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stardancer00

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Humility is the Core and the Heart

Slave... but more still woman, little girl, slave, Mistress, virgin, whore, spiritual warrior who walks in beauty with fire, paradoxical, quite intellectual,creative , creating, being created, sees life as Art, no expectations waking to more, sexual, awakened to life, passionate in all of life little one physically and psychologically. Seeks to meet friends, others on this Path - may be younger or older, man or woman, with experience, the heart of a true Artist, spiritual vision that goes beyond understanding compassion, intelligence, comprehensive knowledge of psychological components as well as physical development understanding of pain, pleasure, sadism, masochism, depths, heights, combined with spirit, who understands true sharing, freedom who understands the difference between dominance and control, who understands intensity and the need for intensity, joy as well as tears, ecstasy as well as reality, clarity always, going further, further, pushing envelopes who is self-disciplined, protective, yet playful who sees beyond roles, limitations, and who understands transcendence, non-ordinary-ordinariness, going beyond conventional reality who has compassion as well as insight who enjoys teaching as well learning, and can be served unconditionally, beyond Ego.

The basic task is developmental with the focus of that development turned outward, step by step in ever widening circles of being, living out the paradoxes, becoming less and more, this and that rather than this or that, allowing the freedom to serve from the core, without reservation.We are the mirror as well as the face in it. We are tasting the taste this minute of eternity. We are pain and what cures pain, both.Here is a letter to everyone. You open it.It says LIVE.

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11/28/2009 7:34:18 PM


Dream

Did i dream you into life?  Maybe...

All needflesh, mindhungry, souldancing, sheer explosion of you

my secret hologram

come  to life

mirror mirror, brightshining

 

i know i breathed you

tasted the bigness of you

the peak and valley that no longer pretends

inquisitive wanderer

living paradox

man/boy/priest/debaucher

soothsayer

 

this sacred profanity

is wisdom. 

 


8/11/2008 5:05:34 PM

"i thought i had exhausted terror
Being trampled to become Your dust
Finer and finer.
Then the night came when You whispered
'I am you,"
And vanished,
Leaving me everywhere
And nowhere."

Step

i move toward you
with my whole life.
What else is there, after all,
but this brave little thing who
sometimes lies quivering in the shadows
then rises to ignite every corner
alive with honesty
wet with passion.
Boundaries melt.
No place left to stand.
Be the witness
to this.


6/20/2008 7:35:15 AM

An Invitation and A Promise

 

Intimacy at this point in my development means the richness and fullness of human experience in every possible permutation, the known into the unknown. It means bringing together two whole persons with understanding, whose acceptance of self allows the acceptance of the other. It means reaching and touching core-to-core, bridging the fear places with compassion.

Relating means having the bravery to take off the masks, to see what lies behind the artifices of costume and role. It is to experience the totality of the other and in doing so, the totality of one's self. Each day we become more and less. We grow stronger and more fragile simultaneously. Each day we have the choice to move outside of our own mind movies where we are the central characters in the drama and to confront the mystery we have been given, this life, with curiosity, creativity, courage, compassion.

This is my invitation and my promise.

 


5/12/2008 5:03:51 PM

A  Blind  Eye Turns

Some limit sight -

the boundary between what is seen

and

what is

And some sweet sounds turn

from saving graces

to

shameful condemnations

So many doors remain closed

So many slammed shut

How many mirrors shall be broken

Before you finally

see

your

face


1/27/2008 3:48:34 PM

He remembered that she was pretty, and, more, that she had a special grace in the intimacy of life. She had the secret of individuality which excites--and escapes. - Joseph Conrad

Undone

The words enter
small demons
rip away illusion
such unkind lovers
shatter the innocent dream
that was once
me

Now i am left to hear
with that other "i"
the one not seen
nor heard
truth is pain
and then
nothing

 


1/14/2008 3:39:28 PM

"The house is burning. Smoke curling around everything you have ever owned, wanted, believe mattered. That picture of the person you love, the dog's favorite toy. The couch where you held each other when you cried. All on fire, blazing. The garbage that needed to be taken out yesterday goes up as easily as the receipt you saved from the first time the two of you had breakfast together. Every object you love and treasure will soon be ashes. Now, given the chance, what's the one thing you would take out of the burning house? French author and filmmaker Jean Cocteau, when asked this question, said, 'I'd take the fire.'" - Edward Readicker-Henderson

Fire, no ice

There is in me a sweet secret essence
Maybe you have seen it once or twice
A kind of shining in the eyes
You know it?
Some think it is sadness; but no, not that.

This house of mirrors is the window and the doorway
The furniture is sticks, the kind made for kindling
I know that you know it.
The yearning becomes the burning; yes, like that.

Forget about mirrors, doorways, even sticks.
Let the house burn.
But please, do not forget to take the fire.


1/10/2008 6:45:35 PM

"This being human is a guest house,
Every morning a new arrival...
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond." - Rumi

Gratitude

Midnight struck hard, and i traded in my glass slippers for Dorothy's red shoes
Click, click, click, and i'm back in the here and now-ness
Wide-eyed little girl, yet crone-wise
Did i tell you i collect owls?
Night flight shifts time and me
i remember i am not Wendy, Peter.

It's corner time now, no place to go
Funny how that works: stay still and grow

Midnight strikes hard, and i am not allowed to wear shoes
Now-ness comes with a price
Soul naked unveilings, cronechild kneeling
Did i tell you i have a vocation?
Day lights You and me
i remember i am slave.

 

 


9/24/2007 5:49:44 PM

Unimagination

"Whatever comes, comes from a need, a sore distress, a hurting want
Every part of you has a secret language
And every need brings in what's needed
Pain bears its cure like a child.

Look carefully around you and recognize the luminosity of souls
Sit beside those who draw you to that

Don't grieve for what doesn't come
Some things that don't happen
keep disasters from happening

Others may be saying 'Oh no!'
But you will be opening out like a rose
Losing itself
petal by petal." - Rumi

The manifestation becomes the lesson
The point is not Destination
Find the edge
Move it
Further

In the night i have felt the soft rustle of his hem against my cheek
Whispers, whispers
i am small
then
not at all

The mirror remembers to call my forgotten name
Soft notes drift
Streams of awakening
"Welcome, slave."


9/11/2007 3:26:04 PM

The True Thing

"Only the hand that erases can write the true thing."   - Meister Eckhart

Dissolution, demolition and deletion

Acts of love

Given and taken

Is it He  or  she who erases?

No matter.

There is but one mind in the end…

 

 Yes, my heart belongs to Daddy
So I simply couldn't be bad
Yes, my heart belongs to

DaddDa, Da, Da, Da, Da, Da, Da, Da, DAAAAD y!”

  

Boundaries, bridges and beliefs

No taboo

Prohibits or prevents

Just allows.

Once she even twirled in her pretty dress…

 

Childheart entwined with pure intellect

Remembers penetrating eyes

Now only a dream

Shadowed by tears.

The True Thing.
 

