And a woman spoke, saying, Tell us of Pain.
And he said:
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.
And couldyou keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles ofyour life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seaons of your heart, even as you hae always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.
Much of your pain is self-chosen.
It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.
Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquillity:
For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,
And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.
-Kahlil Kibran

We tend to think of the rational as a higher order, but it is the emotional that marks our lives. One often learns more from ten days of agony than from ten years of contentment. – Merle Shain  from Some Men are More Perfect Than Others.

The quiet ones get overlooked. They are the ones whose soft steps go unnoticed, like the slither of a snake that sneaks underfoot and knows your every step as you blithely move along the trail, never knowing you were only inches away from that which you fear most. It makes me wonder how many missed opportunities have passed me by as I moved along too fast and failed to notice that which was waiting, silent and watching, being still and quiet. 

Movement requires experience to understand. It is like pain: the absence of pain can not be appreciated without first knowing its presence.  The stillness of the moment goes unnoticed until there is chaos, frenetic energy and the shaking of one’s foundations.  Perhaps it is because stillness is a close relative to complacency, as if one has given up on life and is waiting on the porch of the old folks’ home telling stories of what might have been “if only”. 

My tersely worded missive arrived in a plain white envelope, three weeks before the event, typed and unsigned. 

“Wear nothing but the barest of coverings and come as an exotic bird. Shave everything except your head. Wear the silver bells on your labia piercings.  Put the 10 gauge captive bead rings in your nipples. Insert the jewel butt plug just before arriving. Arrive at 11:11.”

I feel at a crossroads and unsure which tangent to take.  Sometimes the path we walk is more about stopping than continuing to move.  I am at yet another stopping point.  I used to view life as filled with obstacles which needed to be overcome - either by pure force or creatively finding ways around.  Now I see them more as harbingers from the Universe that suggest I need to slow down, re-examine and take in the whole picture - they are more like traffic signs warning of lane changes ahead, or a warning to yield to oncoming traffic.

If I am honest with myself I am aware that I am still trying to recover from hurt feelings and emotional attachments from my last relationship.  I am mourning the loss of my "perfect relationship" - the one that existed in my mind only, and was cast upon a large movie screen and playing with full sound track and portrayed my version of "the Beautiful Life".  In reality, there was nothing on that screen that existed except for the primary actors.  I changed my personality and outward actions to better fit with the desires and expectations of the one with whom I was infatuated.  I could make a list that fills a three-subject notebook binder on how we are different and how much of myself I lost in the chameleon-esque adaptations I accommodated to fit into the perfect story I had created in my mind's eye.  It all boils down to wanting what you never even had because you made it all up anyway.

So here I am trying to regroup and rediscover myself.  With the recent activities in my personal life I am aware that I discarded too much of my own self-care in attempting to be someone other than invisible and utilitarian. The realization of just how little you meant to someone who meant a lot to you is hard to reconcile and a difficult process of soul searching and deep reflection in the mirror.  Basically, it hurts - and not in a good way hurting.  I am mostly disappointed in myself.  It isn't about the other person.  I find I fluctuate between feeling sorry for myself, mad at myself and resentful of anyone and everyone else who dares to be happy or "in love" - I am in a state of deficit living - aware of what is "missing" rather than what is present. 

I am in the contrast/compare state.  I find myself missing an element of the illusion I had created and then trying to replace it or feeling resentful that it isn't there, and then getting frustrated because it really never WAS there, it was just something I made up in my "fantasy" anyway.  What doesn't help is that I know this is something you just have to experience - you can't rush it, or hope it will just go away.  You have to "do your time"  - whatever that is for you. 

I make daily gratitude lists - and while this helps for a temporary time, I still find myself waking up in the middle of the night and wanting warm arms around me.  I want to feel small and protected - not the one being strong and caretaking. 

Being aware of what you need to do is very different from being able to do it.  Letting go of the fantasy that never was is more difficult than releasing a love that has been lived fully and established a foundation of shared happiness. 
 

No matter how much I wish it otherwise, sometimes the ghosts won’t go away. I have accepted that they are like relatives you don’t especially like coming for a short visit. You learn to tolerate them, but don’t extend any extra hospitality in the hope that they will shorten their stay and move on. But like the laundry, they just don’t seem to ever go away.

I am constantly surprised when they appear – the ghosts of shredded self-esteem, past relationships and whispers of what could be. As I was reading from the anthology of women’s stories I recently acquired, they rapped upon the door. While I don’t know Dove, at least not in person, I do know her confusion, her struggle and her longing to be both consummated by and in control of those primal sexual drives that propel us headlong into self discovery. Perhaps her story resonated so deeply because the shards of my self-esteem had been scattered the night before as I felt that roaring sound of silence when you attempt to say hello and that person chooses to turn around and walk away – that loud silence where all the noise in the room fades and you feel as if a spotlight has been thrown upon you and the crowd disperses so you alone are singled out and the object of silent stares, as the crowd awaits your final execution; you can only hope the floor opens to swallow you and you will awake from this nightmare, alone and safe in your bed. It was obvious I was yesterday’s detritus, and as welcome as three day-old fish left to rot in the desert sun. The floor did not open up and swallow me – the scattered remains of my ego were mine alone to pick up and examine.

