Polyamory Observations # 7

I had occasion through a good part of my adult life to participate in many, many potluck meals. Potlucks are a common social phenomenon among Quakers (at least the ones with whom I spent time).


Over the years, I came to develop some interesting sociological theories about potlucks and human behavior. One thing that I came to believe quite strongly was that there is an inverse relationship between the quality of a potluck meal and the number of participants. To put it plainly, people seem to feel a diminishing level of responsibility to provide a quality contribution when they know there will be a plethora of food on the table. If there are likely to be 150 different dishes brought to a gathering, then the effort invested in many of them will be less than can be expected if there are only going to be 8-12 participants at the event. I believe it is about how visible people feel. That single factor changes the level of investment.

Some people like those great, big, random, sort of sloppy, not too interesting, nothing to write home about kind of potlucks. They enjoy that sort of meal where you can count of five varieties of brownies, and a half dozen bags of chips, and a whole mess of pasta salads, and more pans of lasagna than you can shake a stick at. For me, I'd rather have eight or ten dishes that people have considered carefully and invested some effort and energy into. The sort of unique and interesting offerings you get when friends are actually sharing with one another on a level where they know that everyone knows who brought what.

Which is a long, meandering way of bringing me to where I need to be to talk about where my mind has been these last few days in terms of my thinking about polyamory, and the way that we do it -- or at least the way that it seems that I do it.



Because, I do think that it is clearer to me than it used to be that there are levels to polyamory practice: there is the macro-level where we can see poly groups doing whatever it is that they are doing. People tend to describe these dynamics in terms of their geometry, or in terms of how the whole group relates together. Hence we get descriptives like "quad," "triad," "web," "clan," etc. Then there is a relational level that relates to how partners interact. Sometimes these dynamics are labeled as primary, secondary, tertiary, etc. The one level that gets very little attention, and about which I've found hardly any information is the individual level. No matter how else we talk about it, polyamory involves individuals, and each and every one of those human persons is going to bring to the practice of poly a set of wants and needs and desires -- as well as a whole range of style and personality factors that will impact how they do poly.

I know there are people who approach polyamory in much the same way that some people do potluck suppers -- the more the merrier. They gather up various relationships and form connections every which way. When you try to get a fix on the connections and interwoven relationships, it is a little like browsing the groaning tables -- a little of this and a bit of that. There are wives and husbands and boyfriends and girlfriends and primaries, secondaries, and tertiaries all over the place. The social calendars for these folks have to be something to behold.

I'll be honest, I get uncomfortable even thinking about that kind of polyamory. I'm too shy. Too slow to connect. I like to get to know the people around me and then I like it to stay that way. I don't like change and I don't like strangers and I don't like uncertainty. I know, with a pure, clear, unwavering certainty, that anyone who comes into the relational dynamic from outside is going to make things unstable and messy. The minute a new person appears on the horizon, I can feel the energy shift, and I get edgy -- like a cat in a thunderstorm.

That's me -- just the way I am. I am prone to swirling doubts. That's where I ended up this last weekend. And, when I am in that place, I am painfully aware of how far my reactions fall from the "ideal" of "more love makes more love" poly that is SOLD in the happily ever after books that get written on the subject.

It isn't that poly is "bad," or that I'm bad at it. It is just that there are times when it is difficult, challenging, scary. Whatever they tell you in those cleverly written books on the subject, it is very rare that everyone in a poly relationship falls in love with a new partner at the same time, feels the same intensity of affection for everyone involved in a relationship, is as secure about every part of every relationship, is as interested in forming new connections as everyone else, feels as secure about themselves as everyone else does, etc... All those "mismatches" can make poly feel less than "wonderful" on any given outing. It doesn't mean that poly is a bad idea or that I'm bad at doing it. That's the thing that I have to remember... because when I'm feeling shaky and scared, it is easy to get into believing that I'm the one who is out of place, doing it wrong, needing to rethink.

As Himself tells me, if we were doing monogamy, and things were tough or stressful or challenging, I'd probably never question "monogamy" or its underlying validity. I'd likely simply suck it up and tough it out because, after all, it is the way it is done. Poly doesn't have that same status, so it is easy to question it; blame it; know with a guilty certainty that it must be the reason that things feel difficult.

