What if We Shared?

Sunday afternoon we traveled just a bit north and east of where we live to the Fort Ancient historical site to spend some time at the Gathering of the Four Directions Celebration.  It is an event that has been held for 23 years at the Fort Ancient site, and involves a weekend of Native American drumming and dance, accompanied by a sort of festival including vendors of all sorts and some educational demonstrations and performances.  There is something that simply draws us in and relaxes us as we join the circle around the dance area, to watch and listen and enjoy.  There are elements of religion and spectacle and veteran's parade and community party to the whole business.  There are protocols and customs and a definitive hierarchy that is sensed more than seen by those of us who are outside the tribes.

I am always taken by the way dancers and singers are with one another; with the way that the youngest and the oldest all join in the rhythms and patterns of the dances.  I know enough to know that, for the people of the various tribes, there are huge parts of the whole business that are strictly private.  I know that there is a place where the drumming becomes hypnotic and transports those who dance into another frame of awareness.  I know that they know, as they dance, that beyond the rope that delineates the circle, we are all there, watching, talking, drawing our own conclusions about what we are seeing.  I know that they watch us, watching them, and I know that there is something remarkably generous in their choosing to invite us in and share what they have with us.

Spending time at a Pow Wow has some of the same electricity as does spending time in a public BDSM dungeon.  It is another example of a non-dominant culture group taking hold of a space and making it "theirs" for a bit of time.  It is a circumstance in which the "outsiders" become the normative culture, and that shift changes everything for a space.  The air is different.  The light is different.  The sounds are different.  The reactions and interactions are all changed, too.  Something very powerful happens.

Sitting there in the green light of Sunday afternoon, floating along on the pounding of the drums, I wondered:  "What if the BDSM community were to adopt this model?  What if, instead of hiding away in hotels, behind carefully controlled access points, entirely separated from the 'normal' culture, we instead, set our public events up in public places, and invited those who were not us to come and be 'audience'?"  Would doing that make big changes in the way that WE relate to the dominant culture within which we all have to live.  Would doing that give the 'vanilla' people who are our neighbors a chance to know us as a culture that is apart and different, but not necessarily bad?  Would we be able to show how we are with one another, in ways that would shift the perceptions that are created by the porn industry?

I don't know.  I only know that I wondered.

swan

What is OK in Public?

We had tickets to the ballgame on Saturday night.  It was a beautiful evening.  The weather was perfect, with a cool breeze blowing in from the river.  We had our usual seats behind home plate, and fairly high in the stands.  The view from there is pretty good, and we have come to anticipate being able to see and enjoy the game from that vantage point.

This outing was a shared "anniversary" treat for the three of us, and it was meant to be a pleasant and fun time.  We arrived at the ballpark on schedule, and found our way to our seats.  We got settled in and waited for the pre-game festivities to end.  Everything seemed just about perfect...  and then THEY arrived.

THEY appeared to be a group of once and former sorority girls, apparently out for a bachelorette party at the ball park.  Of the four, one was wearing a wedding ring, and then there was the "guest of honor," still intent on making sure that her diamond was on display at every possible opportunity.  The other two young women in the party were, apparently unattached.  One was quiet and unobtrusive, but the other was wild, hyperactive, noisy, and (as the evening progressed) increasingly drunk and disorderly.

The group of them had, as luck would have it, the four seats directly in front of us.  From the moment that THEY arrived, the evening took a turn for the worse.  THEY were loud and obnoxious.  They never sat still for a minute, bouncing up and down, leaning on one another and into one another.  They waved their giant beer cans in the air -- and of course took photos of all of it with their phones (even the beer cans).  They wrestled and tussled, pinching and poking each other, arms and legs flailing without the least concern for the fact that they were sitting in the midst of a crowded public place.  Every time they moved or squirmed, we each had to readjust to try to peer in between them so that we could see the game.  No sooner would we find a clear sight line, than the shenanigans would recommence, and the ball game would again be obscured in a flurry of boobs and butts.  Simply put, they were rude and inconsiderate -- and there was not one thing we (or any of the other people around them) could do about it.

