Constructed / Organic

We began, a very long time ago, to construct a relationship; founded on friendship and shared desires.  Like others before us, and around us, we piled up expectations and agreements and rules and routines.   For a time, we added metaphorical rooms and hallways and stairs going up and down -- all built with stuff pulled from within our own selves, and the edifice was a shining wonder.  We thought.  The ground shifted and the ensuing quake shook the walls to rubble.

It turns out that constructed reality is susceptible to the forces which may tend to deconstruct.

We have chosen, in these later days, to adapt to our assorted defects, learning to offer one another goodwill and gentleness.  We are forming the habit of taking pleasure in one another; in being together.  What grows from that; a more organic sort of being alive, we hope will be firmly rooted in the ground on which we stand.

Intimacy

I have been feeling that Tom and I have arrived at something that seems to me to be a quiet and relatively calm sort of intimacy.  That word, "intimacy" is very specifically what I would call what we are sharing with one another these days.

There is a belief that intimacy is about being emotionally close to your partner, about being able to let your guard down, and let him or her know how you really feel. Intimacy is also about being able to accept and share in your partner's feelings, about being there when he/she wants to let their guard down.  I am not convinced.  For months and years, we have struggled to achieve THAT kind of intimacy.  It nearly destroyed us both.  Partners, intimate partners, so benefit from the ability to move into emotional closeness with one another, but our culture has pushed us into the acceptance of this seamless, airless, impossible sort of closeness that demands that we engage in full and open disclosure of every feeling and every reaction regardless of the pain caused to a partner.  I will submit that our grandparents knew better as they lived more discreet lives that allowed for the necessity of keeping some bits of the inner life private, even from one's most intimate intimates.

We have learned, in these years, to share what is good with one another; to give with full hearts from our bounty and our joy.  We have learned, through bitter experience, to protect one another from our dark moods and doubts and bitter memories.  As we have come to be more judicious about what we share of our individual inner worlds with one another, we have gained a sense of peace and calm and gentle loving kindness.  Doing that learning has allowed us to enter into a relationship that is characterized by some of the synonyms of "intimacy:"

closeness

togetherness

affinity

rapport

attachment

familiarity

friendship

amity

affection

warmth

Baby

I have been called many things... some of them lovely and sweet, some others not at all lovely or sweet.

I have been Suzanne, Suzie, sister, daughter, Beth, Sue, Zimmy, Wife, Mommy, Divorce', swan, slave, Arnold, sister-heart, spice, bitch, liar, manipulator, destroyer, strong, weak, stupid, smart, Sweetie, Honey...

But just recently, and completely without any sort of guile or plan or intent that I can see, He has begun to call me "Baby."

I cannot even begin to explain or understand how that simple thing thrills me down to my toes.  I have never been anyone's baby.  It is the most breathtaking and amazing thing...

swan

Faithful Sidekick

Robin the boy wonder did it for Batman, and Tonto did it for The Lone Ranger.  Ed McMahon and Chewbacca both played the role for their respective "main men."  Over time, lots of names have been cast in the role of "faithful sidekick:"  Barney Fife, Enkidu, Sancho Panza, Kato, Spock, Gilligan...

The sidekick is, most often, cast in a subordinate role to the main character.  Sidekicks generally do not make the rules or choose the goals or set the course.  Instead, they reflect the best of their "main man."  They provide a context, and act as a confidant.  They are simultaneously friend, guide, interpreter, voice of reason, conscience, fall guy, and straight man.

As things have evolved here, I have struggled to find the words that would describe my sense of who I am in His world.  Clearly the old language doesn't really work anymore.  No more of that sensationalized BDSM lingo:  Master/slave, or Owner/property.  We have shared history that will not allow for those designations to work anymore.  Somehow, though, in the last few days, I've heard my head whispering this "sidekick" idea in  my mind.  So maybe that is it...  Maybe I've graduated to being the "faithful sidekick."

swah

Abject Obedience

Friendship is a disinterested commerce between equals; love, an abject intercourse between tyrants and slaves. 

~~Oliver Goldsmith~~

It has grown quiet and gentle in our lives since we discovered the roots of the debilitating despair and depression that gripped Tom, and with Him our whole family.  The addition of the metabolic supplement, L-methylfolate, created a balance that was, quite possibly absent throughout His entire life -- and restored Him to clear-eyed, happy, sanity.  When the darkness cleared, everything changed.  The storms that nearly tore our world to shreds ended, and suddenly we are alive together in a reality that feels so much better than what was … It is also true that there is much about that new reality that seems foreign; unfamiliar in a host of ways.  