 

 


8/22/2007 5:58:39 PM

The Hard Way

"Generally, when we speak of freedom, we think that to attain these things we need do nothing at all, that someone else will take care of us. 'You are all right, don't worry, don't cry, you're going to be all right. I'll take care of you.' We tend to think that all we have to do is to make a commitment, sign the register and then follow the instructions given to us. 'You may program me in any way. If you want to put me into difficult situations, do so. I leave everything to you." This attitude supplies the comfort of having to do nothing but to follow orders. Everything is left to the other person, to instruct you and relieve you of your shortcomings. But the truth is that an individual effort must be made to acknowledge yourself, to go through the process of Unmasking."

The slave has no Savior; she stands before Him, naked and alone.
Here all compassion, gentleness, peace, pleasantry, is far away
Here is the simple meeting of two minds.
The slave's mind opens to her Master's mind
It is not a question of magic
The condition of openness is a mutual creation

Here there are no false extremes
she may hope that by manipulating the physical she can achieve understanding
But we are what we are
Here the slave learns to give up hope
Here there is no return, no expectations of something in return
she gives all.

Be slave.
Unmask.
Strip out of that suit of armor, and
strip out of that shirt and skin and flesh and veins
Strip to the heart, slave
and there, open and give
all.

Here we speak about Surrender
Giving up is painful
Surrender is the dismantling of "self"
Herein lies the Learning

The trappings of slavery are easy and painless:
Be the whore for Him
Prostrate your self for Him
Cum for Him
Such Romance is not to be missed!

But sisters of my soul, i know you hear
Here is where we are exposed
Such pain is not able to be expressed
No coverings, just exposed to the Universe
Nothing left
Excruciating
That is the way it is
For the slave, there is no way out.

The Master understands His part
she needs someone to watch her do it
He communicates only with that naked one
He does not allow any disguises
Now you are in for it
You could tell Him goodbye in a minute and leave,
but you do not want that
He sees what you are
You know what you are
slave.


8/18/2007 8:30:12 PM

Wonder

"Inside this new love, die.
Your way begins on the other side.
Become the sky.
Take an axe to the prison wall.
Escape.
Walk out like somebody suddenly born into color.
Do it now.
You're covered with thick cloud.
Slide out the side. Die,
and be quiet. Quietness is the surest sign
that you've died.
Your old life was a frantic running from silence.
The speechless full moon comes out now."
- Rumi

You wonder what is this thing, this slavery,
It is the silence inside His eyes
That you cannot see
He takes my hand, quietly, quietly
No trumpet call announcements
Just a simple harness around my soul
And i rise, phoenix serpent dragon blazing
Axe in hand to all the walls
Here is love's purity
Pure nakedness
Owned and free.


6/3/2007 2:05:52 PM

Time

Time unfolds 
layer after layer
laid open
love letters
from an unseen lover
rend heart coverings
touch the soft place
where protections become useless
where the softness opens into mirrors
sweet transparency
stinging reality
aching
loving
being


5/29/2007 6:18:16 PM
Whispers

"Our secret origins,
these are born of a woman
who still lives inside us
though she's hiding from what we've become."

dear child
you are there at the threshold
step carefully, step, stepping
one, two, three, and there, there
it's over there
down there
out there
all in here
dear child

watch carefully and know
the naked passion that sears
through the dust
the mirror clears
here, truth is decadent
no dream dance
nothing to hide
or to hide from
let there be a witness
to this unfolding.

5/23/2007 5:14:09 AM
Puppet Lesson

"Pray for a tough instructor
to hear and act and stay within you."

"Eventually the chickpea will say to the cook,
'Boil me some more; hit me with the skimming spoon.
i cannot do this by myself.'"



Once, when i was a real little girl, my daddy gave me a puppet, a marionette. So many strings, and each one connected, a secret strand, to the life of the doll. The Puppet Master sees the beauty and the fragility of that life, string by string. The puppet is played, and in that playing, the Master brings out the possibilities in a seemingly lifeless soul; and in that playing, the Master's own soul comes to life, the two meeting in union in sacred harmony. Once, when i was a real little girl, i played those strings with such a passionate gusto, they would inevitably tangle together into one confused mass of puppet and string, neither having any movement. Inevitably, i would bring the little puppet's bound body to my daddy, and with wide and teary eyes, beg him to untangle those strings which seemed so hopeless. And there, as he sat in his chair, he would patiently and lovingly take each string, and bring it back to position; and somehow, there, in that untangling, was the untangling of this little soul.

5/13/2007 3:06:57 PM
Thirst
Lust likens to all consuming fire
An energy coiled in the bottom of the soul
Useful stuff
Yes, dear, hold still for a moment
Just like that
Watch what rises
Oh, yes - i forgot to tell you
It's called living water
Wet
Hot
Alive
Searing to the truth of you
That place where you are not
Yes, dear, hold still for a moment
Just like that
Just be.

3/28/2007 4:49:11 AM
Mirrors

"There is an original inside of me. What's here is a mirror for that, for you." - Rumi

We are all living paradoxes, at once original in every moment, and yet, we are the same. We have needs, and we have desires. For the slave, to find that place where she is allowed to surrender the self, to put it aside, means to allow the core of what she is to be freed. It is a pure, joyous and fundamental moment where there are no inhibitions. The Master is the mirror of all that lies within, at once the mother, father, teacher, guide, the divine itself, and He creates that place of safety and caring, to slowly unveil the vulnerable core, and to keep it safe as it emerges, to enable it to feel the beauty of its freedom, to bring it at once into the depths of its own darkness and into the joy of its unending light, and in so doing, allow that little soul to experience all of what it is in its truest fullness of body/mind/heart/soul without division; and in so doing, He also experiences His own full truth as the circle is completed. This is the essence of Mastery/slavery.


3/3/2007 6:55:04 PM
Opening
Ripe sunset waits in clouds
pregnant with expectation
The mind pulls down the dream
Doorway to a destiny yet unlived
The Now presents itself over and over
satisfied and unsatisfied
like a lover
one
simple
act -
be.

1/16/2007 5:08:38 AM
Essence
"A thousand half-loves must be foresaken to take one whole heart home." - Rumi

There is a distillation that occurs in a slave over time. she is reduced to her purity, the paradox of course being that in that reduction, she is expanded. she experiences her wholeness at first in relation to her Master, but even that falls away, and she experiences just being slave, and then just being. The essence of a thing is its fundamental character with no distracting elements to alter it. It just is. There, slave exists in the strength of what she is. A wisdom shines through. Imagine walking on a wooded path and passing many strangers. Each one is dressed in the finest clothing, saying, "Here, here, I am your Master! Over here!" Some strut about, puffed up, pompous, egos on display like peacock feathers flashing. Some are quite humble, shyly asking for the lady's hand like little Sir Galahads seeking to whisk one away to a shiny pleasure palace. But there is One who stands back a bit, far down the pathway, His bright eyes glint like jewels reflecting wisdom, joy, amusement, and deviance! As the little one nears, He simply holds out His Big Hand, and she hesitates at first as she looks back at what-could-have-been. To take His hand is to let go of a thousand half-loves, of the world itself, letting go of all to become all. There is no going back. There is only going Home.

