Fear of Change

You’re afraid, both of what is inside you and what is outside you.

Your senses are a whirlwind of unrequited desire, half-glimpsed passions and barely tasted delights. And yet as little as you’ve had, sometimes it feels like too much, like the band warming up to play a tune you will dance to with the devil. You hear that music and the last thing you want to do is take to the floor with the unknown.

And the time you spend seeking what you want is at least equalled by the time you spend questioning the motives behind those desires and the consequences of attaining them. As a result you increasingly feel more and more like you’re scratching at your life, trying to get inside it, to live it as you wish to, as you should do.

Desire and fear exist within you like two identically charged magnets; they are not easily reconciled and, when they do touch, when those two sides do share an experience, they fight to push away from each other and leave empty air and an emptier life between them.

And this is how you live, or at least how you exist. Days to weeks to months to years, treading water and jogging on the spot. Getting nowhere but exhausted anyway, the lack of progress or evolution, by any standards including your own, as depressing as it is seemingly beyond your power to change.

Why?

Why is it like this? Why do you allow it? Why are you a bystander to the only life you’ll ever have? Why do you feel so alone, regardless of it you are or not? Why does the world you wish to walk in seem so utterly beyond your reach, let alone your grasp?

Why?

Maybe it’s that you expect you would be able to exist comfortably in two separate and very different places; who and what you are and who and what you wish you were. Maybe it’s time to remember that in order to become a future you must leave behind the past. If you cannot, you will only ever live in your present, unchanging, unchanged and unchangeable.

The most apt saying here, of course, is better the devil you know, that cautionary proverb that tells you the greener grass on the other side may be Astroturf. But in nodding sagely at such seemingly wise words, we deny ourselves the most basic of human impulses; exploration. Caution does not, and never has, served us well. Our nature is curiosity, it is to look at an endless desert and seek out an oasis, even though we do not know for sure if one exists.

But what we truly need to explore doesn’t have a travel guide or a map or even a Wiki site. There’re no books written on it, no signposts to ensure we don’t get lost and no explorers that have broken the ground for us in advance. It is the last, great, unexplored frontier and it is us, our mind and body and spirit. We feel unknown because that’s exactly what we are and we ourselves must be the pioneers. Yes, we can take that journey with another, be they just someone to walk with or someone to guide and mentor us. But we must be there and we must walk with them, every step of the way.

We must take responsibility for wanting to journey into that desert and find that oasis. We have to keep looking, keep hoping that over the next rise, beyond the next ridge our desires wait for us.

As Milton said, long is the way, and hard, that out of hell leads up to light.

And there are risks when such a venture is undertaken. There are no guarantees, no contracts and no terms and conditions. What safety there is tends to be both an illusion and an irrelevance, hence my contempt for the ignorance of SSC. Because sometimes the oasis isn’t there to be found, and all the searching in the world won’t change that fact and so the consequences must be paid.

Ah, yes; consequence. The full-stop at the end of many a suffocated desire and spurned opportunity. There’s always consequences, isn’t there?

Yes.

Yes, there is. Always.

And they are many and varied and unknown and unknowable.

Except one.

There is one consequence that is known and it comes as the result of remaining where you are now, in the present. It is what happens when you have one eye on the past and the other on the future. It is what happens when you turn from a path because you cannot see where it leads.

And the consequence is simply that nothing changes, not now and not ever.

As you are, so you will be.

And if that’s not good enough, change.

And if it is good enough, stop reaching for what you do not want.

Self Image

If you don't like yourself (and few slaves and subs I’ve known do) then what you will likely seek in a master isn't to adore and venerate him, but to be validated by him. What you therefore seek is to be desired by him and, hopefully, to see yourself through his eyes. That way, you hope, you might feel the approval you don’t get when you look at yourself through your own eyes.

And that will not work. We cannot find what we need by experiencing it vicariously, by proxy, taking someone else’s feelings and turning it into a hand-me-down. And so many slaves, good ones, with the right mind and attitude to serving, go to waste because they cannot or will not look from the outside in.