On one level, I have been glad for the changes.  It is good to not be caught up in a continual fight for survival.  It is good to not be constantly afraid of what the next moment might bring; good to find stability and consistency and sanity.  However, I have also been prone to question who we are now -- what is it that we have left now that we don’t have all that fire and fury and frantic struggle?  
He seems content to just let us be what we are, and to see us become what we will become.  He does not appear to feel the need to define our relationship or our roles.  When I have fussed about it, He looks bemused, and suggests that we can just be Tom and Sue.  I have lain awake nights, railing in my mind, at the ordinariness of that -- just Tom and Sue.  How many couples must there be who are “just Tom and Sue?”  I’d imagine that those who have followed me along these many years might not be surprised by that bit of mental fussiness -- is it funny?  Probably.  
Were we extraordinary when we styled ourselves “Master and slave?”  Was my capacity to serve somehow more than that of any other loving partner, and was the erotic bent toward sadism and masochism that He and I shared sufficient to set us apart from others who enjoyed a powerful and passionate erotic love?  For whatever reason, I had myself convinced that the love we shared was “special,” and that my drive toward submission and masochism, paired up with His sadistic and dominant personality traits, constituted a formula for perfect and unmatched love.  I guess I needed to feel superior and special, like He and I were fated, star-crossed, meant to be -- for always and in all ways.   
I have, through months of therapy, and through all the agonies of recovery through which we have passed, bemoaned the loss of my “slave” status.  There is irony in that, is there not?  After all, what sort of “status” ought to accrue to one who is truly “slave?”  I know it makes no reasonable sense, but I have felt that as a loss -- and grieved accordingly.  On more than one occasion, Judy, my therapist has challenged me on the issue of whether I really wanted, or was prepared to give Him (or anyone, for that matter) what she termed “abject obedience.”  It has remained, between us, a question that I have avoided answering directly.  I have, over time, come to terms with the undeniable reality that I have clear limits, and will act to protect my life and well-being when those things are threatened.  I have accepted that as a fact, and I am clear that it is appropriate that I maintain those boundaries.  I am even willing to acknowledge that my failure to establish and defend those boundaries contributed to the huge crisis that befell our family.  That was my responsibility and I did not manage it well.  But, still...  I have believed that, somehow, my failure to offer that level of obedience in that awful moment cost me the depth of intimacy that was wrapped up in the M/s dynamic He and I shared.  I have believed that.
Back in August of 2009, I wrote at length on the subject of “mindful obedience.”  That piece grew out of a question about “mindless” obedience, and it was a pretty easy step off to turn mindless into mindful and then hold forth about what that meant to me.  I’m not ashamed of the writing there, but I am a little squrimy about the contrast with my actions and choices in the moment of crisis.  Still, I have been unable, when pressed, to give a full and direct assent to the idea of “abject obedience.”  So, maybe it is time for me to consider the questions that phrase raises for me...
The word, “abject” comes from Middle English, and before that from the Latin abjectus -- to cast off or reject; literally, “to throw away.”  In modern usage, it implies a sense of hopelessness or resignation.  And so, to offer “abject obedience” would be to become obedient out of a belief that there was  no other path, no way beyond, nothing at all to be gained by any other course.      
I think that, as life spiraled out of control here, I did move toward hopelessness.  There was nothing that I would not have done to bring Him out of the addiction that nearly destroyed Him -- and all of us.  There was also, in the depth of my being, a knowledge that my love and service, and yes, even my obedience was never going to be enough to break the hold that alcohol had on Him.  I grew up with alcoholic parents.  I raised an addicted child.  I knew the truth, and so my continued obedience was, in fact, “abject.”  I was resigned to the increasing distance between us, to the escalating anger and bitterness, to the recriminations and bitterness and accusations and abuse.  I knew, in some deep and wordless part of my mind that nothing good could come to us along the path we were traveling, and I had no hope of any sort of rescue or reprieve.  That is the abject obedience that I offered my Master in the last weeks and months before that part of our life finally ended.  It was pitiable and pale and lifeless.  It was a poor, poor sort of submission I gave in those days.
So much for the high-minded, and prettified version of “mindful obedience” that I once detailed for another.  THAT sort of obedience would have found a way; would have sought out appropriate help and taken the risks to assure that He received the help He needed.  That sort of active, listening obedience would have been selfless enough to withstand His anger in order to find the resources that He needed to break free from the demons that were pursuing Him.  That sort of slave would have never given up hope; never settled for what became our daily reality; never allowed for some kind of resignation to whatever would come.  What sort of slave “resigns?”
So, the answer to the question about “abject obedience” is that I will not offer that to Him again.  I am ashamed that it was what I gave Him in the moment when He most needed my strength, my integrity, my intelligence, and all my effort and energy directed toward His well-being.  I understand that, given the road we have traveled to this point, we are lucky to be still alive, still together -- and I am in awe of the fact that He still loves me and wants me.  We are, clearly, better than we were a year ago, or two years ago...  We are healthy and happy and amazed to have this life together.  He is right.  We are who we are.  We will be who we will be.  And, to be just Tom and Sue is not ordinary at all -- it is the most wonderful and extraordinary thing imaginable.  Perhaps that highly charged label, “slave,” is gone forever from our relational lexicon.  Perhaps that is all for the good.  I hope to grow into the woman He wants and needs; to love Him well and with all the best that is in me; and I hope to live the always and all ways that I promise.  If I can come to a place of doing that, I believe that will be enough.
swan

He tells me He is ready to start again; to start over.

It is what I have been waiting forever to hear.

I am holding my breath; unsure what to do; not certain what to think...

What exactly does "starting over" require of us?  Shall we just hold hands and leap off into the adventure again -- just as we did in the first instance?  Or is it time to proceed with some sort of deliberate and cautious plan?

I have not a clue.  I hope that, since He seems ready to take up the leadership again, He knows how to do this thing that lies ahead of us...

swan

Space

We had an awful Sunday last weekend.  He reacted to the post I wrote about Making Space, and I, sensing attack (where there probably was none), went immediately into a snarling defense that left us both shaken and exhausted after an hours long standoff with one another.  In essence, His question was about what, exactly I meant by that phrase, and because I did not really know what I might mean by that, I could not tell Him in any sort of coherent and succinct fashion.  That frustrated Him, and His seeming inability / unwillingness to hear my metaphorical, allegorical musing made me feel as if I could not BE heard under any circumstances.  It was a mess.

Eventually, we wore ourselves out, found a quieter way to approach each other, and resolved to start again. We made it through the week in a sort of sad and tentative truce, and slowly, slowly relaxed toward the weekend.  Today, has been pretty good again, although we are both (I think) wary with each other.

I still don't entirely know what I mean exactly with regard to the notion of "making space."  I don't feel like it has to be a literal "moving apart" as He insists.  I feel like the idea of "space" is more complex and more subtle than the prosaic and expedient path of packing a bag and moving away.  That isn't something I want to contemplate.  I've fought hard to still be here.  I am invested.

I just keep thinking that there is space that is full of stars and planets; space that I create in the early spring as I thin the seedlings in my vegetable garden to allow the remaining plants room and resources to grow; space between the notes in a bit of music; green space that makes my neighborhood lovely and relaxing; space in my closet; spaces on a checker board; parking space; space around my dinner table; space within the atoms of the universe...

I don't yet know what I need in the way of relational space -- what we might need together.  I have not spent much time, in the last ten years, thinking about space.  While I think about it all, I offer some of the thinking that others have done about the subject:

Humor does not diminish the pain - it makes the space around it get bigger.
Allen Klein

Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.
Viktor E. Frankl

We need to give each other the space to grow, to be ourselves, to exercise our diversity. We need to give each other space so that we may both give and receive such beautiful things as ideas, openness, dignity, joy, healing, and inclusion.
Max de Pree

Your sacred space is where you can find yourself again and again.
Joseph Campbell

The extent of your consciousness is limited only by your ability to love and to embrace with your love the space around you, and all it contains.
Napoleon Bonaparte

As long as you don't forgive, who and whatever it is will occupy rent-free space in your mind.
Isabelle Holland

Love is space and time measured by the heart.
Marcel Proust

Nothing exists except atoms and empty space; everything else is opinion.
Democritus

Metaphors have a way of holding the most truth in the least space.
Orson Scott Card

Our time here is magic! It's the only space you have to realize whatever it is that is beautiful, whatever is true, whatever is great, whatever is potential, whatever is rare, whatever is unique, in. It's the only space.
Ben Okri

I think that the ideal space must contain elements of magic, serenity, sorcery and mystery.
Luis Barragan

When friendship disappears then there is a space left open to that awful loneliness of the outside world which is like the cold space between the planets. It is an air in which men perish utterly.
Hilaire Belloc

Make an empty space in any corner of your mind, and creativity will instantly fill it.
Dee Hock

Out of the Ashes

"All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost; the old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by frost.  From the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring; renewed shall be blade that was broken, the crownless again shall be king."  ~~J.R.R. Tolkien

I feel good most days.  Except for the still too frequent migraine headaches, I am well.  Well in body, spirit, and mind.  