I sent a text imploring my lover to make love to me and to take me and claim me with passion. I wanted to know I could be cherished after the recent fiasco of the fiery affair and the public rejection of the past weekend. Sometimes, sex is soft. It is slow. It is sensual and caring. You do not need the strong arm of possession to be claimed. A whisper and a guiding hand can gentle the wild beast much more effectively than any rope or loud commanding voice. Quietly and with slow patience, the hands of love enveloped me, teasing my body as kisses turned to nibbles and lusciously savoring bites upon my neck, breasts and belly. Returning me to myself, my lover extracted pleasure with firm and gentle consistency, showing me that I do not need to be ravaged in order to be possessed. I came to pleasure without pain, the bonds of love holding me fast and secure as I discovered that surrender of self is not losing the self-will to another, but rather inviting the other into oneself. Our eyes locked as my climax mounted and I knew that at last I belonged.

This month’s MAsT topic was on Ethical Mastery/Ethical slavery. I did not attend due to my work week and the fact that I needed to take a day of rest to enjoy sun-kissed skin surrounded by the beauty and serenity of the Desert Botanical Gardens in full bloom followed by a long afternoon nap.
However, this topic is one that I have pondered for a long while. It has a vastly varied definition based on the priorities and value systems an individual chooses to live by.

Additionally, like all things human, those who profess openly to choose to live ethically are not 100% successful and perfect at the execution of professed desires. What I have determined is that ultimately, as long as we live with the intention of wanting to pursue what is ethical, then it is enough to be willing to examine and hear from others when we may not be in full compliance of our stated intentions.With that said, I am just as culpable and unsuccessful in my own attempt at practicing ethical slavery, despite my stated intention to do otherwise.

This past year has required me to examine just what constitutes ethical slavery and to develop my own disciplined practice of examining my values, behaviors and desires with regard to my slavery. I no longer desire to crawl across of floor of broken glass in order to serve an Unworthy Master; I have lost my desire to live an outward lie of “performance Mastery/slavery” when the structure and protocol disappears behind the privacy of the front door. I am tired of seeking greener pastures when I am living in a bountiful garden that just needs weeding and watering.

Knowing this now, I have returned to a serious pursuit of study in the Asian traditions and cultures – especially with Buddhism and Yogic practices three times a week. Within these cultures is an inherent power dynamic and one that naturally flows with immediate feedback when the ego gets out of balance.

In the most recent relationship which taught me about the importance of maintaining a steady and even keel as a slave, I also started attending AA meetings. I have been accused in the past by many friends and clients of being a ‘dry drunk’ with the suggestion that I might find something of value in the Rooms of AA. I, of course, knew better and so resisted. But the last relationship provided a safe stepping stone into the meetings and I have been able to find much that has been insightful to my relationship with my mother, alcohol and my own life patterns and behaviors.

One of those has been the realization that my values rest on continually moving and shifting foundations based on whether they are perceived helpful or a hindrance. Thus my relationships and journey in slavery have wrought deceipt, misunderstandings, inconsistency and faithlessness: all things that are easily recognized as unethical in terms of slavery.

Thus, I have for the first time been able to define what constitutes 12 principles that I need to live by as an Ethical Slave. They are taken directly from the AA principles and translate clearly and simply to my own slavery:

• Honesty: with myself, others in communication, action and deed.
• Hope: in myself, others and every moment of every day
• Faith: in myself, others and the Universe
• Courage: in words, actions and deeds.
• Integrity: in words, actions and deeds
• Willingness: in words, actions and deeds
• Humility: in words, actions and deeds
• Familial/Tribal Love: with brother/sister slaves, Masters and all who desire to be a part of this Leather culture
• Discipline: in words, actions and deeds
• Perseverance: in words, actions and deeds – each and every moment of every day is lived with intention and mindfulness of my slavery
• Spiritual Awareness: through a daily practice of mindfulness and centering that returns me to an understanding and joy of my slavery
• Service: in everything I do, may I do it without attachment to any outcome and thus provide service from a pure and joyful heart.

Each of these principles is an essay in and of itself. It is my intention to write each day on one of these principles for the next two weeks. This, too, is part of my spiritual practice.

What I have come to realize is that just having the desire to want to do what is right is enough to qualify one as an ethical master or slave. If I am judging another as unworthy, or unethical, I must first step back and realize that my act of judging places me at risk for being unethical. This can be very hard to practice – the act of non-judgment. I am even now having a difficult time NOT judging those whom I see living with obfuscation and false purpose based on my biased perceptions.

I do not like having to step out of the social circles of my local Leather community because of the gossip mongering, and the natural human desire to compare and contrast ourselves with others, or to want to emulate those we think are deserving of our admiration. Learning the art of grace and humility is not always fun – especially when my first instinct is to want to talk with my best slave friends about so-and-so and what is going on as a way of bonding and confirming our own moral superiority. Any behavior that constitutes some form of judgment is out of alignment with the above outlined principles on what constitutes ethical slavery because it lacks honesty, courage, integrity, humility, discipline, spiritual awareness and even service.

I have these principles outlined in a “note” on my iPhone that I reference each morning. My next step is to write them on my bathroom mirror in dry-erase markers. Then I will probably need to put them on magnets for my refrigerator. Why? Because usually before the end of breakfast I have managed to be out of alignment with one or more of these principles. This is where spiritual practice and discipline become helpful for rebuilding a foundation for ethical living that is as automatic as driving our cars to work.

So for today, I am remembering to pause and breathe before providing a response to any question, or offering my opinion on anything. I also ask myself the three questions from the Buddhist tradition:

• Is it honest?
• Is it kind?
• Is it necessary?

If I can answer, “yes” to all three, then and only then, do I speak. Living and practicing Ethical slavery is not as easy as it seems.