1/10/2007 5:02:29 AM
True Magic
"Of course there must be lots of Magic in the world, but people don't know what it is like or how to make it. Perhaps the beginning is just to say nice things are going to happen until you make them happen...The Magic works best when you work, yourself. You can feel it in your bones..." - The Secret Garden

"True Magic is the Magic of Reality, as it is: the earth of earth, the water of water. When you make a connection with the elemental quality of existence, that is to bring out the brilliant and genuine qualities of your environment and of your own being, you begin to contact the Magic of Reality. You can actually attract the power and strength and the primordial wisdom that arise from the Cosmic Mirror." - Shambhala, The Sacred Path of the Warrior

Magic is often imagined as the invocation and expression of personal power focused to bring forth miracles. The Magician alone knows the secret words and rites, and the common people may go to him or her to petition for an ending to their suffering. But that is no true Magic. Magic can never come from ego. Magic is available all the time to all. It is a part of who and what we are, and it is only when we are able to step aside from the ego self and align ourselves with what-is that we will begin to experience true Magic in our day-to-day existence.

Recently, in the news, there was a story of a man who jumped into the subway tracks to save a little boy who had fallen onto the tracks. Of course, the news likes to call such people "heroes," but in fact, this man had entered into a place outside his own ego to a place of pure service. There was no thought, just doing and being, an alignment with what-is. And in that doing and being place, Magic happened as the train passed over both of them without harm.

For Master and slave, this alignment with what-is is echoed in their alignment as Master/slave. Each places the ego aside in favor of the greater whole. This allows the inner, true self to emerge over time, unfolding like the petals of a flower into beauty. There is a purity that comes through, and from this purity will come the power and strength and wisdom that is truth, Magic, Love. It is the face in the Cosmic Mirror, not the slave's pretty little face or the Master's rugged one. To rest in that place of truth is to bring health, serenity, joy, and growth in alignment with the Universe itself. And that is true Magic.

 

1/8/2007 10:31:28 AM

 
Unaltered States
"Your actions mean nothing - the sex and the war that you do.
You're holding part of your pants and prancing around singing
Dun-da-dun, dun-da-dun

Don't wait until you die to see this.
Recognize that your imagination and your thinking
and your sense perception are reed canes
that children cut and pretend are horsies.

The knowing of mystic lovers is different.
The empirical, sensory, sciences are like a donkey loaded with books,
or like a woman's makeup.
It washes off.

But if you lift the baggage rightly, it will give you joy.
Don't carry your knowledge-load for some selfish reason.
Deny your desires and willfulness,
and a real mount may appear under you.

Don't be satisfied with the name of the All, with just words about it.
Experience that breathing.
From books and words come fantasy,
and sometimes, from fantasy comes union." - Rumi

At times, i am asked by this one or that one how do i see myself, or when is the first time i had awareness of who and what i am - as if it were a moment frozen in time, or a face in the mirror that never changes. my experience has been one of a gradual uncovering. We are taught to live in a constricted version of reality where we live and work and have sex and make wars. It is the veneer of our civilization. But for each of us, beneath the culture clothes, beneath all the ritual of life, we just are. It is not a matter of Master or slave there. The act of Mastery or slavery is a perspective and a vehicle for living without any clothes at all. one removes them layer by layer over time to reveal the core awareness. It is a spiritual act, and it is why one can quote Rumi or any one of a number of other such mystical writers to illuminate this place, to illuminate the complexity and the simplicity of simply being. Within this construct, sexual lusts and desires are controlled, channeled, focused, to allow for a deepening of the bond, for a furthering of movement into the core selves, by creating union, intensity, awareness. Within this construct, there are many other tools used to allow this process to continue, be it pain, power, control, restrictions, etc. It is the context and the intent with which these acts are done, just as holy rites themselves, which create the path, which allow us to transcend our base natures into the sublime.

This uncovering occurs with or without the other if one is so oriented as Master or slave. The other is a facilitator, actuator, lover, friend, guide, muse, intimate knower of one's soul. Together, the two share the path, coming as equals parts of the whole created in that union. To piece another together may provide a Master with a sense of fulfillment, yet it is also a distraction in itself. It is only when two come together with understanding that a mutual uncovering can ever become possible, and where, from fantasy may come union.

And so, it is not sub space or Dom space or outer space that is the core. It is to reach that place where there is no dilution, no adulteration or alteration. It is a pure awareness, a pure loving, the place where this or that becomes this and that, where "you" and "i" make no sense, and where we are just be-ing.

 


12/8/2006 7:34:41 AM
Void
Blind from false light
inner eyes open wide
wondrous clarity of reality
humbles
she can only honor
him:
he
who dares to escape fantasy
pour out pure passion
no dream
such sublime sustenance
tasted only when the mouth is em-braced in truth
savored
in darkness
celebrated
in light
this is the heart of worship.

11/23/2006 8:09:58 AM
Emergence
she comes invited,
singular among the feast of crows,
shroud of dark reality illuminated
by a Magician's cloak.
No escape from truth.
This Power has no ego.
Mastery is a humble submission
where hubris takes a bow,
leaves that fantastical stage,
and all the world's no play.
The littlest crow sits safely
in that knowing palm.

10/9/2006 2:49:39 PM
Dark Light
He sits in the corner
Eyes quiet, watchful of that little girl
As the moon sings its sad serenade.
Soft note-streams flow.
Somewhere far below, the Devil laughs,
Sends heart-flames soaring
As the Circle locks itself around the two.
She kneels and kisses the threshold.
No division now between the worlds.

9/18/2006 10:37:57 AM
Recognition
Movement
Music
The beginning of a dance
Safety
As He steps inside
her conscious continent
cat-like along edges
fantasy to be reality
eros leashed
pierced
His wisdom-eye
opens
soft veils fall
little girl trembles
smiles:
recognition.

9/10/2006 4:18:58 PM
The Opening
Belt debut
a small spell spins
small talk
the lure of soft saxophones under stars on a country night

The conversation turns
sinuously
she half remembers the brush of his fingertips on her leg
so casually, or?

There is truth in pain.

Show me the belt
and there it was
black light illumination
every place naked

Hold out your hand - palm up
Strike - the shock of recognition: here is a Master
eyes close, nipples harden

Take off your skirt
Turn around
And there it began:
The opening.

8/27/2006 4:14:03 PM
The Knowing-Place
she waits
quietly
watchfully
all slave/goddess/little girl/
madonna/magdalene
innocent wisdom
wonder-eyes wide
The seed once nourished
reaches out
He touches her there
His Living Water showers
a rain of soul-truth tears
challenging her
into life.

8/20/2006 1:33:34 PM
Rite
Dragon's egg breaks
under blood red moon
bitter sweet drops
anoint waiting lips
a birthing within an unholy gyre
soul turned
not tamed
Goddess rises
unshadowed.

8/6/2006 5:55:41 PM
Journey
How do you know who anyone is
Worship cannot be given without one to ask
knees bent
head bowed
ego emptied
one to answer
soul stripping
benevolent tyrant
one to pour self out
living water to wash treasured feet
sheer longing
so complete
Master and slave
no privilege in this Power
The Door opens within
slave is summoned
examined in naked imprisonment
petitioner
petitioned
posession
property
creature
Still, it is we who decide
who and
what
we are.

