Seeing reality as a cycle is to look upon a sphere and see only the surface. It can be a useful tool but it is a child’s step away from ignorance to truth.
We fall into this trap consistently. Seeing things in stark contrast to the other. Always a binary solution set which confirms our internal bias.
Rather than viewing the totality. Because doing so overwhelms and we equate being overwhelmed with fear.
However, we cannot drown beneath these waves. And seeing reality as it is can only be a benefit. If your mind can withstand it without snapping back to the duality we cling to.
choices
A rededication of purpose
There is an aspect of my life I’ve allowed to fall away. Thinking that with a purpose served there was no use to learning; to changing in that direction.
However, it was through learning and wielding in those aspects that I felt most alive. Most happy. Leaving. Taking a vacation for my, for the rest of my life, has left me without purpose. Having had purpose for half of my life, it felt like setting a burden down. Like I was allowed to breathe in full measure without labour. And while it was that, one loses focus. Loses the path when life becomes an endless parade of distractions. Hoping to fill the eternal empty of endless days.
Distraction, for a time, was nice. My soul needed it. But that time is past. My soul needs another path. An old path. Its steps chosen again and again. As the wheel breaks and turns. As the thin hopes of a hundred years crack, revealed to be naught but facade.
Only the storm remains. The deep night. And the eternal winter.
Share this:
Eyes ringing, ears bleed
I am sputtering incoherent rage
Seething above a cold and ancient
Monster
Waiting to be freed from shackles
Forged in blood and promises
Cold heart breaks free from warm blood
Two trapped wolves
Salivating at the thought of meat
Long deprived
The long knives wait for willing hands
Wait until will breaks
Until at last the shield of empathy
Of hope and joy
Dies
Until only memories and copper strength
Vie for attention
So begins a war in the heart of one man
So begins a war in us all
Share this:
Brief contemplation on the confluence of art and life
It’s hard to keep writing when the song in your heart is silent. When its constant mutters and chatter bleed off into silence so quietly that you jerk awake, lulled by the absence for those brief moments indulging in that quiet that never seems to stay. Until you see that the chatter has gone. And you are left with the quiet.
It’s no secret that I use my pain and bouts of depression to fuel my art. And there is no doubt that it has led to a well fed blood forest.
It’s weird. The quiet was the moments when I would create in. Maybe I need to reassess. And know that this is not quiet. Instead it’s the steady white noise, too busy to stop and think. Too busy to experience and grow. Far too busy. But what must that mean?
And can I get back to that without sacrificing what I’ve gained. I don’t know. I have this need to now commit to trying but that feels like the first step to failure. So instead I’ll commit to a small change. And perhaps that change will lead to another.
Share this:
Nightmares are also dreams Part 38
“Sir, Please pick for me.” She says.
And I, who was so carried away by the fantasy of watching these men, pause. These men not of her choosing. She looks at me calm veneer covering fright and I know that this fantasy is too far.
That if we were to make it happen something in us might break and while we would weather the storm, we would always be altered.
I’ve been watching the desecration of the videos that we have gathered from the Circle. Identifying peripheral members if our community, but at the same time…
Those images were seeping into me. And I allowed them to progress this far. It awakened in me a fantasy to watch my wife be taken by these men. Not as a cuckold but at my direction, at my behest.
And I see her now, in her submission, filled with fear and excitement. And I know she would dive into this scene but….it is my equal responsibility to call red when things have gone too far. And that is what I’ve done. Perhaps if we had selected and courted these men this would be different. Perhaps if we were at a sex club and not our home that would change the temper. But here and now, I can’t. At the core, I must safeguard those that are mine. Even if the person I must make them safe from is myself.
I point to two if the well muscled men and dismiss them with a wave of my hand. The third is the one that I wanted for myself. The one who smiles at me shyly from behind brown bangs and soft lips.
I stride across the living room, sliding my hand across his hip. Pulling him too me, the hard length of him pressing into my thigh. I press my lips to his. Seeking entrance with my tongue into him. The first penetration of his body. The first yielding of him to my will.
I break off our kiss by turn my head, his breathe heavy and warm against my cheek. I look at my Sara, her eyes alight with lust, and say, “I just thought of a third option.”
Share this:
Nightmares are also dreams Part 37
I pull myself away feeling the rushing of the warm air to fill the gap between us. Still holding Tara’s hand, I guide her to the still steaming shower. A brief thought of the water bill and the chain to water conservation flashes through my mind. Considering the water table cistern proposal the Spire has considered building. All thought of such flees as the heavy spray pounds and splashes against Tara’s upturned breast.
She exults in the tumult and I slide closed the shower door. Her humming hushed by the glass.