I do not look backward much these days.  I know what is back there.  I was there not so long ago, and I have no desire to return -- not even to those days I once considered "good" before all the fragile visions came crashing down around our heads.

I worked to get to this place, in this time, feeling as I do.  I worked hard, enduring bitterness and rage and fear and pain.  I spent hours and hours sitting with my therapist (worker of wonders and miracles large and small), while she dragged me through defining what I wanted, what I needed, what I would and would not have in my life.  I read everything that I could get my hands on related to addiction and trauma and recovery and how the brain works and how relationships work -- and how they don't.  I lived through a long, dry, solitary time when the relationship at the very center of my life seemed nearly moribund, and from my dryness, I cried a deep, rushing, turbulent, and ultimately cleansing river of tears.  The night came to be my friend, holding me quiet and close while I pondered what had been and what was and what might yet come to be.  I learned that I am fashioned of sturdiness and steadfastness and an unreasonable capacity for hope.  I was not all that I would have wished to be ... I crumpled; whined; and tried to run away on more than one occasion.  I found that I am utterly human:  sometimes foolish, sometimes wise; sometimes strong and sometimes very fragile; amazingly bright and shockingly stupid; capable of constructing great towering, philosophical castles in the sky and prone to kicking the whole thing down as though it were nothing but a pile of child's building blocks.  

I came into this part of my life, some dozen years ago, a rather jumbled up intellectual, spiritual, and emotional mess.  I carried secrets, harbored doubts, defended my woundedness with blind ferocity.  I wanted someone to take me in and give me definition, make me belong, and keep me safe.  Even as a "mature" woman, in my late 40s and 50s, I never, ever understood that finding where I belonged and building the place where I'd be safe were my own responsibilities.  I abrogated those obligations to myself, and so I laid the fire that would consume my world -- and I lit the match myself.  

The work of the last couple of years has taught me that I belong to me.  I can share what and who I am ... and I do that joyously and generously in the places where it makes sense.  My teaching is built on that giving from the deep well of self.  My love for Himself seeks out and longs for that overflowing of the gift that is my truest self.  It remains the core attraction of the BDSM lifestyle for me -- the energy and fulfillment that comes from being able to relax and trust and give it all.  I am proud to know what I know, and I am proud to be here.  I do not know what the numbers are, but I am certain that most relationships, confronted with what we have passed through in these last two years, crumble to dust.  That ours did not is not merely a matter of great good luck -- we earned this, and I want to shout that from the rooftops.

I should be clear that I am alone in feeling this way.  My loves are not likely to endorse my Pollyanna-ish willingness to see life as good and full of promise -- and claim the right to brag and dance gleefully over the discovery.  That is all me.  T and Himself are at different places, and they will have to describe that if they choose to do so.  I can only see what I can see of what I have come to.  I want to drag everyone along to this place.  I want to put my hands on my hips and push out my lower lip and stomp my foot about finding myself here without them...and then some quiet voice (my own quiet inside voice) reminds me that each of us is learning our own lessons and walking our own paths.  I don't get to define what is "good" or "healing" or "best" for anyone but me.

Tolkein's words speak to me of the long view of things; of not projecting too far from here into the future; of trusting the deep roots and the strong foundations; and of believing that there is renewal of what is broken.  The phoenix will rise from the ashes.  "The crownless shall again be king."

swan    

A New Stage

It may be time to come to grips with the reality of time and age.  He is 63.  I am 57.  We have bodies that creak and and joints that hurt.  We have to pay attention to what we eat and when we exercise and how much time we sleep.  Some nights, maybe even most nights, we eat dinner, clean up the dishes, and then sit down, side by side on the couch, and sleep through whatever it is that is on the television.

In just a month, we will take note of the 10th anniversary of my arrival here to live with Tom and T; a full decade!  When I came here, I was on the upward learning curve of my BDSM orientation.  It may not be the case for everyone in the lifestyle, but for me, there have been stages to my growth within this sexual/erotic orientation.  The beginning places go way, way back into the years of my childhood and early adolescence; years when I dreamed and fantasized about control imposed from outside myself; years when I felt myself abandoned, unwanted, and unloved.  In those early years, my imaginings were about "belonging" to someone.  The frightened, lonely child that I was wanted only to be taken in, held close, and to know, finally, where "home" might be.

Getting started in the BDSM lifestyle was like landing in some magical wonderland.  I was like a kid in a candy store.  Every new experience made me eager for the next one.  I was like a sponge, soaking up all the sensations and adventures that were arrayed in front of me.  There was so much to see and do and feel and learn...

I wasn't as devil-may-care as some newcomers to the life are.  I explored, in those early days, with my husband at my side -- and having him there provided me with a margin of safety, and a buffer against the full "meat market" onslaught that sometimes washes over new, inexperienced, female submissives.  He kept me pretty safe.  Early on, I remember wondering about the spiral that I perceived ahead of me.  "What," I wondered, "would happen if I kept following the path of more intense, and more risky BDSM experience?  How far could I go along that path, and how would I know when I'd reached the end of the road?"  Even then, I had a vague uneasiness about the potential for reaching a point that was beyond my capacity to encompass it -- a point where what I craved tipped over into the realm of dangerous and crazy.

Then, I met Tom, and came to live here.  We were both hungry, ravenous, for the sensations that arose from sadomasochistic play.  We wrapped up in each other and we explored the boundaries and the edges of intimate power exchange.  We didn't discuss and we didn't negotiate.  We just went after it.  I reveled in the opportunity to finally fulfill the fantasies that had been held so close for so long.  He, I think, found His own joy in being partnered with someone who could match His own appetites.  It was a fierce and breathless time.  There was nothing subtle about what we did together; nothing gentle; nothing tender.  We devoured one another; demanding more and more and more from each other and from one another -- until, inevitably, the day came when there was nothing left to give.  I still feel that I hit the wall first; that it was me who ran out of runway.  I was the one who didn't have enough masochist to keep up with His sadist.  


Things happened.  Life happened.  Things changed, and over time, I was working to "meet my commitments; struggling to live up to the standards I'd set for myself as His "slave."  There was less and less joy in all of that.  It became work and sadness and bitterness.  And still we kept at it.  At some point, we found ourselves on a rocket that we couldn't get off of.  I think maybe He was more fulfilled in that part of the relationship than I was, but in retrospect, I wonder if that is true.  It might well be that He was as caught as I was.  We'd entered into the dance, and however miserable we were, we couldn't seem to stop.