7/31/2006 10:38:25 AM
Alchemy
Here lie broken bits of confession
A soul triumphant
Once closeted like a treasured jewel
Now unleashed by this exotic witchery
Precious drops
Liquid passion pours dreamtime heroines
across fields of quiet vows
Untouched, not-quite-virgin
Half-heard moans
twinkling star dust
pure truth
The first love is simple
The rest stamp the heart
in
violent pleasure.
 
 

7/22/2006 5:59:47 AM
Eclipse
They say when you die of grief
The only resurrection is poison
We walk the hottest street
la calle mas caliente,
not as lovers
Those eyes strong gazing
la mirada fuerte
my curandera
soul lust
futile instinct
my keeper
unthinkable need
not love,
Yet i love your lashes when you close your eyes
i love the pleat of your flesh when you cup your hand,
poised, patient,
pardoning me with pain
Not love
Don't touch me there
noli mi tangere
i don't know what's left of me
i give more
voluptuous suffering.

7/18/2006 4:39:21 PM
Diary
Mysterium tremendum: the face, half-shadowed
dark stain covers sins unnamed
signature of sadness
hidden
This gypsy reads the card:
Parody of Love
The whole man is in the walk
cat like flow, surreal djinn
a thirst that can never be appeased
Power not balanced
A melody plays
stark sweet dirge
Vampires don't give back.

7/10/2006 10:48:30 AM
Spark
To delight in the soul's grasp
And dance across star devoid black night
Where its only hope
Lies in the arms of its Master
Where it cringes then begs
Closes then opens
for more
nourishing pain
strict guidance
His living waters
There
it is limitless, yet formed
A single point
boundless
alive
in the spark of His eye.

7/6/2006 10:38:20 AM
Undream...
One Master Demands
Dreams!
No soul found there
Small spirit stands
Silent
White-shrouded testament
reaches through time
Dream boats pass in precisioned procession
Fishermen cast fantasy webs across wave battered rocks
hardly soul material
Yet
One sleeps
Unfolds black night stars
little one dances
energies merge
No dream.

6/29/2006 10:14:34 AM
Purgatory
Today
there is no slave
no begging
no kneeling
no serving
no slave
just another female
craving worship
craving to be humbled
to know Presence
to give everything
emptied into more
one's fulfillment following the Other's
Now
there is just crazy grief
no slave.

6/18/2006 8:39:49 AM
Worship
Magdalene echo moves
unimpaired
footprints erased
pre-tense to present tense
unlimited
concretized abstract conception
this Church of Divine Mastery
her dignity excited, not longing
she kneels, he wields
Power's sacred scepter made flesh
sanctified worship in living trust, be-longing
What are the dimensions of a Man
who drops His wand
and grabs the snake by its tail?

 

6/17/2006 10:00:44 AM
The Edge
Coiled energy pierces vital organs
Edges fade
Some do not
Forced into unnatural sharpness by disciplined hands
One heart bursts
Births bloody old soul
Layer after layer exposed
Devouring the original wound
Buried centuries ago
The first forgery
Brand searing in its strike
An unfortunate mark
Is it madness?
No
Beauty born of disaster
Vulnerable wings outstretched
for One Bright Eye.

 

6/10/2006 3:25:49 PM
Taken
Moans rise in passion
played expertly
Watch His eyes
turn cold, then hot
As he takes blood, then soul energy
Raven sacrifices dove
soft coos echo in the night
Sound mirrors
such sane madness
Time stops, exhausted
Wings flutter in one final
protestation.

 

 


6/5/2006 10:32:23 AM
Open Book
("Have you read it?"
'Yes, Sir.'
"What?"
'i have read it.'
"Read what?"
'Shakespeare, Sir.')

Shakespeare sits, watches from the corner
Green, leather clad tome of truth
Waits, silent as a sullen child,
Until that Master raises His sacred scepter of power
"Being Your slave, what should i do but tend upon the hours and times of Your desire"
Flails not-so-innocent flesh
"i have no precious time at all to spend, nor services to do till You require."
Sears hot-crazed desire, freed
Stroke after wanton stroke
"Nor dare i chide the world-without-end hour, whilst i, my Sovereign, watch the clock for You."
Unbound need now known
Unshamed sins forgiven
in lascivious penance
Oh, such sweet sorrow
Unchaste chastisement
Blood-scented tears of wax
seal this unholy bargain
one soul,
sold.

 

5/31/2006 3:32:12 PM
Secrets
His mouth holds secrets
whispered truths echo in darkness
an uncovered tomb
she senses holy ground
dances naked immersed in blood red
passion's colors
light and dark play on her body
like music from long ago
"lips like cherry wine"
Masterful intoxicant
soul-stealing kiss
taken in one-fell-swoop
such finality
as the lock clicks shut.
 

5/22/2006 6:59:45 PM
Good Girl Stripped
The entertainer comes on full steam to rock Your world,
but You are not rocked, just a Rock, standing distant,
touching, not touched, sating Your whetted appetite
in that musky fertile field that responds in spite of itself -
she is not quite real - split in more than two - but how can You know
as soft dove eyes coo their way to Your manhood in innocent wonder
which one is that
child of the moon
casting spells on yellow parchment fragments
arcing her power, electric heat into Your capable hands
Is that hope?
Nah...that's faith
placed at Your feet in this faithless paradise
service served from a soul not known
doors open
slam shut
she returns to her seat -
good girl.

 

5/21/2006 10:34:47 AM
Birth
"i touched the hem of His garment,
and i was made whole."

Shapes rise from the mists,
humbled female sits
silent, small, contained
in her dark corner,
covered by that cowl of birthing,
web carefully woven
intricate pattern of partnership
each thread an arc of energy
moving from soul to soul
the silver cord cannot be broken
one mirror-tear drops
all light
hand reaches out
all grace
at His ghost feet.

 

5/20/2006 9:52:55 AM
Power
"Take your practiced powers and stretch them out
until they span the chasm between two contradictions -
for the god wants to know himself in you." - Rilke

Veils drop, become jewels in Your shield of power
You turn, sacred wheel enacts metamorphosis
Chrysalis moves, emerges, changed from earth bound
colorless creature
Truth transforms mere soul flesh
This Mastery is never static
Energetic flow guides the balance
on that high wire,
steadies power, love, control,
Sacred alchemy in the dance of shadows
where
pain is the challenge and the teacher
Mastery, mystery, magick
Don't get caught in the dream
Know that shaman tree shift-change,
sacred manifestation
This sacramental Path
always new
re-newed
through service.

 

5/18/2006 4:05:33 AM
Sisters
"We are three. The moon comes from its quiet corner, puts a pitcher of water down in the center. The circle of surface flames. One of us kneels to kiss the threshold. One drinks, with wine-flames playing over her face. One, He, watches O/our gathering and says to any cold onlookers: This dance is the joy of existence."

Sisters let loose, rejoice in that place of sadness released, howls of pain and frustration, held and cared for in warm arms, listened, taken in, healthy and real, birthed in each other's passion into new forms, breathed clean, realized, awakened and aware. Sisters teach truth, kneel together at His threshold in joy, one vision in worship of Him - sisters in service, sisters in faith, sisters in truth, sisters in love. Beauty.

 
 

5/16/2006 4:43:30 AM
Forge
"A man started to break up the earth with a spade. A fool came and shouted at him, "Why are you ruining the soil?"
"You idiot!" the man cried. "Go away and don't bother me! Understand the difference between destruction and growth."