It is the first rule of training; both teacher and student must see the material available, the good and the bad, the strengths and weaknesses, the hope and despair. They must see it, recognise and deal with it. After all, you cannot build anything of significance if the foundations are damaged or missing. You have to repair and reinforce what everything else is to sit on, otherwise it will, inevitably, all come tumbling down when some point of critical mass is reached.

Because what we do not like about ourselves is often far, far more important than what we do like and within those things is our weaknesses and fears and insecurities. And all this is what will undermine us and so they undermine our relationship with another.

Be honest with yourself, face what you see as your failings and shortcomings and face them head-on. There’s no point being scared or intimidated; these things won’t go way, ever. They must be dealt with and if that requires, help, seek that help out.

Don't go to waste.

Service vs Suicide

The slave walks a fine line, don’t you think?

She may not wish destruction, but she must surely accept she sometimes takes to the dance-floor with it as a partner. She may not desire to be harmed or damaged, but there must be some kind of acknowledgement that, should she look over her shoulder, she may find such a beast snapping at her heels. Even those that do seek to be little more than grist to the mill, and such ones do exist as we all know, very few of them seek true oblivion but, again, it is there in threat, in a careless hand or lazy thought.

I know that whilst there are few who genuinely desire destruction, there are most certainly some who crave precisely that. Such girls tend to come in two varieties; those who understand, to some degree, why they feel as they do, and those that have no idea. They may not be numerous, though I believe the modern world is creating more and more each day, but they are there.

Milton once said ‘long is the way and hard, that out of Hell leads up to Light’ and I believe there are few of us who do not understand what those words mean on a personal level. But there is a flipside to even that coin because Hell is a personal place. For some, being slave is a refuge from life, from reality and from the sometimes unbearable burden of simply being themselves. Seeing something as heaven or hell is purely a matter of perception, as most things tend to be; one man’s meat is another man’s poison, so to speak. What others might look at and see as a blessing can be an intolerable burden to the one in possession of it.

And so sometimes what is sought is a reason to drop those burdens, to be put on a different path and made to walk it. And sometimes, even though the girl may ache to walk that path, she cannot admit to it and must be compelled to place one foot after the other. Sometimes she cannot even relinquish choice, cannot hand her destiny and fate to the man her being craves to serve and so choice must be taken from her, by whatever means necessary, in order that she embrace her true nature.

Very soon, a girl cannot function as a slave should without such stimulus, without what others would call ‘abuse’. And this shames and reduces her, both in her own eyes and the eyes of those she may trust with the truth of herself. When a mechanic relies on perception rather than justification, is it any wonder it should also be so influenced by the perception of others?

And because of this sense of rejection, the slave turns inward, locks herself and her thoughts away. And sometimes they lose the key, even to themselves, and then their mind turns on itself. The results can be anything from self-doubt to self-loathing to self-harm and every shade in between.

I believe there are many dominants who have had to deal with that mentality in another, one for whom the harshest torment and the most unrelenting sacrifice is given as willingly as a lover’s kiss. For them, such an excessive volume of thought and feeling and sensation is the only means by which the noise of simply existing can be drowned out. For them, such ferocity brings peace, like being in the eye of the hurricane; they crave that peace and so, therefore, will pay any price to achieve it. Add that into the slave’s exquisite desire to sacrifice herself to the demands of her master, and the power and control being offered can become intoxicating to him.

I think of this as ‘service or destruction’ because, to them, without the former the only choice that would bring any peace was the latter. Of course, the problem is that the more the master gives, the more they need to get the peace they crave, the familiar dilemma of any addict, any bleeding soul that finds even a moment’s peace.

But often the path that led them to Hell in the first place was just as long, just as hard. The fact is that Hell is a misstep away, a bad choice or decision sending us spinning into its unwelcome, voracious grasp. True enough but there must also be acknowledgement for self-destruction, for the desire to go to Hell because it feels preferable to Heaven. I’m sure that most of us have been called to redefine exactly what ‘rock-bottom’ means, haven’t we? Sometimes we believe we have hit our lowest ebb only to find out the floor we find ourselves on is little more than a ledge and that the void spirals down and away from us still.

