and heavier -- with each passing month, my menses became more and more extreme. The culprits, it seems, as I move closer and closer to menopause, are uterine fibroids.

I've tried everything to try and cope with their silent depredations. I do not want to lose the old uterus. We've been together a long time.

Then, Thursday, for the second time in two years, I had a hemorrhagic bleed -- in my classroom, with children present. I believe I managed to get out before any children were traumatized, but not before I was. Bleeding in public is something we are conditioned against from the beginning...

I had to leave school in the middle of the day, shaken and scared, a mess of blood to my knees -- leaving my classes in the hands of a hastily summoned substitute...
I give up. There will be a hysterectomy. Probably December 29 if it can be scheduled. All will be gone. Done. Taken. No more blood. No more mess. No more cradle for the children, now long grown. No girlie parts.

I am devastated. I am furious. I am bereft. I am in mourning.

I am trying to tote up the positives. Dollars saved on hygiene products no longer needed. Perhaps the cessation of migraines driven by hormonal storms each month. Lower backache ended forever. No more monthly sore boobs.

Last night though, I dreamed that someone came and stole all the living room furniture leaving only empty space... Empty space...

It feels like having a well-loved and faithful old dog put to sleep. I'm really sorry, uterus, but it's time. I hope it isn't too awful for you....

Maybe there should be a bon voyage party... some brandy in the douche bag perhaps? Probably not a good idea, but WTF?

I am just so terribly, horribly, sad...

swan

12/01/2005

Wishing


The one last thing left from the Thanksgiving holiday festivities (if you don't count all the leftover turkey) was the wishbone.

We'd kept it around, drying, until it was ready to pull and break so we could make a wish with it. Last night, He and I used it to make our respective wishes. I ended up with the long end, and so won...

By tradition, or lore, or myth, you are not supposed to tell what your wish is, or it won't come true. He, having lost, figured, I suppose that there was nothing to lose. He told me that He hoped that I too wished to win the lottery so that we could all retire and live the rest of our lives doing exactly what we chose to do ...

I can only say that at this point in our lives, with all that faces us, I am glad I won the wishing contest last night.

swan

11/29/2005

Happy Nanaversary Babe

A little more than 7 years ago today a good friend contacted me and told me there was a man moving to Cincy. He was broken. His marriage was dissolving and his job had moved. He was relocating to an unknown community. He was a good guy with a great heart and never stopped talking. And she said he needed a friend. She told me to contact him. "Sure, I will when I get a chance." Was my response.... And a few days later she asked me if I had contacted him, and I hadn't, "Too busy" was my reply. She said I really needed to get in touch with this man and I said I would. And a week later she tracked me down and asked me again...and again....well, you get the drift, right? Well, she, being the Dominant that she is, said "Stop talking to me and write the damned email RIGHT NOW!!!"......so I did. And got a response from Tom. He was relocating to Cincy that week and starting his new job the following Monday and maybe we could meet that Sunday for dinner.

I had given up the search for the "ring and the white picket fence". I was destine to share a home with my best friend/mom and our cat. And I had figured that was ok. I had worked a difficult career and gave it up to come home. I was tired. I was not looking for anything more than a potential play-partner and friend. Someone for an occasional dinner and movie.... BOY! Was I wrong!!

We met the Sunday after he returned from a depressing trip back to visit his family for Thanksgiving. Half way between our two homes at an Olive Garden. We met at 6pm and left the restaurant at 10:30pm, after many glances from servers trying to go home, since they closed at 10. We talked about anything and everything. We had our entire lives in common. We found that my career followed him around as I traveled. I worked 9mos. about 1hr away from where he was born. He lived about 15mins. away from me when he was in high school and I was in grade school. His Dad and my Mom worked in the same building for several years. I lived in the same town with his parents for over a year during my travels. And finally, during my last stint as a restaurant manager, I probably assisted with their family for several meals, as I was managing a restaurant in the town where he and his family lived for many years and the restaurant was one of their favorites. Yet we had never met until that evening...but it seemed we had been together forever.

We spent weekends together. I lived in a town about an hour away and would work Monday thru' Friday and leave from work on Friday with the car packed with treats for Tom. And on Sunday evening, after dinner, I would drive back home to start it all over again.... and cry all the way home. He kept asking me to move in. And I kept saying "No." You see, he was not very comfortable alone. I didn't want to be a rebound. I wanted him to see that it was ok to be alone. That it wasn't so bad to have private time. And to know that I would always come back. Then, when he finally got comfy, I was offered a transfer to his town.....and I moved. We have been together ever since.

I am not lying when I say that Tom saved my life. We have discussed that before, but I owe my "Everything" to him. He give me strength when I just want to lay down. He has the most infectious laugh, it lights up the room. The best place in the entire world is snuggled in his arms, resting against his chest. My hand on his heart.

I am home. I am loved.

One of my favorite songs is "Sleep" by Melissa Etheridge

After your laughter like thunder
After your skin like coffee and cream
After it takes our bodies into the night
After we've come to the extreme

I want to lay down on your shoulder
Just inside your arm
I want to listen to your heart beat
And your breathing on and on
I want to lay down on your shoulder
Surrender to your peace
And go to sleep

And when we've gone a million miles
Made true our dreams with sweat and bone
After we've built it up with our bare hands
Made strong a place we can call home

I want to lay down on your shoulder
Just inside your arm
I want to listen to your heartbeat
And your breathing on and on
I want to lay down on your shoulder
Surrender to the peace
And go to sleep

And when the light in my eye is fading
When running water becomes too deep
Finally angels turn my fire to dust
And when my soul's no longer mine to keep

I want to lay down on your shoulder
Just inside your arm
I want to listen to your heartbeat
And your breathing on and on
I want to lay down on your shoulder
Surrender to the peace
And just go to sleep

Mores & Mores,
T

Seven

It is quiet here tonight. You wouldn't know to look at us that there is any reason to celebrate...