The foundations burn, flamed ruins transform, incense sweet, painful purification, a body, a mind, a soul, rises from those ashes, innocent yet not, freed for chained readiness, hungry for obedience, wet, fertile, ground that has yet to be planted, spirit moves restless, aching, wanton, not wanting, senses His scent pulling this sinful soul to its knees, ring upon ring forged there, no escape in this.

 

5/14/2006 8:59:45 AM
Pain is the only Language
"i have been looking for You, since i was a little child.
With my first breath, i heard Your call, and began to look for You. i have walked so many perilous paths, confronted so many dangers, endured despair, fear, hopes and memories. i have trekked the farthest regions, immense and wild, sailed vast oceans, traversed the highest summits, lost among the clouds. i have lain dead, utterly alone, on the sands of ancient deserts. i have held in my heart so many tears of stone." - Hahn

Pain is the only language. It is the core communication, truth, joy, tears, wonder, growth, enlightenment, connection, love. slaves know this secret tongue; its sea of fertility flows in our souls, arcs of flaming light flowing from His hands. These tears of stone are held dearly, each one treasured as a jewel sparking its message from the Sun. Marks are but a breaking point for entry, annointments of Power. There is nothing but pride for Him who would allow her to bear such wisdom. Service is gratitude, simply.

 

5/11/2006 5:27:50 PM
The Master
"It is when you make me suffer that i feel safe and secure. You should never have agreed to be a god for me if you were afraid to assume the duties of a god, and we all know they are not as tender as all that. You have already seen me cry. Now you must learn to relish my tears." - Pauline Reage

The Master knows slave's heart must be stripped to its core, ruled without compromise, freed to be what she is. slave's tears are not anguished, but rather tears of relief in finding her place at His feet. His word is her obedience, not from a place of fear, but from that sweet suffering He so generously bestows upon her, and she, like the moon to His Sun, becomes the reflection of His Light in her worship.
 

5/10/2006 4:19:07 PM
Beyond Reason
"Reason is a supple nymph, and slippery as a fish by nature. She had as leave give her kiss to an absurdity any day, as to syllogistic truth. The absurdity may turn out truer." - David Herbert Lawrence



This Life moves slave beyond reasoning or reasons or reason - it is a movement of the soul, no less grand than all the lettered concertos, gentle genuflections in truth, veils torn without tears, disciplines that refuse to let one rest, one-by-one, early morning rising, sun watching, heart wrenching in places where He may yet tread. One speaks of pride - she speaks of pride for Him. One speaks of punishment. she speaks of the elation of pain. Sweet dual harmonies here. The unbalanced balance comes in the kneeling - slave's knees are made for that adoration.
 

5/9/2006 5:12:46 AM
The Treasure of Union
"In your grief, you ache for a way to come to Me.
Last night, I heard your sighs fill the world.
Even in this waiting, I could, if I want
Make you enter and show you the Path
And place your hands on the Treasure of Union.
But the sweetness of the Place of Peace
Is proportionate to the pain of the journey
And shall only come after enduring all the griefs and
ordeals of exile."

There is a time for preparation and a time for readiness, and no tears, no wailing, no gnashing of the teeth in the night, can change the truth. There are stages and stations as one moves further, first surrendering slave to the slave, then toward recognition of Him, the One who will take her hand and walk her through that Doorway that is not of this world, but is His world. There, reality is not the living out of sensation, be that sex or pain, or in slave's case, sex-pain, but there, reality is the harnessing of those energies, understanding them for what they are, embodiments of sacrifice, connection, that move past the carnal plane toward balance in spirit. This is not a place for the timid. It is too easy to be caught in the superficial surrender as sweet bamboo breaks bruises on bare flesh, perhaps even a momentary soul window opening from the darkness. But the true skill lies in places not seen, in time taken and souls crafted together from obedience, from humility, from honor, from that place of true kneeling where slave rises changed, and in that changing, Mastery begins.

 

5/8/2006 4:53:15 AM
Opening
"Open your heart," she said gently. "Someone will come. Someone will come for you. But first you must open your heart."
The door closed. The sunlight disappeared.
Someone will come.
No, no, she told herself. Don't believe it. Don't let yourself believe it.
But it was too late.
The china rabbit's heart had begun again to open.

slave sits carefully, watches from her place in the corner, sometimes sees kind eyes glancing in her direction. Closeness comes shockingly, skin, heart beat, scent...but it is not Him. she has even felt the talons as they have grabbed her neck, sinking sharp claws into ripe skin. she wonders if that One tasted her blood. slave knows the intoxication of contact, where even sweat is an annointing, where kneeling is just the beginning of honoring, but it is the little one whose heart remains quiet, who waits dry-eyed for her own tears, who waits to kiss His fintertips, and ohhh in that one touch, she will open as His creation.

 

5/7/2006 6:56:55 PM
Candle

Time-seas stretch out across the floor in so many boxes:

Memories of a life not lived.

Safety creeps insidiously, spreading spidery filaments in silent

Soul bondage, here

Behind closed doors that dare to be opened.

my own voice teases me with bright promises of "yes"

That always turn to "no."

Here is the true slavery - forget roads not traveled, Mr. Frost.

There is no roadway inside a room;

Still, here, the altar candle is lit for Him, that He might yet

see me in my darkness.

 


5/5/2006 4:53:19 AM
slave
"With his gentle hand he wounded my neck and caused all my senses to be suspended.
my face i reclined on Him. All ceased, and i abandoned my self."

What is this thing, "slave," that dares to lay her self at His feet, that dares to keep her eyes only on Him, that knows her place there in Him. she seeks not "self," but rather One who understands wounds as windows to truth. she seeks not sensation, but One who understands that these tools are not the Path, and that the Path is always opening, energized and energizing. This thing called "slave" moves hither and thither unguided, uncorrected, unpolished, tending too carefully to that which was meant to be uncovered, discovered, broken open like ripe fruit, allowed to kneel, with every word to praise Him, to know its joy in that place where service comes like a sweet sacrifice.

humbly,
little slave

5/4/2006 4:23:03 AM
Marked
"This is my wounded soul
That i bring to You as a prisoner.
i reach my hand to touch You, and
You strike it down.
Why are You so harsh with me?
'For good reason. But certainly not to
keep you away. Whoever enters this place saying
"Here i am," must be slapped. This is not a pen for
sheep'."

slave's body marks up bright purple and red, expressions of loyalty, relief, connection, simple, pure, raw, retrieved from the shadows, soul shaken, yet...in the night, vanilla scented darkness looms warm. Safety is no illusion, yet...slave wakes to cold sun light dawn on unmarked soul, or...is it?

humbly,
little slave

5/3/2006 4:58:07 AM

Be-Longing

"A certain stranger was hastily seeking a house; a friend took him to a house in ruins. He said to the stranger, 'If this house had a roof, it would be a home for you beside me; your family, too, would be comfortable if it had another room in it.' 'Yes,' he said, 'it is nice to be beside friends, but my dear soul, one cannot lodge in "if".'