After all, a public venue, like a ball game, is just that.  It is public.  We generally count on people to exercise good judgement and practice good manners in such a setting, so that everyone can enjoy being in whatever public place.  When people deliberately choose to behave badly in a public place, their behavior choices impact everyone around them.  The truth is, though, that, for most people, there is that option.  Those young women were able to choose to ignore our feelings, and simply indulge themselves in their self-absorbed nonsense -- and no one was going to stop them.  Being rude is not a crime.

Which has had me thinking...  Our family is careful to keep our lifestyle under wraps out in public.  We don't go out in public places dressed up in our fetish gear.  We don't practice bondage in public.  We don't carry paddles or floggers around attached to our belts.  We don't usually hold each other's hands, except as couples.  We are careful not to expose ourselves to any sort of persecution, and we are careful not to impose our lifestyle choices on anyone else, even insofar as to make those choices apparent to the casual or unsuspecting observer.

Why should that be so?

Why should it be "OK" for a bunch of ill-mannered, inebriated, privileged, young women to completely and utterly disregard the comfort and rights of others around them in a public setting, while it is somehow viewed as totally inappropriate for us to display the slightest signs or symbols of who we are?  In what ways does our "overt" display of our lifestyle choice violate the rights of other people in a public place?  Do we, in showing our true selves, obstruct their view?  Do we interfere with their enjoyment of the public facility?  Do we disturb the peace?

Am I the only one who sees the inequity?

swan

Apology

All right.  I'm back here.

I apologize for the dramatics.  There was no real reason, and no excuse for me to take that approach.

A confluence of events and emotions, made up of fear, exhaustion, loneliness, and frustration boiled over, and I threw in the towel, and tried to walk away.

Except that I can't seem to really do it.  The minute that I say I am done; that there is nothing left to say -- that is the point at which a half dozen topics bubble up to the surface of my mind and cause me to regret my hasty decision.  And then there are those of you who wrote to tell me that you care; that you read; that you have found some of my blatherings interesting or helpful or insightful... or something.  I had no idea.

Blogging is hard work.  This blog, by its very nature, requires a level of vulnerability and personal exposure that is very demanding.  For me, writing here, year by year by year, has become a largely solitary pursuit.  There are people that come and read and comment regularly... and I think I am more emotionally dependent on those people than I let myself believe.  I know who doesn't come here anymore either, and I tend to dwell on that.  And there are so many, many voices who have been part of this circle over the years... who are silent.  I miss them too.  A lot.  I pour out my heart on these pages, and I long for a word, just something ... anything from Himself, and His silence is painful.  Add the seemingly endless, and totally unpredictable string of attacks from spiteful and nasty comment trolls, and it can become overwhelming.  I let myself get overwhelmed.

I am sorry.

I am strong (I think), but then I splinter, break, and shatter.

swan

Where the Sidewalk (and Everything Else) Ends...

Where the Sidewalk Ends
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
Shel Silverstein

Over the last couple of months, I've written here about the use of Captcha, and the opening day of the baseball season, and my heart pains, and the end of school, and my topsy turvy garden planters.  I've also written a series of four posts based on a comment left by the wife of my ex-husband.  Clearly, there is not very much to say here that is of any import, or that has any relationship to BDSM.  The truth is we are OK.  We live and really things are pretty fine.  We sometimes spank, and that is OK too.  There just isn't anything at all like the heat and fire that once powered this place.  We are old and tired and life is sort of quiet.

So.  Time to call it for what it so obviously is.  The End.  Don't worry about us.  We're just us, and this is where the sidewalk ends.

sue/swan

Disclaimers

One other thing --

It is just fascinating how some people, usually those who intend to be nasty, will open up their comments with some sort of disclaimer that only serves to elucidate their intention.