The realities of life are keeping things subdued here because Master has some heavy deadlines that simply have to be met, and there's no getting around it. So He's working His fingers to the bone and the household is quiet in the face of that necessity.

BUT... underneath the seriousness of that dire stress is a simple joy that comes from knowing that seven years ago tonight, in an Olive Garden restaurant, two of the dearest people on this planet met for the first time and began a conversation...

I've been told that they talked and talked and talked and talked. I can well believe it, and I am glad of it, because it is that joy in one another that blossomed and formed the foundation for the family that now embraces me as well...

So, even though our celebration is muted this night, make no mistake that I am thrilled at the love of my loves.

Happiest of 7th's, Dear One's. May you have many more years to tell the story of that very first magical night when eyes met and hearts touched and the hours passed, oh so very very slowly by...

I love you both.

swan

11/27/2005

Dad in My Dreams

I had my Dad in my dreams last night... He's been dead these 14 years.

My Dad, strong and Jack Kennedy handsome; played minor league baseball. My Dad, WWII vet who landed in the second wave at Normandy, never ever talked about his experiences there except in the most general terms. My Dad, with his high school education, read voraciously and could discuss nearly any topic -- he was one of the brightest men I've ever known. My Dad, who was shaped by the Depression, worked his whole life to make a life that was secure and sure; who waited for the time when he and my mother might retire and finally "enjoy" life -- who by the time he reached that promised day was so debilitated by the rheumatoid arthritis that finally killed him, couldn't enjoy anything much at all...

In my dreams last night there were two copies of my Dad. One for whom I waited in some sort of odd bus depot style surgery center, where patients were picked up at the "ticket counter," transported by ambulance to the surgical site, and returned to the waiting area when they were "done." The other Dad was there in the waiting room with me, well, and strong, and whole... The surgical patient Dad got suddenly dropped off, post-surgically, all dressed in clothes I remember him wearing quite often, seeming quite disoriented and very unsteady. The second Dad and I rushed out to him and helped support him into the waiting room and into a chair so that he could rest and recover his bearings... It all seemed quite matter of fact to me.

Dad was the hero and antagonist of my youth. He raised me on liberal, union-organizer politics, but then couldn't understand why I sympathized with the hippies that sprouted all over The Hill on the CU campus in Boulder, or why I insisted that it was only my too late February birthday that would keep me from voting for Eugene McCarthy in the election the year I turned 18. He taught me to hold a baseball bat, throw and catch a football, and cast a fishing line, insisted I attend an engineering college rather than a teachers' college, and yet couldn't fathom my feminist leanings. He read me bedtime stories, cleaned up vomit when I was ill as a child, and chased the nightmare spiders from my bed, and never ever once stopped my mother's abusive predations... He was and remains an absolute enigma...

He was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis when I was in junior high school. I watched it take him apart piece by piece by piece. I saw him come home the day of the diagnosis, sit down in his rocking chair and decide that his life was over. My Dad taught me many, many things, but the most important, most lasting lesson he ever taught me is this -- life is precious and life is too damn short to waste it waiting for it to happen. It happens while we are planning it, while we are hoping for it, while we are wishing for the better opportunity. Life is for now. We are life, and joy and breath and love are here for the taking.

I don't know for sure what Dad #1 and Dad #2 were all about last night. I'd like to believe that the one who was there to help was intended as assurance that I'll always have the strength that I'll need for whatever comes, and that I've made the right choice in seizing the life that is here before me now. I feel like that is what He came to tell me last night.

swan

11/25/2005

In My Head

I've had time to think here lately. Not that life hasn't been busy, but... There's time.

Maybe it's just me, or maybe most slaves come around periodically to the question of "why." The simple reality is that beyond the first flush of gee whiz excitement that goes with the drop into "the lifestyle," anyone who does consensual slavery is doing something way deeper and way more serious than a sexually titillating activity. I hesitate to label this as some heavy spiritual path, but there is discipline to slavery; there is time invested, there is the point at which self-will must ultimately relinquish standing in favor of the Other.

I'm feeling myself in an almost "aesthetic" place. I've told myself, for awhile, that it was a phase, a stage, a passage created and caused by external factors that would eventually pass -- that, ultimately, things would turn around and I'd find myself back in a place where life would resume some sort of high-end sensual level that I recall with some nostalgia and fondness. But maybe not. Perhaps the path is headed in a different direction. Maybe, for me, that sensual path was a path that was headed, Icarus-style, too near the sun. Maybe, slavery is more quiet and more refined.

In searching "aestheticism," I found this interesting post on "Ambiguous Squiggle" http://mysticsquiggle.blogspot.com/2005/02/aesceticism.html . I'm not sure if I entirely agree with the premise here, or if I even completely understand it, but there may be something there. I do think that I "get" the part about aestheticism" being a "training for the mind." Like it or not, when the body cannot have all it wants, the mind comes to heel, comes to a point of attentiveness and quiet waiting.

Slavery. Waiting. Quiet.

swan

11/24/2005

A Heron Clan Thanksgiving

We awakened this morning to a gloriously snowy Thanksgiving Day.

Both condo's smell wonderful as the feast that t and sue have labored over for the past day cooks. sue's across the room ironing her giant anitique linen table cloth that will adorn her huge dining room table where the 10 of us will gather for dinner this afternoon. Her side of the condo's is fragrant with the smells of her famous STUFFED turkey. She's already given me her Thanksgiving lecture....yes, that's right the impudent brat lectured me....that she's been cooking turkeys for 28 years in the same pan and they are of course...by god...stuffed! None of this dressing on the side for her and hers:) And, mind you, no one's ever gotten ptomaine, or botulism, or even an upset tummy from one of her birds:)

As for t, no one in creation is more overjoyed by producing a cluinary entertainment event. We'll have special relish trays with splenda sweetened pickles and relish (four of us gathering today are diabetic) plus both colors of olives, and almonds, shrimp cocktail, and a major array of vegetable and bread alternatives,and 4 pies..2 pumpkin and 2 pecan, and mince meat epanadas, (all suar fee:) and ....I'm sure I'm not even aware of all of the delicacies she's prepared.