It is hard. To do this in front of so many eyes. It feels like whatever I say, however I experience this carries weight far beyond my personal sense of it all. When I get the jitters, I end up feeling like a fraud, a failure, a fake. In those moments, I desperately want to go hide. To not have to struggle and stretch and reach for whatever is coming next while I am so aware of having an "audience." Maybe, once I figure it all out, it will all feel better.

swan

All is Well

Everything went well with T's surgery. She is home and resting -- sound asleep actually. Thank goodness for pain medication. No problems, no complications. All as we expected. There is the liklihood of knee replacement for her down the road, but hopefully this will buy some time.

Thank you all for your good wishes and healing thoughts. You are the best.

Hugs, swan

Just asking for a bit of Support...

It is early. Later today, T and Master will head off to the outpatient surgical center so that she may have some arthroscopic surgery to repair a torn MCL in her knee along with some other repairs that are needed to get her back up and mobile after a long stretch of limping around here. The surgeon is the same one who did the knee replacement on Himself two years ago, and we are most confident in his skill and abilities, still surgery is always a bit nerve-wracking. I am stuck at school and unable to be with the family for this one and that makes me crazy. As soon as I can, I'll fly out of here and join them, but will worry and fuss terribly until then.

Keep our T and all of us in your thoughts today, friends.

swan

Calm

Just a couple of days ago there was a comment on morningstar's blog that set me to thinking. Her friend, drakor wrote:

"it is not all about the intensity it is more about the calm of slavery that attracts"

Now, I have to admit that I quite often fall short of anything that even remotely resembles "calm" in my slavery. Still, I think there is great truth in what drakor points to. Slavery, is not about what we do or what is done to us. It is about a sense of being in a place in our lives that fits, and that is so right for who we are that it is perfectly, utterly calm.

I have discovered that, when I manage to find myself in that mode, all my doubts and fears and inner chatter settles down and I simply live in His world -- and that feels right and good and easy. For me, when I am in tune with that part of who I am, there is very little sense of struggle usually. Slavery becomes like breathing -- like being my own self, because that is what it truly is.

The issue, for me I think, is that it seems difficult on many days to get there and stay there. I feel myself tugged off my center by many competing forces and demands. I am buffeted by outside influences and outside voices and a whole lot of "imprinting" that can cause me to respond and react in ways that are not at all in keeping with the truth of my slavery or of my best nature. When that happens, I end up feeling stressed, angry, unhappy, bitter, and way apart from my own sense of "calm."

I know, from experience, that the solution (when I'm feeling off balance) is not to abandon the slave path that is the correct way for me, but to renew my dedication and attention to it. The place of calm and rest and security and simple freedom for my spirit, heart, and mind is found as I turn fully toward Him.

Whatever else comes at me from the outside world, that is the fixed mark that keeps my world steady and sure. That is the stable and calm center of my life. That is, ultimately, aside from all the other bits and pieces, what makes me His.

swan

Resilience

I have, for probably at least a couple of years, had fragile skin that seemed to break and bleed under the least bit of trauma. There just was seemingly no elasticity left. No flex. No give.

This is a difficult circumstance if a significant part of the way that your sexual/erotic orientation is expressed is through SM impact play. We engage in a whole range of activities that put the skin on my lovely backside under stress. It needs to bend and stretch and then bounce right back.

I've invested a fortune in lotions and potions. We've applied bandaids by the carton. I've ingested vitamins and minerals and herbs of all sorts and descriptions. We've spanked through clothing. We've avoided what we considered the most delicate and vulnerable spots. Until about a month ago, no matter what I did, or what He did, every session seemed to end up with blood splattered and smeared everywhere. The bleeding hasn't stopped our play, but it has been a matter of concern. It has seemed to indicate a level of damage that simply would not heal or recover -- not with treatment, not with supplementation, not with rest.

Then, there was the awful and, for us, powerful break and reset that took place a few weeks ago. That event, difficult and painful as it was, seemed to be a point of healing for He and I at many different levels. One interesting thing, coming out of that has been, that I no longer break and bleed during sessions. Not at all. Fascinating.

If you go look up the dictionary definition of "resilience," you will find that it has two meanings that end up looking something like this:

• The ability to recover quickly from illness, change, or misfortune; buoyancy.
  
• The property of a material that enables it to resume its original shape or position after being bent, stretched, or compressed; elasticity.

I find that those two definitions, together are interesting in my case.