"Set your heart upon the work, but never upon its reward. Work not for a reward, but never cease to do the work." Bhagavad Gita

slave lives not in the land of "if," rising out of some imaginary ruin, all smoke and mirrors, but no substance. This dwelling place is carefully tended property where seeds are sown and watered into fruitful blossoms. It is a place of beauty and of joy, yet it is invisible except to He who has other eyes to see, and to know His own. she walks across the field toward the sound of His voice, soft but insistent, to that Doorway where she will kneel, and in that kneeling, know be-longing.

humbly,
little slave


5/2/2006 4:58:23 AM
Choices
"The stable and the Trainer have been appointed to you. If you break away, the Trainer comes and gets you. You think you are making choices, but the Trainer is actually leading you around."

Through companionship with the Ground a grapevine grows. It opens into the Earth's darkness and flies. It becomes selfless in the presence of its origin and learns what it really is."

The illusion of freedom is a fear trap on slave's soul. This "freedom" plays like an old movie on Saturday night, stagnant, repeating its themes over and over again in a dizzying array of mesmerizing light, but there is no real movement there, and no truth. slave moves out, slowly, into groundlessness...ohhh...Fingertips touch her soul, and she draws back, like a little rabbit into its den of dark security. she has been placed on the Judgment Seat at the door way to the cage, but she cannot close it shut without the Father's help. Sometimes, she sleeps under His Thought-Wings and knows what she is. Sometimes, the shaking stops, and she awakens impassioned, filled with the sharp sting of reality: Service.

humbly,
little slave

4/30/2006 6:52:53 AM

To Be Worthy

"The Queen of Sheba sent a gift of forty horse-loads of gold to Solomon. When she came to Solomon's country, however, she saw that the mountains and fields, and even the dust on the roads, were all pure gold. Day after day she rode on gold until gold lost all meaning and value for her. When Solomon saw her gifts, he laughed out loud. "I never asked for - or wanted - gifts of any kind. All I ask of you is to be worthy of the gifts I'll give to you."

Who can understand why a woman would lie awake all night at the feet of a stranger. she rests on her shoulder, not floating, not drowning in dreams, knowing it is her Need to be there, to feel Him, sense Him, for one brief moment in time. she lifts her cheek from the pillow of his hem, sacred healing place. she rearranges the night shadows, one by one, searching for that place behind his eyes where she might be whole. There, His Kingdom begins at the delta of her thighs.

humbly,
little slave


4/29/2006 8:43:05 AM

"your grief for what you've lost lifts a mirror

up to where you are bravely working.

Expecting the worst, you look and here instead is the

joyful face you've been wanting to see.

your hand opens and closes and opens and closes.

If it were always a fist or always stretched open,

you would be paralyzed.

your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding,

the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated as birdwings."

Growth comes from some surprising place where slave least expects it. A morning call to awaken, awaken, again. Do not sleep. A soul sparrow sits on the window sill, still, calm, watching, insisting that slave sees her there, the little one, and right away inside come the tears. slave holds her close where she can hear the beating of slave's heart, that strength of it, yet it is this little one who is slave's strength, her purity, her reality. That One's presence, that Master, knows that. This is never about a dance of perfection, only of perfecting, only of His looking and Seeing, seeing with those other eyes, all of what lies at His feet. she aches to stretch open there, languid and safe, knowing it all belongs to Him. Still, she needs to grab His mirror, and over and over again to walk inside it like Alice enslaved, contracting to expansion.

humbly,
little slave


4/27/2006 4:42:21 AM

Master's House

Once, in Master's house, my clipped wings grew

under watchful eyes,

disciplined into place.

i learned to fold them

tight against my naked back,

strapped there to perfection -

such humbling lessons.

now these wings grow unfettered,

sometimes beating wildly, even disrespectfully,

crying out their naked longing

to be tendered, tamed, taken back once more

to true freedom.

humbly,
little slave


4/22/2006 7:02:37 PM

The Natural Order

"I do not want to be the leader. I refuse to be the leader. I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness. I want a Man lying over me, always over me. His will, His pleasure, His desire, His life, His work, His sexuality the touchstone, the command, my pivot. I don't mind working, holding my ground intellectually, artistically; but as a woman, oh, God, as a woman I want to be dominated. I don't mind being told to stand on my own feet, not to cling, all that I am capable of doing, but I am going to be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a Male at His time, His bidding." - Anais Nin

 

"On my knees I think clearer." - U2...some nights, it is easier to sleep on the floor at the foot of the bed, small and happy in my place, imagining a Master sleeping up there in the bed, close to me. There, i am my self, protected, slave, potential service. Some nights, even the bed is too high up. slave knows Males are everywhere, and yes, she does respect them, knows where they should be, even when they do not - she serves them in her way at work when they come seeking her direction. It is those nights when she knows it is easier to sleep on the floor, imagining Master, keeping the image of those lost males away as she is able to be in her true place at His feet. It would be easier still if she could hear the soft song of the chains and that unmistakable click as the collar is locked into place. Sleep would come like a comforting blanket then. But for now, she is cast out in the world, rudderless, except for her slavery compass to guide her way. she is faithful to her tasks each day, the ones she hopes will prepare her for Him when that time does come, and the ones that remind her of what she is, what she was made for, her place in the Natural Order, just female, slave. But now, at the foot of her bed, there is no pain to take for Him; there are no edicts to obey; no humiliation to undergo. Here, at the foot of the bed, is only comtemplation, a kind of prostration at the foot of true Masculinity, feeling slavery with the depths of her being, wet, woman, magdalene-madonna, slavechild, pet, painslut, whore, his eternal plasticene puppet toy, sacred temple slut, anything and everything without pause or hesitation, just being for Him, all and nothing. Here she waits, the seedling, hungry-mouthed babe, penitant at the altar, opening for soul-flesh nourishment, aching for just a taste of that precious life fluid to sanctify her lips, baptize her body once and for all in His Power. Here she waits, female, flawed, reaching out for guidance, direction, correction, needing to be cracked open once and for all, to wear those bruises as her blood oath, reminders of her place, totems of His protection as much as her education...here she waits, at the foot of the bed. It is only Natural.

humbly,

little slave



4/18/2006 5:51:54 PM
Blood Wine: The Commitment
"The ending of the old way of thinking is the beginning,
and the beginning is the first step,
and the first step is the only step."
Krishnamurti


"Every second I drink another cup of my own blood wine
Every instant i break an empty cup against Your Door
i reach out, wanting You to tear me open"

this slave is said to be unowned, yet it is not so, not so, NOT SO. she is owned by her slavery. it does not let her go. Every moment she drinks from that slave cup, her own blood wine now, howling at the night like a madwoman who has been foresaken. That is the Commitment. It has never been a decision, but a Destiny. "He" can see it. she knows that. "He" knows. "He" waits, watching, amused at her antics, growing pains, and how she does love the pain. Sometimes she sits, pretty little girl, all curls and ways, but that blood is there, hot, wet, stinking, undeniable, not hidden from Him, that still nameless Man with the key to the floodgates. she feels Him now, close, close, close, the heat of Him burns through her skin, or is it her own raw flesh and slut heat boiling under the skin waiting to be freed. she knows this is what they call "slave readiness." she can feel it there, that hot scorching flame - He is the temperance, the sacred water that makes her flame flesh sizzle as it touches her, bending her to His will, Blacksmith of her soul.
Still, this smithery is a process, real magic, not a parlor trick. It is pain and patience alike. It is falling down and getting back up, and somehow being changed in that degradation and sublimity. It is forgiveness in the face of unworthiness. this slave is so unworthy of Him. To kiss His feet, to touch the hem of His garment, is to be made anew in His image, to be born as just slave, freed into life.
slave knows there is no "search," only recognition. she moves in baby steps, baby slave, to Him, His eyes, His hands, His chains. she is helpless in her slavery: it just is, no "becoming" about it.