And then everything crashed.  There was nothing quiet about our crashing.  Like so much of our lives, that was played here for all to see.  For good or bad, I was the initiator of that final, horrible break with what had gone before.  Whatever I intended, the changes that ensued, and the responses of "the system" broke the unspoken contract that had existed between He and I.  He was clear:  I'd acted in ways that completely abrogated my role as slave.  I'd broken our deal.  Through all the long months of treatment and aftercare, He experienced life as being out of His control, and as that was the truth for Him, there was no place for me to resume my accustomed "place" as His slave or His submissive.  I wanted things to resume their normal shape:  D/s and sadomasochism but without the addiction -- and that simplistic longing was impossible for a wide variety of reasons.

So, I engaged in therapy.  He engaged in therapy.  We lived side by side.  We loved, still, tenaciously but often with a sense of desperation.  There were days, many, many days, when the best we could do was exchange the forlorn assurances that we loved one another.  Dark days.

Now, today, with soul retrievals done, and reintegration of the retrieved soul fragments progressing, things feel softer, sweeter, gentler.  Nothing is as it was, and for all of the struggle of the last months, we are happy with what is.

I don't know the shape of our lifestyle expression going forward.  I know the toys still all occupy their accustomed place.  I know we still fall into SM play, switching back and forth, often laughing with delight as we enjoy the sensations that we can evoke with each other.  I know He is not "dominant" in the sense of issuing orders, making rules, and meting out punishments -- but then that never was the stuff of our days.  He still has, when He chooses to, a voice and a tone and an inflection that demands obedience -- and generally when He makes that sound, things go exactly as they would have before "the troubles."  I know that I have no list of chores, and yet I continue to do the things that I have always done for Him and for us -- the things that work to make life run smoothly and easily.  It is the same -- only different.

When I underwent a hysterectomy, seven years ago, my life changed radically in ways I never anticipated.  The aftermath of the surgery left me "sexually unresponsive," and I feared I might live out my days without the joy of sexual pleasures that I'd taken for granted before surgery.  I spent many, many angry and bitter months -- blaming the surgeon and hating my life.  And then, slowly and softly, I began to learn my way to something that was undeniably different, but good in a way that my more easy, youthful sexiness never knew.   I've learned, over the last seven years, to follow hidden and secret pathways to my body's sexual triggers.  I've learned that I am no less sexual than I was even as I need to be more attentive and more deliberate and more invested in my own joy.  I've learned that when I manage to "take advantage" of Him, and find my way to my own  ecstasy -- rudely paying no attention at all to "His needs," things work out for both of us -- and we arrive together at the point of release, flushed, breathless, and completely amazed.  That's not the juicy, throbbing sex of my earlier life, but it is somehow more wondrous precisely because it is so elusive.

Maybe what we've come to now, is a kind of power-based relationship that is more subtle and more sweet than what we once enjoyed.  Maybe what we will be doing now is the work of defining how to balance power between us -- without leaving either of us "powerless" or without a voice.  Maybe we will learn to play with the energies we can harness and use them to meet our desires in some more flexible way than we knew previously.  What we have now doesn't fit in any sort of box.  It has no easy label, and clearly the mainstream BDSM community would reject our (and especially my) use of any of the commonly used labels.  I'm not interested in engaging in some sort of campaign to restore myself to "true" slave-hood.  If that part of my life is gone, then it is.  So be it.  What lies ahead is completely mysterious to me.  This should be an interesting journey.

swan

Current

It has been such a year.  Things have changed so quickly ... and then there have been times when it seemed as if there was never going to be any change at all.  We've lived together through it all; and we've lived, each of us, locked away in our own private struggles.  We've tried to lean on one another, and we've tried to be strong for each other.  Often, there has been no strength left between us, and we've collapsed in a jumble of swirling feelings and hurts.

Today, I awakened with the word, "current" in my brain.  Long-time readers will know that I have a thing for words; their meanings and their roots.  I love it when a word comes to stay with me for awhile, and I enjoy the act of wandering around with a word in my head -- turning it over and tasting it and seeing what secrets it may have to share.  So...  current...

One of the first things to occur to me as I thought about the word "current" early this morning when things were still quiet and sleepy around here was the multitude of meanings the word carries.  The dictionary gives us a view of the territory that gets covered when we start contemplating this particular linguistic gem --

adj.

1.

a. Belonging to the present time: current events; current leaders.

b. Being in progress now: current negotiations.

2. Passing from one to another; circulating: current bills and coins.

3. Prevalent, especially at the present time: current fashions. See Synonyms at prevailing.

4. Running; flowing.

n.

1. A steady, smooth onward movement: a current of air from a fan; a current of spoken words. See Synonyms at flow.

2. The part of a body of liquid or gas that has a continuous onward movement: rowed out into the river's swift current.

3. A general tendency, movement, or course. See Synonyms at tendency.

4. Symbol i, I Electricity

a. A flow of electric charge.

b. The amount of electric charge flowing past a specified circuit point per unit time.

Interesting, to me at least, is the etymology. The word first appears around 1300, meaning "running, or flowing," from the Old French corant "running, lively, eager, swift."  That seems to derive from the Latin currere meaning "to run, or move quickly."  There's a whole world of words pointing to the eventual meaning of our word, "current."  The Greek -khouros gives us "running," and the Lithuanian karsiu is literally "go quickly."  The Old Norse used the word horskr to mean  "swift," and in Old Irish and Middle Welsh, we find carr which gives us "cart, and wagon." The same word, for the Bretons was karr which turned into "chariot." In Welsh we find carrog which meant "torrent". Meaning "prevalent, generally accepted" is from 1560s.

So, having indulged my fetish for fun with words, I can imagine that some readers will, by now, be wondering what the point might be -- or maybe even if there IS a point...  Be patient with me.  I'll see if I can make my thoughts line up and actually say something coherent here.

I started out this morning with the word current in the sense of flow.  Specifically, I was thinking of the flow of water in a stream or a river or even the rip currents one might find at the ocean's edge.  Currents can be relatively gentle when the body of water is small and the forces that create the directional flow are slight.  A gentle stream can be moved along down a slight slope, and the force of the current makes the water sparkle and gurgle over rocks and logs in a melodic and calming passage.  But change the slope, or the volume of water, or add some additional factor into the mix, and that gently flowing water can change into a deadly torrent that sweeps away everything in its path.  Floods and tsunamis and storm surges and cloud bursts can all bring the destructive power of swiftly flowing water to bear on anything standing in the way.