 Why would you think that starting off a comment with, "I'll be nice about this...," is going to somehow obscure the fact that you absolutely intend, from beginning to end, to be anything but nice?  "Nice" would sound pleasant, good-natured, and kind.  

That sort of blatantly dishonest disclaimer is in the same category as those that begin with things like:

• "I hope you don't take offense at this, but..."
• "Not meaning to sound rude, but..."
• "I don't want to sound judgmental, but..."
• "Please don't be hurt, but..."

The translation for each of those is so evident and so clear that it is amazing that anyone ever tries to get away with that silliness.  How much more honest it would be to simply declare from the outset that what will follow is, of course, meant to be offensive, rude, judgmental and hurtful.  People who begin comments, or conversations of any sort, with that kind of thinly veiled excuse for bad behavior, know better.  After all, we teach toddlers how to be "nice."  It is one of the earliest social skills that small humans learn.

I don't know.  It makes me just shake my head.  

swan

What Do You Believe?

belief (n.) 

late 12c., bileave, replacing Old English geleafa "belief, faith," from West Germanic *ga-laubon "to hold dear, esteem, trust" (cf. Old Saxon gilobo, Middle Dutchgelove, Old High German giloubo, German Glaube), from *galaub- "dear, esteemed," from intensive prefix *ga- + *leubh- "to care, desire, like, love"

"You may believe in this shaman hooey..."  That's the last little fragment of the comment left here a few posts back.  I've taken off and written this series of posts about the content of that comment that got me to thinking.

I found it amusing that the immediate, and obviously unthinking follow on to the characterization of shamanism as "hooey," was the assertion that her "god" was into making me pay for what I'd done.  I guess one person's hooey is another person's belief.  And vice versa.

I'm not sure that I'd say I believe in shamanism.  I'm not sure that I'd say I believe in much of anything, actually.  I style myself a scientist, and I understand the basics of a lot of scientific theory from natural selection to quantum mechanics -- but believe it?  Well, that's a little different.  If you told me that the existence of dark matter is akin to magic, I'd take your word for it.  I can push the clouds around and move a storm from one track to another, but I can't explain it and I don't really "believe" it.  I can prove that 2+3 equals 3+2, and I can also prove that the interior angles of a triangle always add up to 180 degrees, but believe it?  On faith?  No.  Not really.  I for sure don't believe in some up in the sky somewhere "god" who keeps track of human doings and then evens up the score.  I don't believe that some or any of the gods of human mythology were really born of any of the virgin mothers found in those same myths.  I don't believe that any of them ever rose from the dead, or caused anyone else to do that.  I don't believe that god sent Katrina to New Orleans or allowed crazy people to fly planes into the World Trade Center to punish us for our sins, and I sure as heck don't believe that god is out to get me because I chose badly when I married at the age of 21 years.

I think that, as humans, we believe in the abstracts that we believe because they help us to explain the unexplainable:  emotions and feelings, intellectual uncertainties, and arbitrary suffering.  Too, belief in the abstract works to stabilize the social order, to oppress and manage the masses, to define the roles and rankings among us all.  In the end, believing in whatever it is helps us make sense of a world and life that most often does not make sense.  No wonder we come to "esteem," and even "love" the belief system that enhances our sense of comfort and belonging.  Shamanism is like that for me.  It works in some instances to help me make sense of things that make no sense.  I feel the same way about parts of paganism, the practice of wicca, and native American spirituality.  I can get lost in the music at a Catholic mass, and love the ritual and ceremony, even as I reject the basic theology.

