Unsettled

Seven years ago, with my entire life packed into boxes and just a bit behind me in the moving van, I pulled into Cincinnati and began to live the life that, until that time, we'd all just imagined. Those beginning days and months were breathless and joyful and busy and full of the adventure of learning about one another in the way that can only be accomplished when you live together. So many patterns were laid down in those early days -- the ways that we would eventually come to be together from day to day. We learned about eating together and sleeping together and playing together and getting household chores done together. We told stories about our lives and our childhoods and our youth.

I've spent the last few days, looking back, awestruck at the distance we've come -- at how very much life we've lived together in this time. We embark on the next seven years in bodies that are older, and with a set of dreams and hopes that are different, in some significant ways, than they were seven years ago.

There is a part of me that feels a little edgy about this "anniversary" milestone. Somehow, to me, it feels more significant than the others have. Perhaps that is driven by all the medical struggles of the last few months... Somehow, the simple fact of being here, now, altogether seems like an enormous accomplishment; something to be celebrated and cherished.

We spent last night at a play party. I think I imagined that we'd perhaps share our celebration with members of the community and commemorate the milestone in their company, but it didn't turn out that way. They didn't have anyway to know, and the truth is that we are very occasional visitors in the circle that "they" all share. Whatever the reasons for that (age, distance, point of view, etc.), there was no reason at all for them to celebrate an "anniversary" with a group of folks that they don't even know.

And so, our recognition of the moment was between us; enacted in the dungeon -- in a session that revolved in some arcane fashion around sets of seven -- He whispered something about it to me as we were getting started last night. I'm not sure exactly how that worked, I was entirely focused on trying to make sure that my part in the proceedings was what was expected.

I'm a little disappointed. I've always experienced BDSM dungeons as places of enormous energy -- places where our play was enhanced and augmented by the FACT of being with others who could see it and understand it and lend it their positive goodwill. The observer -- the witnesses -- were important elements in the entire venture. They brought it life and electricity and gave it a sense of affirmation. If that was going on in the dungeon last night, I couldn't feel it. Perhaps I'm too old; or perhaps it is that we've become passe'; or maybe it really is because we don't know any of these people well; or perhaps the community ethic is more self-oriented and there is just less interest in being with each other in the way that I remember.

It makes me sad. I want something more than that from our forays into the public scene. I might be wanting what cannot be had, but I wonder... I wonder if there are other venues and other events where we might go a few times in a year and play in dungeon environments that are exciting and affirming and energizing and capable of elevating the level of our personal interaction to some other plane of awareness and connection?

We're thinking about reaching out further from home, looking to some bigger events. Maybe Floating World in August. Maybe that will be the answer to this unsettled feeling that I am experiencing.

swan