I have felt like we have been swept along in currents that simply overwhelmed us this year; currents resulting from storms that we never saw coming.  That's one of the things about a current -- it isn't necessarily easy to see.  It may flow beneath the surface, and capture you by surprise.  I'm sure there will be those who would ask how it was that we didn't see what was bearing down on us.  I'm aware that there are those outside our lives who saw clearly the mistakes that we were making, and of which we were so unaware.  I can understand their frustration.  I often wonder about people who build homes in the flood plain of a major river, or directly in the likely path of some significant number of Atlantic hurricanes.  What do they expect, after all?  Do they somehow believe that they will be immune to the almost certain disasters that are aimed right at them?  Is it the pure and irresistible allure of the shore?  The compelling loveliness of the stream side?  Maybe I understand that set of choices better now than I once did -- I too have walked to the edge and stood there entranced, even as everyone around me shouted that it was shear folly.  And so the currents knocked us down and dragged us under and swirled us against the sharp-edged rocks -- and tossed us, broken, upon the shore.  Current...

Then there is the "present" meaning of "current,"  as in current events or the current state of affairs.  Currently... we are -- or things are -- or life is... like this or that.  Except that, as one describes the present moment, it careens past at the speed of time.  Gone.  And now there is the new moment.  And now that too, is flown past.  The now of the current moment happens and is gone -- like a dream awaking.  Reach out to touch it, pin it down, capture it to think about later -- and it evaporates in a sparkle and a mist and a vague sense of disquiet.  I've always found that to be one of the benefits for me of spanking.  Spanking brings me right smack (I apologize, but I couldn't resist that one) into the present moment.  In fact, it is one of the tricks I've used through the years to get me through an intense spanking -- never think about the last stroke or the next.  In the middle of a spanking, if you could get into my head, what you would hear would be me saying, "now, and now, and now..."   Or, perhaps, "one, one, one, one..."  It may be that there are lessons there for this life we're trying to cobble back together:  Stay away from the past, and don't gaze too far into the future.  Keep it current --  now, and now, and now, and now.  Current.

In another context, current can be about electricity, power, charge, juice, energy.   Between He and I, there remains something electric; something so elemental that we are drawn together -- maybe at the atomic level.  Maybe. George Carlin once opined that electricity is just organized lightning.  Oh yeah!  I well remember being struck by that lightning when, very early on, I found myself drawn, elementally, to the magnetism and power and energy of this man.  He will remind me, these days, that I knew what I was getting into -- knew it all up front and ahead of making the commitments that brought us to this place.  I'd probably argue that point, but there seems no point.  And anyway, I was, like Paul, thrown from my horse and struck blind.  In those high energy, electrically charged early days, He might have explained in careful detail that He was, in fact, an axe murderer and a cannibal and a Republican -- and I'd have still followed the same path.  I have no doubt.  I like electricity.  I like it in my life and I like it in my play.  I am a great fan of the violet wand (although, sadly, He is not).  The current of our lives makes sparks and sometimes one or the other of us gets struck by a bolt from the heavens.  It may turn out that, if we are going to insist on keeping hold of each other (and I do hope we will), that lightning will strike the same place over and over.  Current. 

Don't give up on us, friends...  And for those who are not friends -- I wouldn't count us out.  The current still runs between us.  We're unsure and uncertain as we work our way back to playing in the flow, but we are testing the waters.  There remains the energy and the electricity and the spark.  We've been tossed and left half-drowned, but we are alive and we are still present with one another.  Current.

s.

Saving Ourselves -- Part 7

I began this series with a list of suggestions from Mark Gregston about ways to repair and rebuild a relationship after encountering struggles.  This last segment will be all about the last remaining technique in his list:

Remember the past and believe in the future

I've avoided that one; worked my way around all of the others; and tried really hard not to see this one looming inexorably.  This one feels really hard to talk about -- but I started this, and I intend to finish it somehow.
Part of my difficulty with talking about what I remember about our past and what I believe is possible in our future, is that it forces me to contemplate the flow of time in a linear stream -- from back there, to here, to out there somewhere.  That pushes against what I think is true -- that time doesn't really work that way, that time is more like a tapestry than a stream.  I like feeling that the time that touches me is connected to all the other times that have ever been.  Some pull on me more strongly than others, but there I am, caught in the web.
Trying to put the past, present, and future into some kind of sequence takes me out of that "one day at a time, or one moment at a time discipline that has brought me through these last months.  Just as I get through the hardest spankings by deliberately focusing on just one stroke; and just as I steadfastly refuse to count because it becomes overwhelming; I am afraid to look very far back, or very far forward.
Too, I am reluctant to revisit the past because I am afraid to disperse the magic with the clearer vision I now possess.  I know that there were plenty of warning signs that I should have heeded, and plenty of opportunities to pull myself, and possibly all of us, off of the path that we ultimately followed into the darkness.  Knowing that doesn't change the fact that He and I played to the point of rapture.  It doesn't change the fact that I once felt utterly free and safe inside of His embrace and under His care.  It doesn't erase the memories of moments when we were so close and so intimate and so connected that we came to believe that we were souls forever linked along the pathways of eternity.  The future isn't something that I can predict or control.  Much of what I hope for myself going forward depends on Him -- and honestly, it is likely too soon to tell where He will ultimately find Himself; or how He will come to feel about me when that does occur.  I want to believe that the day will come when He will pull me back, hold me close again, and take me again as "His."
Some days, when I am weary and frustrated and angry and sad because we've had to go through this, it is all that I can do to hold onto that belief -- that dream.  Sometimes, when He seems so tired of the whole business, and so unwilling to believe in any future at all, I can feel my own fear wash over me -- and I want to shake Him and somehow MAKE Him figure out how to save us.  But I can't make Him do this anymore than I ever could make Him
do anything -- and so I try to keep my balance, hold my tongue, do the things that need doing right now, and believe in the magic that I once held in my hand because I loved Him.
That's all for now...
swan

Saving Ourselves -- Part 5

In the work of Mark Gregston, one piece of advice about relationship building and rebuilding is to "listen more and answer less."  The advice is to stop telling the other what you are thinking until your are asked for your opinion...

• Just be quiet.
• Stop lecturing.
• Start listening.
• Hush and get out of the way -- let the other take the lead.

For those of us who live inside of unequal power balances, this presents an interesting set of challenges and begs the question -- "who should be quiet, and who should listen more -- or answer less?"  Most often, and surely within the relationship that He and I have, the tendency is to assume that His opinions and ideas are more valid, more "right," and more likely to be heard than mine.  After all, He is THE MASTER, with all that that implies.  Working our way through the difficult days, part of the work has been to "renegotiate" that understanding.  Moving forward, we both need to know what the expectations are within our relationship.  He and I have never been inclined to do that sort of bargaining in formal terms, and so for us, it has been a slow and organic process -- we have felt our way along, pretty tentatively, trying to understand where we are.