I think that the lack of elasticitiy in my skin these last couple of years was a physical manifestation of my declining emotional resiliency. I know that sounds like voodoo or new age mystical nonsense, but there it is. As we went from crisis to crisis, the traumas piled up and the space needed to fully recover just never was there: surgery --mine and His, extreme and protracted female problems, job loss, and job politics, and the advent of the poly energy vampire. Somewhere along the line, I got angry and lost my sense of joy and buoyancy. Where there had been a single damaged place, the artifact of the early days paddling regimen, suddenly there was not a single place that you could hit me that didn't break, split, ooze and bleed at the slightest provocation.

And then, the anger was finally fully expressed. Finally fully embraced. Finally exhausted. Finally absolved. Finally released. And now -- the brokeness is gone.

We are whole beings, bodies, minds, hearts, spirits. What is felt in one part will be seen and shown in the others. We cannot separate the parts and pieces. Cannot compartmentalize who we are and isolate the bits. Wellness and health will express itself throughout the whole person. So, too, distress, anger, fear -- all of these will show up in large and small ways throughout the entire person.

swan

Caning

A very long time ago, when He and I were only just beginning this journey together, there was an intricate game we played for a very long time around the whole idea of caning... When I was newer to this, the thought of being caned scared me half to death. It was, of all the SM forms of play that I'd experienced at that point, one of the most evocative.

I've come, in the years since to embrace the cane -- when I'm in a headspace to embrace anything at all along the masochistic curve that I follow. Here lately I seem to be back there again.

It might be that partly I'm stuck hunting for a way to replace the really nice cane that we broke a few months back. The replacements that we've found have just not been IT, to tell the truth. Serviceable, I suppose, but disappointing in terms of quality. So last night, as we sat watching another miserable outing by our happless Cincinnati Reds, I was cruising the Internet for ratan canes. Not an altogether unsuccessful effort either, although the question arises as to how much we are willing to invest in the beastie...

And then there was a difficult night. Long story. Nightmares and broken sleep and uncertainties.

This morning I came up into a fragile and tender place, facing the mostly inevitable Sunday morning session. Willing, of course, but unsure of my sturdiness.

He read the signs and was casting around for what would be "good." He asked, laughing, if I was in the mood for a "little light spanking," and we shared a laugh. I grinned at Him and allowed that I was uncertain that our spanking scale extended that far, that I was of the belief that the "light" end of the spanking scale was somehow missing. And the conversation hummed on for a bit... Turning after a bit to that time, almost six years ago, when He caned me for the very first time...

Which led to this morning's caning. Which was not at all like the first time. I wasn't actually sure that I was "into" caning as He began, but very quickly, as He tap, tap, tapped away -- with rapid fire strokes, I could feel a fire building in my butt surely, but a heat elsewhere too. By the time He had started to up the ante with some really sharp strokes that were raising welts, I was riding the wave and feeling the power that comes from a good session that brings its own sexual tension.

By the time He'd finished building the fire, I was more than ready to go. We galloped off into a joyous bit of lovemaking that left us both gasping.

I do like canes. I do like canes. I do, I do, I do like canes.

swan

Foot Massage

It is one of the simplest, gentlest kinds of service. He loves it, when I massage His feet. It relaxes Him completely, in a way that demands nothing at all from Him -- He does not need to participate or direct or reciprocate or anticipate any sort of response at all. The foot massage is purely a sensual, relaxation experience.

So it was, close to midnight on Friday as we crawled into bed, and He mentioned that His feet were aching and tired, that I asked if He wanted His feet rubbed. He fussed some that it was late and I was tired. I told Him that it was not difficult at all. I simply grabbed a light comforter so that I could shift to the other end of the bed and not FREEZE in the air conditioning, and set to work.

I have no formal training, but I do have lengthy association with a body worker/massage therapist friend, who shared her skills with me for many years. So I do have some knowledge.

I curled around His feet and ankles, and worked on His soles and toes and calves. I really couldn't see His face, but I could hear the contented noises from the other end of the bed. Happy Master sounds, and the occasional "thank you -- that feels wonderful" floating my way. I kneaded and rubbed and stretched and pulled and stroked. First one foot and then the other, as the evening wove its way into the purple darkness.

It calmed Him, and it calmed me as well. Sometime later, He was shaking me awake. I'd fallen asleep cuddled happily wrapped up around His feet, dreaming happily, and peacefully -- entirely contented in His service. I imagine I could have slept there just fine except that He much prefers me curled into the crook of His arm, and is not particularly fond of having my feet in His face.

swan