We have had this special Thanksgiving ceremony in our home that extends back before my divorce. My son, who was about age 8 when this began, always begins the holiday meal by decapitating a turkey molded of butter with the butter knife. T realized yesterday, much to her horror, that what with my son (now 16) and daughter (now 22) coming to dinner along with their mom, we had no butter turkey for him to lop the head off of. She called around and found one. sue was off work yesterday, so she went to purhcase it only to find that store's supply exhausted as well:( She got them to phone another store which had just one left. They held it for her, and she drove 20 miles to a nearby town to pick it up. Whatever happens this feast will begin with the youngest family member's ritual decapitation of the "butter turkey." Thank you spice. It is no wonder my family has been able to incorporate you so well into its fold. You both are so wonderful to them.

We are together in homes we love and loving each other greatly. We have pretty good health for middle-aged folks. We have work that not only makes a comfortable living for us, but that enhances our lives and enriches our spirits. We have family and close friends, seven of whom are joining the three of us for dinner today. And very appropriately, WE HAVE SNOW!!!!!!!! What a perfect Thanksgiving! In large part this prefection is a result of hard work and great caring of my two wonderful and beautiful spice.

I'll be off soon to make my rounds to pick up some of our guests who are elderly, and have disabilities which prevent them from driving to us so that the festivities can begin:)

I hope everyone who reads this, whether they are celebrating Thanksgiving today or not, has as glorious a day today as we are.

All the best:)

Tom

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.

11/22/2005

Toast!

Ahhh autumn is in the air. The leaves have turned and fallen. We have had the first fall fire in the fireplace. And now it is time for the gathering of the family and for being thankful. I will get the mushy out of the way first. Of course I am thankful everyday for the blessings of life and Tom and Swan. Family is dear and I am glad I have mine near.

Tomorrow Swan is off work. She will spend the day cleaning her side of the condos and rearranging the furniture and disguising the home so our "unaware" family members can remain in the dark about our lifestyle. I have already cleaned my side. I have already done the shopping for the feast. Last weekend Tom and his son watched football and performed the annual "Perkification during Murderation". For the uninitiated that is when the 2 of them wrestle our monster artificial tree out of the garage and put it together. Then they have to fluff, this is the "Perkification", the branches that have been smashed in a box all year. And this is all done while their favorite football team is beating their least favorite football team, this would be the "Murderation". They have done this for several years now...it is quite hysterical. I often have to leave my condo and go to Sue's just to keep from crying while I am trying not to pee my pants laughing.

Then we have "THE DAY". Swan and I will spend the day prepping and cooking and baking. All to be able to lay out a spread for about 10 of Tom's family and our friends. We will do drinks and appetizers on my side of the condos and then move to Swan's side for dinner, as she has a much larger dining table and we can all fit.

Now for the silliness.....about 3 yrs ago Swan and I started taking a medication as a preventative for migraines. It has worked wonders for the both of us, but not without some sincere adjustments. We had alot of stomach upset. And there are still some foods that neither of us can eat, that we used to love. We occasionally get tingly hands and feet...another adjustment. But the worst was the confusion. In the beginning, we really had to concentrate to do the most simple tasks. Let's say you want to change the channel on the TV. You just get the remote and do it....not us. We would have to conciously think "Locate the remote..Reach for the remote..Point the remote at the TV..Pick the correct channel.. Lay the remote back down.." You see, if we didn't do that, we might sit with the remote in our hand and never figure out why we picked it up in the first place! I cannot tell you how many times I got something out of the fridge and never shut the door, only to find the door open later. I left the water running in the bathtub and went off and did something else. Forgot all about the tub until it was over the side and half way across the carpet to the master bedroom!! Swan couldn't remember her exit off the highway to get to work!...well....it was the day before Thanksgiving....I was home and Swan was at the store. I called her on her cell and told her I was home for lunch and had started the veggie prep and the toast. You see, my Mom doesn't use dry bread, or bread cubes for dressing. She has always toasted her bread and torn it into chunks for her dressing. So I just figured everyone did it her way....boy was I ever wrong! Swan was standing at the local grocery in an aisle, staring at the cell phone in her hand saying "Toast?? Toast??" Getting very strange looks. She was thinking slices of buttered toast and had no eartly idea what in the hell she was supposed to do with that, but didn't want to hurt my feelings by not using whatever it was I was doing! Tom still asks which of us is making the toast, whenever we have dressing with a meal...the brat!

Sooooo when you and yours are working your fingers to the bone, putting out a spread for a grateful family. Remember...Toast!

Happy Happy Bird Day!!

T

11/21/2005

Chick Flicks

We "enjoy" the occasional trip to the local cinema.

One of the nice things about living in a household that operates on principles of total power exchange is that there is not any problem deciding on which film to see. Master decides. And, for us, there usually isn't any problem deciding on which showtime to attend -- we go whenever Master is ready to go...

In the time since I've known Him, I've seen films that include: Braveheart, Troy, The Patriot, Gangs of New York, The Last Samurai, Gladiator, Master and Commander, and most recently, Jarhead. There are others that I am forgetting I am sure, but they would not break the pattern in any significant fashion.

Master refers to these as "chick flicks." I believe that this might be because He attends showings of these films with two people of the female persuasion...

swan

11/20/2005

Friday Night was Fine

For us, life most often proceeds at breakneck speed.

Three busy adults with demanding schedules most often find ourselves skidding into Friday night exhausted. We often joke that a "hot" Friday night for us is when we wake up from our after-work "nap" at around 9 PM to eat a snack before going back to bed for the night... We're a really sexy bunch.

This last Friday night, however, we hung it together somehow and had a lovely, warm evening relaxing together.