Before our crash, I tended to simply retreat when His views and mine did not match.  I'd say my piece, and then, if He contradicted it, or disagreed, I'd simply concede the point.  Even when I knew He was "off base," (and yes, it is possible for Master-types to be seriously off base), I'd let it go.  That worked to maintain the peace, mostly, but it likely contributed to us veering dangerously off course.  Some might have viewed my silence, in those instances, as appropriately submissive, but I sense that I did not serve well in allowing myself to be bullied and pushed into acquiescence with behavior and choices that obviously put us all at risk.

In Gregston's view, the idea would be to remain quiet; to listen until you partner initiates the inquiry into what you think -- until they WONDER about it.  I can't imagine that I will ever live long enough to maintain sufficient quiet that He will really wonder what I think.  When He is interested in generating a conversational give and take between us, He has plenty of skill around initiating that exchange, but I believe that I'll never "wait Him out" on that "what are you thinking" field of play.

And there's another facet to this that Gregston doesn't really address, and that is "sound."  For me, it
is not so much what I say, or don't say, but more about how I sound.  As long as the voice I use is sweet and light and happy, He'll talk and relate.  If I let my voice convey frustration, hurt, anger, or any sort of darkness, He pulls away and things get miserable.   So for me, for now, the "telling" part of our communication is more often a problem when I am reactive rather than when I am actually trying to just simply SAY something.   It is a verbal sort of female teasing and flirtiness that lures Him into conversation much more successfully than my grumpy, aggrieved voice. 


swan

Saving Ourselves -- Part 4

 Summer time is "project time" for me.  All of the big, complicated, high energy things that I don't tackle through the school year get put off until the long, uncommitted days of summer.  Give me a bit of unscheduled time, and I make stuff happen.  So far this summer, I've rearranged my kitchen, planted a fair garden of flowers, vegetables, and herbs, replaced bulbs and cleaned the ceiling florescent in the kitchen, reinstalled all of the smoke detectors, undertaken to revamp our meal planning and eating routines, reworked and tidied up the family records filing system, and created a significant new set of curriculum materials for my social studies classes for next year.  Of course, I've been actively engaged in helping Master through these first four weeks of post-surgical recovery -- lots of help with dressing and undressing.  Too, He and I have been investing about an hour and a half each day in our power walking exercise routine.  The big, gnawing at my brain, making me crazy, summer project though, has been the garage.  My garage is the primary storage space for our family, and over the years, I've struggled to keep it neat and make it work efficiently in that role while simultaneously providing the intended shelter for an automobile.

When we first moved in here, some eight years ago, the "then" husband installed a hodgepodge of shelves all over the place.  Some were wide and some were narrow.  Some were up high, and others were so short as to cause one to wonder what the hell he was thinking.  Over the years, I've tried a number of approaches to the garage storage dilemma, but I've never just ripped out the whole mess and started fresh.  I'm not sure why, but it all just seemed too daunting.  Last summer, I created a serious "Rube Goldberg" style shelving arrangement that involved stacking a number of trunks and plastic storage bins up, and using them to support the wooden shelving boards I'd gathered from all over the place.  The bins and trunks would, I reasoned, do double duty that way -- acting as both storage and supports.  It looked great and it functioned pretty well ... just as long as you never needed to get anything out of one of those bins at the very bottom of the whole jumble.  And, of course, because the universe operates on the principle that, "left to themselves, things follow the path of maximum perversity," everything I have ever needed from the garage in this last year has ALWAYS been at the bottom of the stack.  

So, for obvious reasons, my summer project list included a major overhaul of the garage.  Which brings me to the point of today's conversation about ways to help strengthen and repair a damaged relationship (other parts of this series are found at posts about Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3):

• Share challenging experiences… 
• Develop a sense of humor…

The redesign of the garage storage space may not seem to you to be particularly challenging, and it probably doesn't appear, at first glance, to be the occasion for any significant humor.  But, my friends, that is only because you underestimate the ways in which the universe likes to fuck with some of us.  Me, in particular.

I had, at the very beginning of the summer, shared my thinking about the garage situation with Master, and I told Him that I intended to tear out everything that had been put up by "He Who Shall Remain Nameless," and put in something straightforward, simple, and functional.  I wanted maximum storage with minimum mess and hassle.  He accompanied me on several scouting trips to explore the possibilities, and we saw some awesome and amazing storage systems -- at prices that took my breath away.  I became convinced that there had to be a way to install workable storage at some reasonable cost.  In fact, I got very caught up in that idea of "inexpensive" storage.  That was the beginning of the "challenging experience" that He and I would ultimately share together around this project.  It also turned out to be the driving force behind the cosmic joke that played out at my expense.

I searched and researched for weeks, and I finally decided that the best approach to the garage of my dreams was a simple system of wall mounted uprights and brackets with plain dimensioned lumber boards for the shelves.    I measured, and calculated, and headed off to the local big box hardware store to acquire the needed hardware.  I found some very inexpensive standards and brackets and bought up what I needed, dragged them all home and worked through a wickedly hot couple of days to get the old stuff taken down and the new ones installed.  It looked great, and I was awfully proud of myself:  forteen feet of 20" deep shelves, running three high all down one side of my garage.

Last night, I loaded them up, and called it a job well done.  We stayed up late watching a movie, went off to bed about midnight, slept fairly late this morning, got up and had breakfast, and then got ready to go out and walk.  When I walked out of the front door and down the sidewalk, I could see, through the window into the garage, that all of my wonderful shelves had collapsed -- and dumped all of the stuff all over my new little car!

I would like to tell you that I took it all in stride and laughed at the joke -- but that would be a lie.  I was furious!  Panicky about my pretty, new car, under all of those boards and brackets and boxes of stuff!  I must admit that I said bad words.  I did. And, He and I walked our 4-1/4 miles with me fuming and fussing the whole way.  Yeah!  Develop a sense of humor my ass!

The good news?  We walked at the fastest pace we've achieved since the surgery.  Rage is a great energizer.  We got home and He helped me excavate the car and haul all of the stuff out to the front lawn -- WITH His one good arm.  And...  underneath it all, unmarked and in fine shape, the little car survived just fine.  OK.  So, then I was able to laugh at the absurdity of it all; laugh at myself for going so cheap that the project didn't serve its purpose;  wander off, with Him in tow, to buy better brackets and better supports (and a new rug for the living room -- HIS idea not mine).  I got everything torn down, and reinstalled, and all the stuff  moved back to the new shelves in just over two hours.  And it looks good, and sturdy, and functional.