"Don't unstring the bow. i am your four feathered arrow that has not been used yet.
i am a strong knifeblade word, not some "if" or "maybe" dissolving in air"

No, Sir, not "if, " not "maybe," but little slave, reaching out in this darkness for Your Big Hand. she knows You are there.

with deep humility,
little slave

4/12/2006 5:08:39 AM


Preparation


"One of the reasons we are not possessed by the passion for the possible is that we do not have a sense of the naturalness of ecstasy."

slave wakes in the early morning and finds that dark place that draws her to its center. The air there is cool on her skin, and she feels a short shiver that reaches into her body and wets her sex as she becomes aware of knowing eyes watching, waiting, expecting, understanding - and in that understanding and expectation, demanding her excellence, obedience, effort, selflessness, pain and oh yes...it is all love. she moves in and out of time as if it has no meaning. There is just one truth here, a distillation of consciousness to one sharpness, like one drop of blood from which comes a kind of eternal life of soul and body - call it an awakening to truth and a release from the chains of delusion. Rather, she hears the song of those other chains, the ones that hold her freedom, calling, insisting. There is no turning away...humbly, little slave.


4/10/2006 4:31:37 PM
What is Love?
"I shall be your eye and your hand and
your loving."

What is love? For slave, love is worship, adoration, devotion, stepping off the cliff of fantasy into groundlessness, egolessness, be-ing, no-thing, just thing, know-ing. It is everything that cannot be thought, pure experience, pure expression, pure feeling, pure action, impious purity and debasement, perfect pain, willingness, and no will at all. A slave is created, born, re-born, activated, actuated, by her Master. He is the Father of her body/mind/heart and soul. She cannot help but wish to bow before Him.
humbly,
little slave

4/1/2006 10:31:48 PM
 Song in the Key of the Edge of Life
"We are transformed by what we accept. We transform what we have accepted by understanding it. We are transformed by the act of giving, and we contribute to the transformation of others by what we are giving."
- Lama Govinda

Submission is a process of transformation, of finding the core, little slave soul kneeling, open, unveiled. Giving is the circuit. i picture O/our hands meeting, raised palms facing, palm-to-palm, feeling that energy inside of Him. It makes my knees weak. It makes me wet, ripe, fragrant, aching. i know that place where nothing is sacred, and it is all sacredness, where there are no blocks, no walls, just acts and actions, not one single limit in me. i hear His voice and know what it is to Surrender, such a sweet benediction into All, holy and wholly unholy, nothing left out, no hiding places, living out what was once buried in the depths of shame consciousness, now celebrated, a song in the key of the edge of life.
humbly,
little slave

3/31/2006 12:09:40 PM

"Be a connoisseur, and taste with caution. Any wine will get you high. Judge like a king, and choose the purest, the ones unadulterated with fear, or some urgency about "what's needed." Drink the wine that moves you as a camel moves when it's been untied, and is just ambling about."

"Drink the wine that moves you..." In the place where i am most alive, there is no Constitution, no Book of Rules, no Bible, no Koran, no edict nor even a sign on the door. That door stands slightly ajar always, with the shaft of light falling invitingly down as i kneel and wait. In the place where i am most alive, i feel my blood flow passionately, and it is slave blood. i am drawn to that shaft of light like a flower that aches for the sun. i wait to serve. i wait for that word from His lips that calls to my heart and my soul. slave's soul knows the truth. it needs no pronounements, only to face itself, crumbling those old walls, like an actor who removes her costume after the play. no need for that here. Sometimes One comes who understands, and sees the naked slave, and knows why she is naked, after all.

humbly,

little slave


3/30/2006 5:11:29 AM

"i am filled with You,

Skin, blood, bone, brain and soul.

There is no room for lack of trust, or trust.

Nothing in this existence but that existence."

this slave gradually moves to that place that is beyond trust, to that place of just "is." Being unowned makes it a difficult journey, but the journey does not stop, nonetheless. The little seed has been watered and the little sprout nourished more and more now. she knows what needs to be done to take the Big Hand and to walk past fear, past ego, past trust to a true opening to her truth, to her service, to Him. The Master is the Gardener who takes the weeds that have entwined themselves around her mind, body and soul, and uproots them one by one, exposing her there, all of it, sexuality, intellect, spirit, woman, little girl, virgin, whore - more than words these things - made for use, made to blossom in His eyes and His light. "There is no room for lack of trust, or trust, " only room for devotion, only room for surrender, if there is to be truth. the slave's heart knows intuitively its path. Over and over it shatters and is annihilated, first by its own hand as it faces itself, strengths, shortcomings, shames, and it rises from those ruins over and over, as stronger slave, focused and directed. Then, and only then, is it ready to recognize Him and to be once more annihilated, emptied in order to be filled by Him, fashioned into that place of beauty that kneels at His feet - that is her destiny.

with deep humility,

little slave


3/26/2006 6:59:22 PM

"The heart breaks and breaks

and lives by breaking.

It is necessary to go

through dark and deeper dark

and not to turn."

- from "Testing-Tree," by Stanley Kunitz

she moves through the dark places, touching here and there, sometimes being touched in unexpected places. Cracks appear in that well-worn armor that covers her wounded soul. Sometimes, she actually cracks open. Sometimes, it happens just-like-that. Those cracks are growth. she feels like a tiny chick struggling to get out of her shell. Tonight, she was reminded of the ritual in England. she had to be there, kneeling at the door, on time, waiting, knowing He would come, and He did. The Big Door opened, and He was there, so tall, so powerful, looking down at her. she could feel His eyes and could not look up to meet them. she bowed and kissed his boots then and removed them lovingly, one by one, kissing each foot in turn, then hugged his legs, feeling so small inside, naked, no shell now. He reached down and took her hand and raised her up from those depths and allowed her to kiss His hand. she was sanctified there in that cold hallway that day, made Real, readied for that time when her true Master shall take her to Himself, initiated into truth: that door opened into Life.

humbly,

little slave


3/22/2006 5:11:58 AM

Growth...

"you tighten your two hands together, determined not to give up saying "i" and "we".This tightening blocks you." -Rumi

For slave, growth comes not from the "i" and "we," but from understanding the underlying Nowness. she sets her "self" aside. slave gives. It is her need, and she cannot rest otherwise. What becomes clear is that all this talk about "service" cannot be complete without the body. The body may be used, or it may not, but it must be present, part of the whole, undeniable, available, yet not become slave to its own wants. Needs will be satisfied as she serves selflessly, and serves a Master, not just a man. Mind/heart/soul/body...all are one slave, one whole, one awareness poured through the lens of slavery, distilled if she is granted that joy, by pain, opening up to that place where "i" is seen for what it is, the true transparent "self," and slave is freed to live as what she is, nothing more and nothing less.

humbly,
little slave


3/11/2006 10:05:48 PM

Love as Primal Ground

"They say that spirit makes music
by moving through the breaks
in what is living.
If so, the work of love
is to hold and listen."