It has cooled off here finally. The warm lingering heat departed suddenly and a chill has descended on the Midwest. We all got home and snuggled in for the evening. T made some wonderful sandwiches and we laid a roaring fire in the fireplace -- the first one of the season. We gathered around the fire, joined by the silly cat, put Comedy Central on the tube, and simply enjoyed the downtime and one another's company.

It was grand. Hours to spend laughing, chatting, relaxing. No stress, no place to go, nothing serious to have to do.

Ahhhhh...

swan

11/19/2005

What the Heck Are you Doing Up Here?




















I lived for years along the Colorado Front Range, in the Denver/Boulder metro area. Often friends from out of state visited, and, if they had the time, we always took them into the Rocky Mountains... I've probably traveled the "Trail Ridge Road" in Rocky Mountain National Park hundreds of times, showing visitors some of the most beautiful vistas on this planet. It is simply one of the most stunning stretches of pavement in the continental U.S. It is, however, not a drive for the inexperienced, or the faint of heart. Some eleven miles of the route are above treeline, where the trees just will not grow because there is not enough oxygen to support them, and there are steep grades and what the locals call "hairpin turns." The dropoffs are breathtaking. Everyday, during the summer tourist season, staff in the Park have to go up and rescue folks who get themselves up there and then freak out and can't get themselves down...

The park literature and signage clearly indicates that the road is steep and narrow. Travelers are advised to make sure that their vehicles (including tires) should be in good condition. People are also cautioned about the altitude and warned that those with respiratory and cardiac issues should consider carefully. Still, on a daily basis, they get themselves up and can't get back down without help...

There are some things that you shouldn't try if you don't know what the fuck you are getting yourself into. It is a recipe for disaster. Why can't you explain that to people?

You see it all the time:

Regularly, Ski patrol staffers have to haul marginal skiers off of "Double Diamond Black" ski runs where they don't have any business being. Any fool knows that maybe 10% of skiers have the skills to actually handle that terrain well. The rest are just looking to get themselves stranded at best, hurt or killed at worst...

I once watched a guy put his 6 year old son on the head of a full grown wild buffalo in Yellowstone Park so that his wife could "get a picture." WTF!?!?

There was a new kid that came to work at the company I worked with in Wyoming years ago... We used to all go to lunch on Fridays, at the local Mexican food eatery, where there was a menu item called "The Death Wish Burrito." It was not misnamed. It was so freaking hot that it would leave blisters on lips, tongue, and throat. We all warned him that it just wasn't a smart choice, but he was so damn "macho" that there was just no talking to him... Idiot!

People would show up at the old Labyrinth BDSM club in Denver -- usually newbies without much experience in the scene. Every now and then some hot to trot "submissive" with a big mouth and not an ounce of good sense would come waltzing in looking to play with the biggest, baddest sadist in the place. That, friends, could be pretty darn "bad." I watched it happen over and over -- cooler heads would, invariably try and take the poor fool aside and talk some sense into the fantasy addled brain. No dice. People would warn, "If you negotiate a high end scene with a high end player, they will take you at your word... Don't go where you can't handle it. Hang out. Watch. Learn." Usually, that well intentioned advice would fall on the deafest of deaf ears...

My point? Some territory is risky. Not everyplace is safe. There are dragons out here. Grow up. Take responsibility. Do your homework. Read the warning signs. Listen to people who know something about it. Know what the hell you are doing if you go there. If you get yourself in over your head, don't blame anybody else.

swan

Life is "Messy" -- We Write Anyway

From the very earliest entries, when I reluctantly began writing at "The Swan's Heart," the words that have poured across the screen there and (subsequently) here have chronicled my/our lives as honestly as it has been possible for me to do that.

Life for us is "messy." Sometimes what I write is happy. Sometimes it is sad. Sometimes angry. Sometimes confused. Whatever comes up, I attempt to put into words the reality of my experiences and reactions and feelings. Honestly. It is often raw, inelegant, hard to read.

I know that some of what has been written here in these months has been uncomfortable to write. I also know, because of the comments I get, that it sometimes makes readers undomfortable. It is never my intent to cause discomfort. It is my intent to write, and through the writing to help my own thinking become clearer, to help me understand my own reactions and feelings. I don't know what those who read here "get" from doing so. I can't focus on that audience. I appreciate them, but, like a tight wire performer, I can't "look."

The words that show up here are moments taken from the realities of my life. They are real. Honest. Raw. Unvarnished. True. I don't sanitize, edit, filter, or otherwise protect myself or anyone else. I don't moderate comments, and generally I don't delete anyone's comments but my own (at least not since I figured out how to foil the evil spammers). What you see is what you get. This is us.

If you read for awhile, you will start to "get" the personalities of our household:

Master is the engine that drives us all. He is dynamic, powerful, and demanding. He is dominant, not because that is some "label" He claims, but because that is the truth of who and what He is. His visions are expansive and overarching. He changes the world. His willingness, however to attend to details and minutiae is minimal. He is also impulsive, trusting, and open-hearted. We've learned to ask Him for what we want and need. T and I both know that subtlety does not work with "Mr. Romance." He is the "tenderest" of us all...

T is the heart of our family. She is open, bright, charming, happy-hearted, and welcoming. She keeps us in touch with the world and social. She is strong, steady, sturdy and stable. She is practical and a planner. She has her Christmas cards already written out, signed, sealed in the envelopes and addressed. I'm still considering writing cards for 2003... She keeps us all in line, brooking none of the nonsense that goes on in a household like ours, but T is a warrior if anyone threatens any one of us. She is not a talker. Even here, you will find that our T is a lady of few words... but when she talks, people listen.

I am the emotional billboard for the family. I pick up the feelings out of the air, mirror them and amplify them and they spew them all over the place. I am intuitive, sensitive, and empathic. I cry at the drop of a hat, but might just as easily laugh like a little kid when something catches my fancy. I am the homebody, happy to just cuddle in and revel in being just "us." Along with my sister, when "stuff" comes at us, I am inclined to figure that there's no point in fussing. She and I are fond of saying that it is, "time to pull up the big girl panties and deal with it." Whatever goes down, I'll likely think it to death and then come here and write about it -- over and over and over again.