Lesson(s) learned.

swan

Saving Ourselves -- Part 3

This is the 3rd part of a series of discussions about ways to recreate relationships (especially BDSM relationships) after surviving a major "bump in the road."  For the first two segments, look here and here.

Continuing with thinking about the work of Mark Gregston, today I want to discuss the idea of "Looking for opportunities for discussion" with your partner.


We are quick, in the lifestyle, to exhort each other to "talk" with our partners.  We pride ourselves on being more open, more honest, more transparent.  We learn skills that help us to negotiate; to state our needs; to define our limits.  We make checklists and contracts and mantras.  Oh yes... we are big on talking, and we create relationships that are awash in words.


So, what would be different if we looked for opportunities for discussion?

Discussion is more than talking.  It is inquiry and examination.  While talk is about conveying information, discussion goes further, looking to explore, examine and discover things that might not be contained on the surface of our words.  The word comes from Latin, and the stem, discussio, means "a shaking."  Literally, to discuss is to "strike asunder," or "break up," from dis- "apart" + quatere "to shake." While the usual meaning of the word is to "talk over" or "debate," the early sense seems to have evolved from "smash apart," "scatter," and "disperse."  So, when we discuss, we break things down; we shake up our assumptions; we smash through our biases and preconceived ideas.  We inquire and examine.  We talk things over, and we debate.

I am reminded of the ancient and traditional practices of divination -- "throwing the bones" (and comparable techniques). In bone divination, bones of various sorts (and sometimes, other small objects like shells, seeds, and nuts) are ritually tossed onto a mat, an animal hide, or into a circle drawn in the dirt.  The resulting patterns are interpreted to provide information and guidance about travel and love and fortune.  It seems to me that discussion, as opposed to more casual conversation, might be the path for us to divine the deeper mysteries and fortunes of our relationships.

In discussion, we'd ask questions of our partners, and keep digging -- searching with them for answers and ideas that might be beyond what we anticipate and expect:

What is important to you?

Why do you feel that way about _____________________________?

Where did you learn about?

What would you do about this problem or that challenge?

Where would you go?

Explain that to me... 

Our discussions, whatever the subject matter, might well be the pathway into journeys of the mind.  Together with our partners, we could find ourselves amazed at the places we might go together.

swan
 

Saving Ourselves -- Part 2

This is the second of a series of discussions growing out of my personal sense that there is very little useful and accessible information available to those of us in the lifestyle when our unique relationships encounter challenges.  If you choose to end a power-based relationship, there's plenty of advice on exactly how to go about doing that, but not if you want to save and strengthen that same relationship.  In that circumstance, you are mostly on your own.  For us, in our moment of crisis, the choice was to hang in, stay with it -- and with each other, and work to be better than before.  Some of what we are learning through that process will be here.

As I noted in the first of these posts, I am using the work of Mark Gregston as a jumping off point for each of these pieces.  He proposes that there are ten techniques or tips that can be used to strengthen or recreate a damaged relationship.  Today, I want to consider the recommendation that we spend time together, one on one…

It seems obvious, but if we want our relationships to be strong, healthy, and loving, we must spend time together with our partners relating one on one.  It's easy and fun to do that when things are going well; when life seems good; when being together is affirming and pleasant and sexy.  However, for partners who have been through a relational struggle, the aftermath of a crisis leaves behind a host of difficult feelings and fears that can make the prospect of one on one relating seem daunting.

One on one time is important.  This is the time when we develop close and intimate bonds.  One on one, we focus on each other; we listen more intently; we discuss what is important to us; we imagine together; we touch; we share dreams and fears.  When we find ourselves in this close, uninterrupted exchange with our partner, we become deeply aware that we matter to the other.  However, if you have been hurt -- or if you have hurt each other -- it is a complicated thing to choose to get close to the one who did the hurting, and that is precisely what is needed in this part of relationship building.

In retrospect, it isn't difficult to see where He and I lost track of each other.  We got --

• busy
• distracted
• focused on other things
• self-absorbed
• defensive
• deprived

Busy-ness is the bane of our modern existence.  When I was a young teen, I remember that we imagined a future when technology would free us all from the drudgery of work.  Robots and computers would take over all of the boring and mundane details of day to day living (the laundry, the cooking, the vacuuming, the correspondence, ...), and we'd find ourselves with time to relax, relate, and enjoy life.  Instead, we find ourselves awash in texts and emails and "smart" phone calls.  Even when we are not working, we are working.  In our household, there are no resident children, and so we don't have the demands of parenting, but we have surely had the responsibilities of helping our own elderly parents at the ends of their lives.  Add to those kinds of obligations, even a minimal engagement with the world outside our doors, and it can easily come to seem as if we are ALWAYS on the go -- somewhere.


Then, we allowed ourselves to get pulled off into a thousand other distractions.  From financial concerns to health worries, we began to race around into the morass of competing issues demanding our attention, energy, and focus.  Even when there were no BIG things needing to be attended to, we were pulled toward the latest sporting contest, or television series, or news event, or email, or computer game, or outside connection.  It is pretty easy, actually, to live side by side -- and never really engage with one another...



We moved further and further apart, emotionally -- battling each other and protecting ourselves.  Discontent and disappointment became the currency of our lives.  We each came to feel as if we were being denied things to which we felt ENTITLED, and we couldn't bring ourselves to talk about it reasonably.  Every encounter seemed to end badly.  We knew better.  We had the knowledge that should have shown us how to tackle what was growing between us and driving us apart, but we each retreated to our separate corners, licked our wounds, and glared out at each other -- refusing to give an inch. 


These days, we are consciously spending time with one another deliberately and purposefully.  We've learned not to look back too much; not to revisit the "bad old days;" not to try to figure out who was to blame for our private disaster...  The truth is -- we were all to blame in our own way, AND it doesn't matter at all.  What matters is the NOW that we have together.  That NOW is good and not mired in angst, bitterness, fear, or resentment.  We got lucky, back there -- luckier than we probably deserved.  That is enough to know about the past... 


Spending time one on one needn't be complicated or difficult.  What we do together, when we are together, isn't particularly important as long as we enjoy doing it.  It is, we have discovered, OK to let the things that are complicated, uncomfortable, or emotionally loaded go for now, and stay with those things that are simpler and less demanding.  If it is easier to share a sandwich and a glass of tea than it is to get into a full on heavy scene, then that is what we will do.  We know that the whole range of "doing things" is in our repertoire, and we know that we'll get there in time.  We aren't so much "waiting" as we are simply letting the relationship between us set the pace and establish the rhythms.  Perhaps we are being helped by the unyielding limits of surgical recovery and rehab -- but that is OK.