Sometimes it just gets too much, doesn’t it? All that weight, all that pressure. Sometimes the only thing a slave wants to do is walk off the ledge and see just how far there is left to go. At least down there you cannot hear or see the mocking light of Heaven far above you, teasing and tormenting you.

Service, as those who know what being a slave truly demands of you, is not a commitment given lightly or easily or blindly. To serve is to give everything, without restraint or hesitation, to learn always and put that knowledge to use in serving even one fraction better. It is the endless quest to create perfection for the one she serves because he and only he is worth such labours.

His desires and needs consume her, fill her, often replacing or evolving her own. From that comes the fallacy that the slave serves blindly. Whilst I have heard many submissives protest that they have thoughts of their own, can make their own decisions, I have yet to hear a true slave say such a thing. Intelligence, desire, fascination and an endless desire to improve are pre-requisites for the role and no man who wishes a slave would want one that comes without such things. It’s ironic that those who say such things are usually the first to join the swollen line of hypocrites, giving their service on a whim and a prayer and then lamenting the manner in which they were treated.

But devotion has a price. As she takes his wants and dreams and hopes, learning of them and learning to provide them, so he takes her care and well-being into his hands and they become symbiotic. One is lost without the other and while ostensibly they each have their place, they are in truth on a more even footing than most will ever know. Without the other, they are truly lost. Again, the common ‘not a doormat’ laments of the clueless is revealed for the idiocy it is when compared to such a depth of relationship.

But where does self-destruction come into this glass-fragile idyllic world? Where does the need to leap from the ledge and plunge into the fathomless depths fit? We know it’s there; some of us have felt it and probably more of us than would admit it.

How does a master love a girl who will not love herself? How does he keep safe a girl who has no regard for her own well-being? How does he value a girl that sees herself as worthless? How does he build up a girl who seeks to be nothing but ashes in a shell? It’s not that she is prepared to accept such an outcome or that she believes it necessary even; it is simply that she wants it, needs it and, in her world, often deserves it.

It is a truth that the ones most vulnerable to damage usually find themselves in the hands of those who seek to do damage. Whilst they may find themselves in the care of one who would do well by them, such a girl is usually beyond their understanding. They cannot take joy from a girl that doesn’t show it or feel it; such a mindset cannot be trained or disciplined, improved or enlightened. The will to learn isn’t there because what is there to learn for such a girl? Her answer will be ‘yes’; she seems to serve blindly but in reality her eyes are wide, wide open. Just ask, or even better demand, and she will provide it, willing and aware.

And what usually happens to the master when he finds such a creature is that he feels inspired beyond himself. He thrills at the thoughts she inspires in him, the manner in which she easily brings forth the beast inside him, the beast that is inside every man. She becomes meat to the red-eyed beast within him and inspires an almost primordial sense of power, power that he knows is irredeemable and cruel and corrupt.

And so he usually seeks to bathe in that power, to wield it and benefit from it. He reverts back to the ‘see, want, take’ mentality of the savage and such a base and basic thing is intoxicating to the domesticated modern mind. It is as taboo as it is delicious.

So she feeds and nourishes him and her reward is simply that he feasts upon her, mentally and physically. She is who and what he desires and that is all she needs to know in order to crave to sate his ever-increasing hunger and thirst. The more she offers then the more he demands and the more he demands then the more she offers. Round and round, the snake eating its own tail.

Service or destruction? And consider that sometimes they can become interchangeable, that it isn’t so much ‘one or the other’ but ‘one and the other’. She will fall and she will fall hard and she will fall for him, only for him, always for him. She will do so with a breathless passion as destructive as it is addictive as it is profound. And there, in that place, she will look at him and see that just as he has demanded of her in her serving him, so she has demanded of him every time she provided for him.

Because sometimes it is the blackest of mirrors that give the clearest reflection.