That's us. We are who we are. Not fancy. Not showy. No pretense. If what we do and what we say about it is interesting, read. We'll be glad to know you. Either way, we'll write just the same.

swan

11/15/2005

Spirit of the Blue Heron

ROLE: ~ Peace Maker ~

LESSON: ~ Balance between relating and standing alone ~

ELEMENT: ~ Air/Water ~

WIND: ~ East ~ Peace & Illumination ~

MEDICINE: ~ Uniqueness ~

KEYWORDS: ~ Ability to Stand Alone ~ Uniqueness ~

~ Independence ~ Call to Balance ~ Self-Esteem ~

~ Boundaries ~ Dignity ~ Exploration ~ Peace ~ Fluidity ~





Peace



As with all of the Creature Beings of the Earth Mother, the coloring of the Great Blue Heron’s feathers is significant, as each color carries with it special attributes unique to that Creature. Blue in nature is connection to Father Sky and represents Peace and Tranquility. In Esoteric thought, deep blue is also the color of the sixth chakra which corresponds to the third eye. Hence, insight and psychic vision are also emphasized here.



Although the Great Blue Heron is by nature a predominantly solitary bird, during mating season, Herons will gather in clusters to nest and raise young in what are called colonies. It is quite remarkable to witness the peace and harmony that abounds in these colonies, and is a testimony to the ability of a highly independent creature to adapt to communal life.



Just as the Blue Heron must find within him/herself the ability to live in cooperative peace with other members of the colony, so does the two-legged beside whom Heron fly enter the Earthwalk with the theme of Peace. This may either be a natural state of “Being” for one with this bird as a Primary Totem, or in the instance where Great Blue Heron has surfaced as either a Messenger or Lesson Totem, the Lesson then becomes finding Inner Peace and Tranquility.



If Great Blue Heron is one of the Primary Totems, throughout life much interest will be focused in establishing and maintaining Peace. Initially however, this quest for harmony may manifest as the Blue Heron Soul attempting to direct Others to such a state, preliminarily failing to recognize that Peace must first come from “Within”.



When Blue Heron Soul finds that Peace within the “Self”, the lesson gained in the journey there will be shared as a means of guiding Others to finding that same Peace within. Yet when in peaceful attunement and harmony with Self, the two-legged beside whom Blue Heron flies will also emit a powerful and profound tranquil vibration that will effect all around them and inspire the burgeoning soul to become in balance and harmony with All, a priceless Gift to give indeed!



Uniqueness



As a member of the Stork family, these large birds are distinctive in appearance in part due to their blue feathers which can range in color from dusky slate-gray to a deep blue. Their long legs, which serve them well as they wade through the shallows of swamps and wetlands, and elongated neck are also distinguishing characteristics of these splendid birds.



When wading through water in search of prey or standing and observing their surroundings, these birds are the picture of grace and stateliness, yet when in flight their appearance is a bit gangly as they fly with their heads supported between their shoulders, rather than stretched out before them as is typical of their White Crane cousins. Their blue feathers are also a feature that distinguishes them from other members of the Crane family. These separating characteristics suggest that those beside whom Great Blue Heron flies will also be individualists who will utilize their own differences to elicit change in the world around them.



For the two-legged with Blue Heron as a Totem, there will be a desire to establish themselves as a unique and independent Being, often making these souls the revolutionaries that disrupt the status quo of society in order to elicit change and evolution. Although this is a trait with many challenges, when operating from it’s Highest Vibration, Blue Heron Souls teach the rest of us the value and importance of each individual contribution to the Whole.



When young, the Blue Heron individual will be quite unusual in either appearance or mannerisms in ways that they may often find themselves ostracized by peer members. In extreme circumstances, even their own family members will tend to distance themselves, forcing the Blue Heron individual to establish separate and independent lives at an early age.



The teen-age years which are often met with a sense of awkwardness for any human maturing and evolving, are particularly painful for the one beside whom Blue Heron flies, as their appearance and/or behavior will tend to set them apart at a time in their growth when they seek the most to integrate and “blend in”. Often, there will be ling limbs, above average height and uncoordinated gait that may be the object of ridicule during the angst of their emerging from childhood toward adulthood.



Yet with sufficient maturation, these very souls that were once considered “odd looking” suddenly blossom into stunning adults that may quickly find themselves thrust into the attention and admiration of many suitors. More than a few fashion models and actor/actresses have Blue Heron predominately placed amongst their Primary Totems, as the very characteristics that once set them painfully apart, becomes an attracting force of beauty and grace that pulls others toward them. Even in those instance when there is not great “physical beauty”, there will be a special spark to these individuals that will later draw positive attention with a great deal of magnetic force.



On a spiritual level, there will also be a phase of awkwardness and groping for identity. Many revolutionary ideas are first conceptualized by the Blue Heron individual, as they will not be content with watching society operate in the same mode it has done for generations. As a child this independent thought will be a great consternation to parents and guardians, yet as the body, mind and soul of Blue Heron grows and develops, this same ability to think independently may serve them in professions such as exploration and research, politics and scientific discovery and invention as these souls once more learn to transform what was once viewed as a “liability” into an asset.



Ability to Stand Alone



One of the dominant physical characteristics of the Great Blue Heron are its long, spindly legs. Like all members of the Stork family, Blue Heron utilizes these elongated limbs to wade through the marshes and swamplands that constitute their natural environment, in search of the food that swims in the water or crawls along the spongy banks.



It is not uncommon to see a Great Blue Heron standing with one leg drawn up in a resting position, and balancing like a seasoned acrobat on the other leg. Herons are often spied dozing while standing thus on one foot as well and as discussed earlier, then to prefer solitude and their own company.