We are learning to invite each other to be with each other -- that thing we all do almost instinctively when our relationships are new.  How did we forget?  It is so important to say to our lovers, "I am going for a walk, will you come with me?"  "Won't you come sit over here next to me?"  "Would you like to watch this program on the television with me?"  "Let's go get a bite to eat together, shall we?"  Hearing that invitation, and having our invitation accepted connects us to one another.  We know that when we are dating/courting, and we ought to remember it as we grow into long term companions and lovers. 


That then is the all and all of this particular "technique."  Be with one another.  Walk and hold hands.  Share a meal and talk.  Take a drive and look at the world around you.  Snuggle up and listen to music.  Sit out late at night and watch the stars spin around.  Lay down, as much as it is possible to do, the cares and worries, the blame and the hurt, the fear and the sadness, the expectations and the demands.  Look at the face of the one you love and simply be there in the moment.  Being with one another, one on one, is for now.  It has no past that matters, and it has no future that is pressing.  This is, for us, the most important time of our lives.


swan

Saving Ourselves -- Part 1

I feel like we've been through it in this last year or so, and I feel as if we've learned somethings in the process.  Maybe some of what we've discovered, and some of what we are discovering, can help someone else someday.

Because -- one thing that we found, in the midst of our own crisis, was that there was little or no information out here in cyberspace about what to do.  Looking around, making Internet searches, one finds that the best wisdom in our "village" is that, when our non-traditional types of relationships hit rocky places, there are only two choices:  put up with whatever IS, however bad it might get -- or quit and walk away.

Partly, that awful dichotomy is derived from the fact of our alternative lifestyles.   It is nearly impossible, when we hit relationship snags, to find the kinds of resources that vanilla couples can call upon -- good kink friendly therapists, marriage counselors, financial advisors, lawyers, medical professionals, and clergy are few and far between and difficult to find.  Too often, we find that those who might help us if we were more "normal," simply decide that whatever our problem is -- the biggest problem we have is related to our lifestyle.  Not much help there.

We were lucky to have a remarkable group of good people who rallied to us right here at this blog, and held us up.  Many of those people wrote thoughtful and kind comments here, and many of them wrote to us privately, offering care and support and sometimes advice and guidance.  It is true that some, who had long been part of our circle, dropped out of sight as things grew ugly.  They clearly opted out of the whole scene; perhaps deciding that we were inherently "bad" people, or maybe just feeling unequal to the task of cheering us through the mess in which we found ourselves.  I believe that some number of those who have fallen silent simply do not know what they can offer -- that the larger question for us all is this:  "How do we really help, and what can we really offer of any substance, to those in our community who encounter relationship trouble?"


With that set of assumptions in mind, I am starting, with this post, a series of pieces that will (I hope) lay out some practical tips and strategies for repairing , reinventing, and rebuilding our relationships when we find ourselves on the calmer side of a major struggle.  I know that, sometimes, things end dramatically, definitively, and decisively.  In that event, there is likely no repairing or rebuilding or reinventing to be done.  But I am very aware that we came perilously close to losing everything just because we didn't know what else we might do after we'd washed up on the beach of relational shipwreck.  Our inherent stubbornness saved us.  Perhaps, as we wander our way through this part of our lives, we can leave some markers along the trail we're following -- and maybe someday, that will signpost the way for others who might walk in our footsteps.  We're not experts, and we've not got any sort of professional credentials, so take it for what it is worth.  What you will read, in this series, like everything else that you read at this blog, is just our story -- plain and simple.


I plan to base the things I'll write about all of this around a set of principles taken from the work of Mark Gregston.  His real expertise is in the area of relationships between parents and teenagers, so the focus is not the same -- but then almost no one focuses on OUR kind of relationships.  Gregston offers a set of ten tips for repairing and rebuilding relationships, and I think they work for us, too:

• Spend time together, one on one…
• Share challenging experiences…
• Look for opportunities for discussion…
• Listen more and answer less…
• Develop a sense of humor…
• Play together….
• Remember the past and believe in the future…
• Establish boundaries…
• Practice selfless confrontation…
• Correct and discipline, even when it makes you uncomfortable…

We are, ourselves, in the midst of learning our way along through this.  Some of those things, we've gotten well into and are feeling pretty comfortable with.  Others?  Not so much.  So, I will pick my way along through those "tips," speaking to them in no particular order, starting with playing together...

Experts recognize that, from earliest infancy, play is the primary way children learn.  Children play because it is fun. The heart of play is pleasure, and with pleasure comes the powerful incentive to repeat the activity. With repetition comes mastery. And mastery brings a sense of accomplishment and confidence.

Children engage in different types and stages of play depending on their personal development and their indivudual needs.  Their play may be solitary, parallel, associative, or cooperative, varying in terms of the levels of interaction, complexity, and organization.  

Through play children learn about concepts, how to group and classify objects, how to make sense of things and events, and how to solve problems. Play requires a child to make choices, direct activities, and make plans to reach a goal.  It is through play that children gain social and emotional skills such as waiting,
negotiating, taking turns, cooperation, compromise, sharing and expressing emotions.

We are not children, but we are finding that one of the most productive ways for us to interact these days is from a playful stance.  We have, largely, put most forms of BDSM play on hold for now.  Mostly, that is because of His surgical recovery, and has nothing to do with our relationship struggles.  To be sure, there is some tension and uncertainty between us about how we will ultimately come to engage in that kind of play, but we have grown increasingly easy with each other about other kinds of teasing and lighthearted banter.  We touch -- tickle, scratch, swat each other playfully.  We joke and giggle together, and it delights us both.  Sometimes, we just sit and watch the antics of the cat, and enjoy the lightness of it all.

It is good.  We had, over time, come to live in a world that was dreadful and dire and dark.  Everything had gotten serious for us.  There was very little that was fun or joyful, and how sad is that?  We'd gotten to be very grown up, I guess -- so grown up that we were nearly dead from the weight of all that seriousness.  And, in the final analysis, none of our grown up intensity could save us from the rush of our self-made calamity.

So, that's the first tip:  Play.  Laugh.  Enjoy.  Stop being so damned serious.  Yes, there are responsibilities and obligations and duties and all of that, but when all of life becomes a long list of "should's" and "must's" and "ought to's" it leaves no room for spontaneity and joy and lightness.  "All work and no play," the nursery rhyme admonishes us, "makes Jack a dull boy."  We've found a bit of sparkle left in our days and nights -- and we are not missing all that drab and dull grownup business.

swan