Knowing

Do you know why you’re here? Do you know where you meant to go? Do you remember?

If you were to stop and turn around on the journey you’re taking, how much of the path you walk on would you be able to see behind you? Would the past be as shrouded in mist, as unknown and unknowable, as the future?

Do you even remember why you started on this journey? Do you remember the hopes and desires, the needs and wants… the facts and the fantasy? How much have you learnt about yourself so far, about who and what you are or want to be or even could be?

I know you remember that hunger inside you, that undeniably powerful compulsion of the red-eyed beast howling in the dark recesses of your soul. I know you remember that, but did you ever face him? Did you ever slake his thirst and sate his hunger? Has the beast gone quiet? If it has, was the silence paid with feast or famine?

Once upon a time, you denied everything you felt; what you needed, what you shied from, what you wanted to give, what you wanted to have taken. Why doesn’t matter; we both know you did it, don’t we? We both know you turned away from your own reflection for fear of seeing the red in your own eyes and hearing that distant, plaintive and primitive howling.

But are you so sure you didn’t do it again? Are you sure that in overturning one denial you didn’t create another? That in facing the lesser beast of beginning the journey you managed to cage the far, far more powerful beast of measuring your progress.

Are you sure that instead of making progress you didn’t just pull into the first motel you came across and book a room long-term?

Because is the view from your window on the world so very different from the one that set you to seeking answers in the first place? Remember how nothing you had seen or experienced compared to what you ached to feel, even though you didn’t understand what exactly you did want to feel? Do you remember the joy you felt when you got your first glimpse or your first taste or your first touch?

When did you last feel that rapture? How long has it been since what you experienced took your breath away, left you feeling that there was a greater meaning and purpose to your life than you ever dreamed?

It was like nothing else before it, wasn’t it? This was a new world; a new perspective and a new way of life, wasn’t it? Remember?

Frightening, wasn’t it? With realisation comes doubt of the worst kind; self-doubt. You ask if the voracious, primal beast you feel stirring deep inside your mind and body is really you. When it wakes, it stands and when it stands you see the muscles flex and ripple down its flanks, see the cream white of its many, many teeth as that knowing snarl flashes in the dark. It lifts its head and inhales, nostrils flaring at the scent of you and it turns to you and those red eyes settle on you. Then the foot-falls, heavy and full of intent as it comes closer and closer.

Did you face it? Did you stand your ground, run a hand through hair knotted and filthy with the neglect of a lifetime spent being ignored and denied? Did you lean down and breathe this creature in, fill your sense with its scent, all musk and longing and raw, sensual need?

Did you look into its eyes and recognise yourself staring back out?

Did you?

Or did you turn tail and run from the freshly-stirred and still ponderous beast before it came to its senses fully? And did you then convince yourself that merely occupying the same space as this beast was some sort of progress; was evidence of anything more than self-delusion?

Did you run to the motel and check yourself in? Did you push furniture over the door and board the windows, peering out between the cracks to check that beast isn’t out there somewhere, hunting you, tracking you?

And the longer you’re in that place, the less like a fortress and the more like a cell it feels, doesn’t it?

How long did it take you to realise the beast was in there with you all along? How do you sleep at night, listening to that heavy breathing and heavy padding as it paces around in your heart and soul?

You cannot get away from it.
When will you accept that fact?

It is you.
It always was.
It always will be.

You can no more escape it than it can escape you.

Don’t ignore it; listen to it.
Don’t deny it; turn to it.
Don’t fear it; embrace it.

Look in the mirror and see who stares back. Look at yourself and remember the hopes and desires, the needs and wants… the facts and the fantasy.

When did you last ask a question of yourself and feel the heat bloom at the thought of what the answer might be? Do you recall the last time you ventured into an unknown, whether by word or thought or deed? Or faced your reflection and felt the desire burn inside you when you saw the red raw hunger in the eyes staring back at you?

When did you last take a step on this journey you started a lifetime ago?

And why, I wonder, did you stop?