This particular set of keywords indicated a powerful Lesson for those who share this Earthwalk with Blue Heron Totem, as there will be many experience in learning to operate independently and to trust and rely heavily on the Self. This can be a dual-edged sword, however, as much like the Heron must find the proper equilibrium to balance on one leg, the two-legged beside whom Heron flies must also learn the delicate balance and counter-balance between independence and cooperative loving and living with Others.



Often times there are likely two distinctive scenarios which contribute to the development of the Blue Heron individual. The first such set of circumstances is where the human counterpart enters along the Sacred Hoop of Life as a very peaceful and sensitive person that seeks out the company of Others, yet is often rejected by the very Souls he/she loves and trusts the most. This may establish a fear of rejection, and often effects their later interactions in adult relationships, as there is often the inherent fear or expectation that as soon as a bond of love or trust is formed, they will be rejected or betrayed. Until the Blue Heron individual can heal from these painful episodes, examine the lessons that they have been present to teach, and integrate the experience to find a better center of balance, they will often either shut themselves off emotionally to avoid future “hurts”, or they may become lost in the repetitive pattern of choosing partners that will ultimately fulfill their expectations of abandonment.



The second grouping of Blue Heron individuals are often highly independent, seemingly from birth, and tend to prefer the solitude and comfort of their own company over interacting with family members and friends. There is a sense about these Souls that they are capable of handling any task so long as they are left alone to their own devices to accomplish it. The difficulty surfaces when they ignore the interactions with their fellow human that is a vital and integral part of our life in flesh. Until these individuals are fully able to embrace the understanding that we are all here to interconnect with our fellow two-leggeds and the animals of the Ina Maka, or Mother Earth, there will be an underlying restlessness and general dissatisfaction with life. Their challenge thus becomes learning to find the harmony between time spent alone, and time spent with their fellow Earth inhabitants.



In both instances, the primary focus is upon gaining enough self-confidence that they are well capable of relying upon their own highly developed sense of timing and action, and tempering it with embracing loving relationships that operate within healthy parameters and involve requisite sharing and co-nurturing with the respect of individual freedom and independence. Yet when this fine balance is struck, the end result is a beauty to behold and often leads these Souls down the pathway as impartial judges, counselors and artists who convey through their choice of medium a world in which all live in true Harmony.

.....I post this because Herons are very important to my family. Whenever anything of great importance happens in our family, we have a visit on our pond from our Heron. The last few mornings, as I have been leaving for work, I have had a Heron fly-over...Yes, something great is on the horizon. Just watch...

T

Then the ball crashed

At 4:30 this morning a beautiful blown glass ball we had hanging in the sky view window at the top of our bedroom wall crashed to the floor and exploded into hundreds of pieces. That won't be catching sunbeams and reflecting them on our ceiling again. At first I thought that somehow our window had broken. We had wild, violent storms here last night, and perhaps that had done it, but then I realized the sounds from outside were no louder. Had the window broken, we'd have a volume increase. We turned the light on and realized what had happened. Then it flashed through my mind, what was the "mystical" significance of this sudden event?

I realized then the extenet to which I'd come to expect mysticism and "magic" to be a factor in my life as I'd passed through the recently destroyed relationship with the nameless ones. I wonder how many snakes had to be squeezed to get all that oil and what has to be wrong with me to be so susceptible to it. The significance of the event is that the ball was hung by a simple small screw hook, in a plaster board ceiling, and what with all the vibrations from last nighht's thunder, it broke free and crashed to the floor. There was no magic.

We were then wide awake. Normally this would be an opportunity for us to play and make love. There has been no passion or excitment here ince our ball crashed last Thursday. I can tell Sue is longing, and I have just no interest. Even interest in my usually most outrageously exciting activity, spanking, is dead.

Each day, I'm generally better about this ending. Each day I realize too how dysfunctional I still am, and in that contrast, I realize how hard my ball crashed. And I see in the reactions to me by t and sue how much they feel hurt by my dysfunction in reaction to it.

The night before last I was up all night. It was amaizing, but I was simply wide awake, and couldn't turn my head off reviewing voice sounds, and IM's, and picutures from our brief time together. Thank god that phase seems to have ended. I am working at making them faceless and turning them to the nameless ones. A memory in concept only with no power to hold me or hurt me/us.

I am flat. Everything went to black and white when our "ball crashed" last Thursday.

I can't beleive I'm writing more about this. I've already humiliated myself with my wailing in pain and tantrumming in rage over this. What the hell, I expereinced non-consensual "heart play." I might as well tag on my own public humiliation scenario.

As I look back at this maybe the ball that fell from the ceiling this morning had more significance than I thought. There was no magic.

Tom

11/14/2005

Defining

Years ago, when I still actively participated in a large Friends meeting, I found that one of the dilemmas that regularly arose was that of social definition.

Friends tend to resist dogmatic or credal statements of belief, prefering instead to allow "spirit" to guide those who are drawn to that particular path. There is a conviction that there is but a single "truth" and that all sincere seekers will come to the same place in the light of truth through a process of common searching. Grounded in that testimony and conviction, Friends are uncommonly welcoming, open, and inclusive where other religious traditions might not be. Many "unformed" spiritual travelers find a home in the sort of unprogrammed Quaker meeting that I attended for many years. So, too, do a fair number of just plain oddballs...

I've spent hours debating how to deal with holding open a place that is welcoming and hospitable and inclusive while still defining enough of a sense of identity that the group knows and values ITSELF as an actual entity that can be differentiated from the amorphous outside that dwells beyond the boundary.

I had a similar experience with the BDSM club that I was part of in Denver. In order to survive financially, we eventually convinced ourselves that it would be good to make the space available to the local goth crowd. They liked our dungeon space because it was so "dungeon-y" -- for them, the opening up of our place worked fabulously. For us, however, that blending resulted in the eventual obliteration of "us" as a community. There were way more of "them" than there were of "us" and we were simply overrun and overruled. Our inability and unwillingness to define who we were and hold our space, ended up meaning that we ultimately had NO space at all.