I've never claimed the label of atheist, or even agnostic.  I really don't feel the need for any of the labels.  There is so much that is not amenable to any sort of "unified theory."  The universe is one unfathomable mystery piled on top on all the others.  From the beginnings of time, which is, itself, shrouded in mystery beyond our reach, we've tried to find the stories that help us understand (just a bit).  Religion and all its secular counterparts are nothing more than that:  the stories we tell ourselves so that we can make it through the darkness without being too afraid.

swan

"Failed" Relationships

This is the second in a series of posts "inspired" by a recent comment.  I'm indulging myself, and writing out the internal monologue set off by words left here by the wife of my ex-husband.  She and I do not have a pleasant or friendly relationship, and I am not at all interested in engaging her in a conversation, but I am intrigued by some of the assumptions at the heart of what she had to say.  So, I'm inclined to pick up those threads and spin them out here over the next few posts... until my head stops chattering.

So, the "second wife" believes that bad things happen to me because "God is in payback mode -- slapping me down for what I did to my ex (and her current) husband."  From my perspective, she gets to believe whatever she wants to believe, and I don't really care, but it does beg the question:  "What is there to learn about the experience of having had a failed relationship?"

My marriage ended in divorce after 27 years.  He and I married when we were very young.  We raised two children together.  But, the fact is that the marriage ended, and if we define a relationship that ends (short of the death of one of the partners) as a failure, then that relationship between the two of us qualifies.  There is no doubt that I have a share of the responsibility for the fact that the relationship ended.  When it came to the end, I was the one who initiated the legal proceedings that ultimately resulted in the divorce.

That is the plain and unvarnished truth of the matter.  However, I think that "failed" relationships are not all that rare, and I also think that the subject of relationships that do not continue on for whatever reason, is more complex than it might first appear -- and certainly, it is more nuanced than the "second wife" thinks it is.

There are lots of relationships in our lives.  We enter into relationship with family members and friends and colleagues.  Each of those types of relationship has its own dynamics, but for the sake of this discussion, I am interested in the intimate relationship.  Typically (and I do know that it is not always the case), we enter into these relationships when we find ourselves "in love" with another person.  Falling in love is, I think, an emotional state unique to humans, and most of us have a very hard time explaining how it happens or exactly what it involves.  It is not a simple thing, but at the very elemental level, when we "love" someone we perceive (often unconsciously) something(s) about them that we value.  Whether that is physical beauty, or intellectual depth, or personal ambition, or wealth, or even temperament, or spiritual/philosophical compatibility, we respond to and value the traits and qualities that attract us to our beloved.

Things get tricky because humans grow and change.  If lovers grow and change in complementary and compatible ways, the relationship is not confronted by shifting values.  But individuals can and do value things differently as they move through their lifetimes.  What may have seemed charming and exciting in a young romance can come to seem risky and dangerous or irritating and annoying as partners grow and mature. The partner who seemed steady and safe in the beginning, can come to seem stodgy, rigid, and unimaginative over time.  Even though our society glorifies the "til death do us part" vow embedded in the traditional wedding ceremony, we know that, statistically, more than half of all marriages "fail" to go the distance.

Ending an intimate relationship is hard -- even when that relationship is clearly no longer characterized by the things that the partners each value.  Separating the intimate tangles can be painful and wretchedly ugly.  The process leaves scars, but then life tends to inflict scars in a variety of ways.  I am quite sure that my ex-husband bears scars from our parting.  I would expect that it is the rare person who leaves a long-standing relationship without losing some hide.  I don't blame the "second wife" for seeing what she sees about that history (which is not hers).  I don't blame the ex-husband for telling the story that he tells.  His story is his, and the only one he knows.

For me, I remember that, although we started off with high hopes and big dreams, our lives descended into criticism, contempt, defensiveness, and stonewalling.  He did it.  I did it.  We did it.  It became the awkward and destructive dance we did together.

The relationship ended.  It "failed."  He did not fail, and neither did I.  We are not failures.  We are people who came to need and value things that were different than what we understood when we were very young.  That does not surprise me.  I learned and grew through that marriage, and because of it.  I am who I am because of that experience.  I have the children (now grown to adulthood) that I have because he and I were once lovers; because we parented them as best we could.  I am happier outside of that relationship than I was for most of the years I spent inside of it.  I hope that he has found his happiness as well.

swan