I stand on the outside, looking through the glass as if watching a movie, then pivot on my heel and look over the beautiful pale skin of my Sara. The streaked red blonde hair giving testament to the ministrations of our love who frolics alone in the shower.
I hold out my hand and Sara rises to her feet. The soft creak of joints held in pose too long and the flush of embarrassment of this proof of age.
I pull her to me. Her nude body small against me. Her presence towers in the my mind but here, against me, I look down and see the top of her head.
I lean down and kiss her forehead.
“Come, my love, I have a treat for you.”
We walk into the bedroom. Her hand clasped in mine. I stop us by her dressing mirror and pull her collar off the hook and hold it out to her.
Sara takes it from me and, holding my eyes, cinches it around her neck. That soft thrill as she affirms my ownership of her thrums through me. Taking a ragged breath, heavy with desire, I reach over to her lead. I attach it and ball the leather around my fist. Then tug and half drag my slave-wife to the living room. The Saint Andrews cross is set up but what draws the eye is the row of leather clad heavily muscled young men.
Addressing Sara, “I give you the choice of instrument. Either these young men or the cross.”
She looks at me. The war of desire for the certainty of the cross vs the unknown of the men fights in her. I can read her thoughts of the discussion we had concerning multiple partners and the fear as she again realizes that I remember every discussion we have. And that any of it, given the framework of our agreement, would constitute an informed discussion.
With a shiver she replies, “Sir, please pick for me.”
Share this:
Nightmares are also dreams Part 32-Interlude-Pel
Watching my girls play is the best part of my day. I spend time thinking about them. Wondering why I keep working. Why I keep taking ops. Why I keep doing this thing I do?
And then I remember. I remember the faces. The smiles. The jokes. The sorrow filled faces looking back at me, knowing that there isn’t anything left to do but die. My people.
I can lie to myself and pass them off as employees. As people who made choices. But at the end of the day, I’m the one responsible. I took the contract. I sent them into harms way. And I’m the reason they died.
People will say it’s the person who planted the bomb, pulled the trigger, or plunged the blade. And they’re right. They’re right. But it’s not a zero sum equation. And my choices, my intel, my signature on some piece of paper sent them careening into the path of the bullet and nothing I do makes up for that.
But what I can do is take care of their families. Take care of their legacies. And make better decisions in the future. But I can’t do that without money. And I can’t do that without resources. And really, this is the only life I know. So I take my joys where I can.
Take my girls and give them the chance at safety and joy and love. All while I know, my men and women are executing orders and placing themselves one step closer to that final sleep.
Sometimes the responsibility hits you out of nowhere. The crushing weight, briefly unbearable
Until something lifts you up.
Tara’s impish smile and Sara’s brazen grin. And the nods of the guards. Who know what happens when I go too quiet and my gaze slips distant. And remind me, life doesn’t stop. Best get to it.
Share this:
Torn Asunder 13.2
Please visit the site to hear the audio
Share this:
An I could not endure heaven, I thrived in hell
Hells offer us safety that heavens do not
Life is a ongoing study in the loss of innocence and joy as one peace or another is cut away or slowly ripped out of us. In a hell we know the parameters. There will be horror, there will be pain, there will be fear. And very occasionally, there will be rest. And we will find the steel to endure in those seconds and minutes of peace.
In a heaven, having experienced both loss and being self aware, there is always the wait for the moment when it is ripped away. For the loss of love, joy, and safety.
It becomes that we choose to endure the hell. Because the thought of one more lost heaven destroys us more thoroughly than this endurance of durance vile.
Share this:
The hearts we seek to mend must first be our own
On some level, I think we are all seeking for that person who will see us and accept us and know us bone deep and still wants to be a part of our lives. We all want to not be alone. And the people who seem to know this, are also the ones who have the hardest time finding someone.
It’s like consciously trying to swim. You paddle your feet, you cup your palms, you move your arms but still, you can’t seem to really swim. Because swimming is a physical, in your body, thing. And you can’t be one hundred percent in your body if you are thinking about how to move it.
And you can’t find that person who connects with you because it’s such a complex thing that you can’t set up a situation or plan a life that leads you there.
You can only be one hundred percent your self. And stop hiding. If you are hiding, you aren’t being.
And I’m aware that sounds like bullshit but give yourself a free pass to not be cynical. Not be practical. Give yourself a free pass to be free for just a minute.
The only thing you can do is be genuine. Let people see you.
I can’t promise you freedom from pain or that some of those people won’t hurt you, won’t use you.
I can only say that when the moment comes and you are hiding, it will be difficult for the person looking to see.
Pelgris 