That may be some of the lesson learned in this last piece for our family. Define. We know who we are at our roots; at the core. We operate on principles of BDSM, and our household dynamics include both D/s and M/s. We are a heterosexual, fMf poly triad. We have been fidelitous -- that does not necessarily mean "closed" but it does mean that we have to this point considered the impacts of opening our relationship further.

The reality is that there are all sorts of interesting and intriguing people in the world, in the lifestyle. Many of them have ideas that we find helpful, supportive, unusual, or even just fun or amazing. Doesn't mean they fit, necessarily. Awhile back for example, we met a very nice, very educated, very literate and articulate fellow who wanted to be spanked. It was somewhere our family had never gone before, and we thought it might be interesting territory to explore. He was willing and we decided there were no real reasons not to try it. He came, we ate together and the spanking event proceeded apace. It was all fine, but just not anyone's cup of tea. We should have learned...

We, maybe, need to be more willing to define our who and what and how. Having done that, we need to be unafraid to honor that without apology. If we find that there is the possibility of someone new in our mix, and that can happen we know, then we need to test and check to see where that fits.

That is not a lack of hospitality. It is not an unwillingness to be inclusive. It is truth-telling. Better, I suspect to say at the outset that this is what it looks like inside our family, and this is who we are, and how far we are willing to bend and/or stretch, than to not say those things and have the match not be made.

Ours is a unique and valuable family. Right now, I imagine there are plenty of social connections being made that align with our family outside the boundaries. So be it. This sort of "us" and "them" dynamic is common in social identity theory. People want, naturally to align with the groups that make them feel the most accepted, the most powerful, the most "like" everyone else. That is not, usually, us.

I think we have, for the first time since we all came together, seriously considered what it might mean to add to our family. That possibility came upon us suddenly and without the opportunity to think about it in any sort of reasonable framework. We were taken by storm and buffeted by a host of emotions and unexpected pressures. Given a different set of circumstances, perhaps we'd have done this differently. Perhaps. Maybe another time. For now, we are healing, integrating the information we've gained, holding on to one another, defining.

swan

11/13/2005

Beginnings -- For Us

In another spot in the commenting on "Ownership" magdala expresses some uncertainty about how our particular M/s and poly dynamic came to be the way it is today. She asks:

" I am not entirely sure, and may be mistaken, but I am thinking that you evolved from poly to M/s poly? I'd have to go back and re-read to make sure."

I recognize that we, and I, get so busy doing what it is that we do, assuming the present mode, that I seldom go back and reconstruct the beginnings. I did that a lot in the early days, but the "history" has gotten long enough that I have let much of it fade into the mists. I tend to forget that there may be some for whom it might be interesting, instructive, or simply, informative. If you already know most of this, think you know it, or just don't care, skip the rest of this...

I was, like many I suspect, a closeted BDSM wannabe for most of my life. I simply assumed that I was "bad" for having those urges and desires. I married young, already pregnant, to escape a home life that was (I thought) worse than the marriage I was jumping off into. The man I married seemed steady, safe, and utterly unchallenging. It seemed like a good bargain to the 19 year old I was then. It didn't take me long to realize that I'd made a dreadful mistake, but by then I had a baby son and a second child on the way... He couldn't keep a job, couldn't satisfy me sexually, found my "urges" disgusting, and kept our family continually on the edge of financial and legal disaster. I stayed because I'd been raised to keep commitments, because he convinced me that many of the "issues" were because of how I was -- that I was the crazy one, because, with two small children, I simply didn't know what else to do. I worked my ass off, put my needs in a deep dark corner somewhere, and raised my kids.

One day, I typed "spanking" into my computer's search engine and found "Domestic Discipline." It is the vanilla-cized, sanitized, guilt-free version of BDSM, and I managed to sort of sell it to the husband. I was, for the first time in my life, getting something that I'd only ever dreamed of, fantasized about... I thought I'd died and gone to heaven! He played along, although not very enthusiastically. It was a beginning, however, and a beginning was, for me, enough.

I "met" the people who would eventually become my "family" on a DD listserve. I was so NEW. I didn't know anything about anything, and I was so hungry for connection, for knowledge, for friends... They were there, with support, affirmation, guidance. Eventually, when the husband and I felt like we needed some sort of "real time" input to expand our knowledge, we contacted the two of them to ask them for advice. We expected some sort of generic help -- perhaps a list of books to read, conferences to attend, etc. It was early days then. There wasn't the wealth of information available online that there is now. They invited us to attend Ohio Leather Fest with them. We were stunned. I was stunned!

I was also very clear about who I was, and who I was not. I understood my boundaries. I was married. I intended to stay married. I wasn't happy in my marriage, understood the shortcomings of my situation, but I was clear about the commitments I'd made. I believed that DD and perhaps BDSM might give us a way to bridge the gaps that had always existed between us. I wasn't looking for a new partner. I was looking for some teaching, some mentoring (in a strictly clinical/technical sense). I made all of that very clear from the outset, and everyone understood, and respected, those limits. We would play, but we would play within those constraints. Period.

I'd never heard the word "poly" before that trip. We discussed it then, in very limited terms, as playing (in a BDSM sense) with multiple partners. None of us, at that point, ever contemplated the much broader context of poly relating as we now practice it.
We came, we learned and taught, we played, and then we all returned to our separate lives. Except that we continued to talk and write and IM at significantly more intense levels.

Soon we were back for another visit. And then another. Then Tom and T visited us. Back and forth and back and forth...

Still, I maintained the absolute boundary -- I was married and intended to stay that way. He honored that.

He played D/s games with others in our circle and I watched from the sidelines.