"There is a folklore that if a horse breaks a leg, it must be put down. I've discovered that this is not true. Oh, it is true that it does happen. Breeders shoot horses with broken legs, as if there is nothing to be done. But now I know they do this for themselves, not wanting to care for a horse that cannot run.

In just this way, fearful people cut the cord to those who have broken hope, not wanting to sit with a friend who cannot find tomorrow, not wanting to be saddled with someone who will slow them down, now wanting to face what is broken in themselves. In this lies the challenge of compassion. For when we dare to hold those forced to the ground, dare to hold them close, the truth of holding and listening sings and we are carried into the wisdom of broken bones and how things heal.

These are quiet braveries we all need: The courage to wait and watch with all of who we are. The courage to admit we are not alone. The courage to hold each other to the ear of our heart. And the courage to care for things that are broken.

Yet the practice ground for these braveries is always the small things at hand. Somehow through the practice of doing small things with great love, as Mother Theresa says, we learn how to be brave. In truth, the work of love is tending to small things completely. Such tending is the threshold to mystery. By the largeheartedness of our smallest attention, we enter the ocean of love that carries us all.

Simply and profoundly, the work of love is to love. For in that act, the Universe comes alive. And we can define such aliveness as the space that opens in between, as Martin Buber says, when two touch in a true way. When we find ourselves here, we are touching primal ground."
- The Work of Love - Mark Nepo

At the heart of this slave and of this little one is love, nothing more than that. she gives her all in service with love, and with all of it. she gives that which she was never given, yet that which she is inside, that which she understands. For so many, love is an alien concept, a word never to be spoken; yet slave loves. she cannot do otherwise in true service. To give all is to give body, mind, heart, soul. It is to give happiness, ecstasy, joy, tears, pain, shame, anger, orgasms, bodily functions of all sorts, one's own comfort, talents, efforts - everything - nothing hidden and nothing left out. All is placed at His feet - yes, even her love. There are no boundaries for slave, no limits, no private holdings onto secret wantings. All belongs to Him. she worships Him for it, after all. He is that One who brings slave beyond her own understanding of her own potential, after all. He is that One who takes her into Himself, after all.

In the movie, "The Libertine," which takes place in the mid 1600s, the Earl of Rochester is an extraordinarily gifted man intellectually, artistically, psychologically, sexually; yet, he is not complete at any point in his life except during one period when he serendipitously meets an actress who has been dismissed from the company for her "lack of talent." The Earl sees otherwise and endeavors to persuade her to allow him to train her to her full potential. She balks at the thought of baring her self, becoming vulnerable to him. She tells him she does not wish to become an extension of His Ego. He reaches into her soul and explains to her that this is beyond both their E/egos; it is about the art that will make them both complete, and that her nakedness is the price she must pay, and for it she will become real.

slavery is beyond theatre as slave bares all to Him, and that nakedness is her reality, whether she is at His feet or not even in His presence. This is the only true freedom. This is the aching of all who are unowned. slave's heart knows He is there, that One whose eyes shall pierce the veils to her naked and once wounded soul, that One without whom she will always remain hidden. Both Master and slave experience a reality that is beyond E/ego, and a love that is beyond any acned adolescent's crazed hormonal meltdown of "in love." He protects slave, cares for her, develops her. she serves, obeys, worships, lives, for Him. It is a perfection that is ever becoming perfected.

For now, slave knows she does not belong to her self. she is slave to the slave until He is there, until that time she can breathe His air, feel His blood giving her her true life to live. For now she kneels because even unowned that is her place. slave accepts slave for what she is and lives it inside in preparation for Him. It is that simple, after all.

 


2/28/2006 2:57:52 PM

"A chickpea leaps almost over the rim of the pot where it's being boiled.

'Why are You doing this to me?'

The Cook knocks her down with the ladle.

'Don't you try to jump out. you think I'm torturing you. I'm giving you flavor, so you can mix with spices and rice, and be the lovely vitality of a human being.

Remember when you drank rain in the Garden? That was for this.'

Grace first. Sexual pleasure, then a boiling new life begins, and the Friend has something good to eat.

Eventually the chickpea will say to the Cook,

'Boil me some more; hit me with the skimming spoon.

i cannot do this my self."

- Rumi

slave moves from rudiments to readiness now, understanding that place in her where all she can do is kneel and be, and in that be-ing place is nothing, yet all of what she is. Service is the vehicle to surrender, but surrender is more than that, too. Without surrender, slave is not complete. So many paradoxes, as always: it is all action and non-action, the doing and the waiting. she writes here, fully slave, and yet, all potential, nothing more, yet therein lies all.

 

2/26/2006 8:31:22 PM

"Forget your figuring. Forget your self. Listen to your Friend. When you become totally obedient to that One, you will be free."

my slavery is demanding of me, takes me into itself until sometimes there is nothing of "me" left, only "it," the slavery, the slave. As my energy has returned, so has slave come to demand my service, to be, "it." It draws me to a place where my future Master waits. i feel the need to develop my self and be self disciplined in order to be prepared for Him, so that i may have something of value to give to Him. There is a peace in me as i reflect and grow, as i understand more what is required of me, even from inside of me.
 


2/22/2006 6:05:47 PM

Is it not most transformative, most earthshaking, to pierce the veils of self-deception and illusion, and crack the eggshell of ignorance, to most intimately encounter oneself? Lama Surya Das

        
 

Our Lifestyle is nothing without honesty, and that honesty must begin by turning the mirror on oneself.  It is sometimes wonderful, sometimes shameful, but always humbling.  A slave through the hurt places and the joy places towards a full integration into her truth, to bring wholeness to Him, in order that He may create something of beauty, and in order for her to kneel in true service.



 


2/9/2006 6:18:40 PM

 

"The ego is our false and ignorantly assumed identity. So ego, then, is the absence of true knowledge of who we really are, together with its result: a doomed clutching on, at all costs, to a cobbled together and makeshift image of ourselves, and inevitably chameleon charlatan self that keeps changing and has to, to keep alive the fiction of its existence." - from The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying by Sogyal Rinpoche.

a slave comes to Master's house loaded with the luggage of the world, filled with its rights and wrongs, this and thats, all or nothings, so much self, places to go, things to do, always becoming...never be-ing. the slave enters the Big Door and falls to her knees from the recognition of Truth. His Truth. her nakedness, raw, skinned to the soul, no place to hide here. There is a great exhaling as she lays her ego at His feet. No more fictions, just existence. It is all exposed: the hurts, the shames, the pride, the hubris, the vanity - out and out at His feet - He will have it no other way, and neither would she, if it were up to her, but it is no longer up to her. she feels her self poured out, emptied, of all those false fronts, tough hides, absence of tears places. Now it is not merely misty eyes. No. she cries here. she feels here. she is real here in the pain and in the love. she gives here until she is not even giving. she just is. His.

 


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ownedruby
 
 Age: 28
 SUNYANI, Ghana