Ultimately, the day came when He broke the "agreement." He took an enormous risk. He told me that He loved me. He believed that, in telling me of His feelings, He would end our friendship because He was violating the limits I'd so staunchly maintained for so long. It was the night that I melted entirely and admitted the lie that I'd been holding close to my heart -- that we were "just friends" and that I didn't have deep loving feeling for Him as well... So... Our journey into poly began in earnest.

We then began to explore the boundaries of our D/s relationship within that context. I knew, by then, that my husband was interested in BDSM on a very limited basis. He seemed quite willing for Tom and I to explore freely, and we did -- with wild and joyful abandon.

The M/s did not evolve until after we actually moved together full time. It was a designation we resisted at first. The language is so fraught with drama. We don't seem, on the face of it, to fit the mold. Our relating can seem somewhat casual to an outside observer. Ultimately, though, we came to understand that the reality between us was simply this: I belonged to Him utterly. If He asked it, I would do it, give it, become it, if I possibly could. It wasn't about the SM, or fancy labels, or titles, or any of the rest of it. It was simply who and what we were.

That's a lot of ground covered. There are plenty of details that don't show up there...

Oh well...

There are the bones...

swan

What About Intention?

In a comment to the discussion about "Ownership" magdala left this gem:

"am I trying to figure out how ownership, simple possession of an object, resolves itself when the owner desires to keep the object available for the use he intended?"

It is that concept of INTENTION that has me thinking this morning, because it seems to me that, in fact, it is the intent of the Master in the M/s dynamic, that shifts the direction of His/Her action upon the slave from that of possession to something "other." Without intent, there would be no real reason for anything much else to occur beyond the mere possessing itself. Perhaps, in fact, it is the intent, and not the ownership that is most germane to the whole dynamic in the first place...

Magdala paints the pictures of the bath towel (playing off of metaphors that I set up earlier) that needs washing to remain useful, and of sterling flatware that requires polishing upon use, and careful storage to retain the luster that makes it so lovely. If I understand the question behind the pictures, she is attempting to make some sense of what the responsibilities are for maintenance and upkeep of "owned" objects that are INTENDED for use, and not merely acquired and then put away and forgotten or kept indefinitely unused. The further question I think, in the case of slaves (like me, or like her) in this context, is who bears that responsibility? She is perhaps edging toward the answer she is looking for, I suspect, in the concept of INTENT.

For me, maybe (and perhaps not for magdala or anyone else), that is to understand what my Master intends for me to be and do in this moment. I do not need to know what His overall plan is; what His long-range goal for me might be; what He expects of me next week or next month or next year. I need to do my best to comprehend what use He has for me in this present time, and how He intends that I should fulfill that role. I then need to work to accomplish that work in whatever way I can best do so. That is likely to include, but not be limited to, doing some self-maintenance and self-improvement in the mix.

It is entirely possible, even probable, that His INTENT will bring Him to act toward me in ways that bring about my betterment. He will seek my health, my happiness, my overall well-being. These actions on His part will serve His intentions for use of His property in my person. That reality does not impinge on my service to Him. It is His side of the equation; out of my control entirely. Energy that I invest in thinking about what He "should" or "ought" to be doing in that regard takes me away from my own focus and service.

There is some humbling in that division and realization. It is hard at some level to know that the decisions for and about your own care are made at two different levels: that you are given a degree of responsibility for self-maintenance BECAUSE you are property, and that the overall decisions for your care and well-being derive from the intention of One who chooses to care for you BECAUSE you are property.

Settling into that reality can bring struggle or peace.

swan

11/12/2005

Our side of "The Thang"

I've just read Jewel's interesting account of our relationship over the last few months. It's well contrived and I'm sure many of those who relate to them will accept it. They are very good at getting people to believe in them. They are the best I've seen in that regard.

About half of what she said was true. The other half was spin and fantasy. The fact is too, that Jewels sought me out. I didn't go looking for her. She initiated all of this from the start and ended it as precipitously.

Then there is THE PICTURE. I can only say that Jewels and I discussed our play extensively for weeks before we played. What she has recounted this evening of what she expressed to me about her desires for our SM play is false. She was continuously telling me that what she wanted was my highest end play. She referred to it as "anarchistic SM." She wanted whatever my energy might take us to no matter how severe. Beyond that we discussed specifically what I proposed to do that night immediately before we played, and she consented. In fact her account of that weekend's events on her Blog, chronicled that fact, as well as the fact that this was the result of a weekend of extensive play sessions. Loki talked about how stimulated he was by Jewel's play as he listened in the next room. T was present too for our first session. We all actually played Sunday together. Everyone bottomed at one point except T. This was not some sort of non-consensual abuse.

It is interesting that when she returned from her visit here she posted this same picture for a couple of days on their Blog triumphally; entitled it The Heretic's Work accompanying a glowing account of the weekend. Now it's posted as an example of how abusive we were:) These folks are very good.

Her statements about sue are false. Sue did, in fact, become quite comfortable, in recent weeks, with Jewel's and my relationship. Jewels was expressing a strong desire for she and I to become sexual. sue had gone to the extent of inviting her to join us in our bed. It was interesting that when sue was miserable about Jewels and my relationship early on, Jewels was ever more passionate. As sue became increasingly comfortable, Jewels was increasingly more detached.

It's been interesting today. We've gotten email from others who feel that they have been treated similarly and hurt similarly by these two. They also are unwilling to do anything but express their support for us on Blog and in email. They are unwilling to speak out for fear of losing friends or causing rifts, etc.

I'm not going to do a rehash of our relationship and do a he said she said.

These folks are good. They set us up, sucked us in, led us on and then made the perfect sting. I believe the outcome of this was planned from the start. They are educated, smooth, and seemingly passionately honest and caring.

You don't need to judge anyone if you don't want to, or if you do, quite frankly your judgment of us one way or another is not anything we really care about.

Just be informed and make wise decisions who you let into your life. I wish we had.

All the best:)

Tom

To be loved is fortunate. To be hated is to achieve distinction.