Resolute

Happy new year! Again. Being Jewish and pagan, I've had two since fall, but who's counting?

I'm looking forward to 2007. I have a lot of opportunities and fun ahead in the kinky and pagan fronts. In just the first half of the year, I'll be at the pagan conference Pantheacon, a local witchcamp, a Feri intensive, and Shibaricon. I'll be teaching a (non-kink) pagan class. I also look forward to more time in my rope SIGs and doing more private play. I shall be a busy little rigger, which is generally how I like it.

If I have a challenge for myself this year, it's about integrating all the different parts of my life. That means things like packing rope for Pantheacon and pagan tools for Shibaricon. It means trying to use more rope ties in my non-kink life: in my garden, for example, or for non-kink spellwork. It means writing in more public pagan and kink forums about what it is that I do. Look to see lots more rants over this way.

But first: packing. There are parties to attend! Boots, check. Cincher, check. Tube o' canes? Double check.

Happy New Year's to all, and to all a good bite.

Speaking of cool-sounding books

I just got the press release for upcoming book-release events down here in the dirty South. I hadn't heard of this book, but sounds up our alleys . . .

Philosophy in the Dungeon: The Magic of Sex & Spirit approaches spirituality with Jack [Rinella]'s uniquely kinky perspective, including historically, psychologically, and yes, physically. Jack's system is holistic, based on extensive study, his most intimate experiences, and common sense. He approaches topics such as prayer, magic, and faith with modest confidence and rescues these concepts from their usual stereotypical meaning and misunderstood dogmatism. He encourages those looking for more significance in their kinky lifestyle to embrace an individualized spiritual path and to shed dogmatic approaches to spirituality that have only too often shamed people into denying their authentic selves.

Interesting. Naturally, I've cleared my slate to go hear his talk next weekend, and will have more to say then!

Poly pioneers, self-knowledge, and courage

Sometimes you just see the right thing on waking.

I've been giving a lot of thought to polyamory lately. The thing about poly is that there simply is no rulebook. Certainly there are pioneers who try to write about their journeys. And, some of those pioneers being actual relationship therapists, they have useful things to say. Deborah Anapol's Love without Limits is one I read early. Dossie Easton and Janet W. Hardy's The Ethical Slut is quite a good one. There's a newer rant called Redefining our Relationships by Wendy-o Matik which I have to say is one of my favorites right now (probably because it reminds me of my early rants on the topic).

Polyamorous folks are in the early stages of a very new kind of relationship. Which means that all of these pioneers can really only map out their own routes, and those of their tribes, and try to make sense of it all. The best route depends on the weather, the people, whom you're travelling with, your supplies, your navigator. So I worry about those folks who start holding up The Ethical Slut like it's a rulebook rather than a navigation tool. I worry about what will happen when they get lost on the path and find that Dossie is not in fact going to fly in and play judge and arbiter. Nope, only true consensus is going to serve any relationship.

One friend is fond of saying that there is no substitute for clear and open communication in the moment. And so I tend to think that statements like, "I'm queer," or "I'm poly" or "I'm kinky" should start discussions rather than end them.

But if there are no rules, there are still adages. Those pioneers come back with some crazy Zen wisdom in their forays. A friend in an open marriage once said to me, "There are no rules, Miriam! Only agreements!" (I think he was actually talking about drumming, but who am I to turn down a useful saying?) For most of the last year I've been chewing on that one like a Zen riddle, slowly teasing out more and more of it. Every once in a while I light up in a smile thinking I might have it, but it's a slippery little koan.

Today, Monk shares another quote from a poly person that lands for me:

She was talking about poly, about doing the more difficult things involved with being poly. She said to me, “The thing about courage is that it is not about the absence of fear, rather it is about committing to something in spite of your fears.”

Interestingly enough, T. Thorn Coyle hits almost exactly the same notes yesterday about the task of self-knowledge.

Different topics? I'm thinking not so much. In Thorn's article, the task of self knowledge happens within the context of love, the "fabric of all". This task of seeing and being seen is difficult work. Among all the other challenges polyamory brings up is more opportunities for being seen, all at the same time. That can feel like liberation, and it can feel like claustrophobia. Which it feels like at any moment has a lot more to do with my personal practice than it does with my lovers.

And this week I am reminded again, by those around me and myself - personality does not go away because insight has arrived. Personality is still danced with, laughed with, struggled with, loved and hated. "Know thyself" means this, too. The knowing does not make things disappear, no, it makes things appear more clearly. And sometimes that doesn't feel good at all.

But we see ourselves. Not wholly good, not wholly bad. We just are. One little piece in the web of life. And that, too, is perfection.

Tying one on for the New Year takes on a whole new meaning . . .

In other news, New Year's Eve is coming! There will be a party, and there will be play. And hopefully there will be a Pyrate Lass.

Which means that all daydreaming for the next few days will be spent figuring out what to do with this confluence. I have a few ideas already . . .

Life is good.

For the eels among us

One of my friends is discovering talents as an eel - someone who gets into ropes for the challenge of working back out again. He's a top, as a general rule, but a curious top. He's also all kinds of double-jointed, which makes for interesting (if dangerous-looking) play.

I get a kick out of watching him in ropes. It's not quite my thing - it's fascinating, but the psychology of it never quite makes sense to me. For most of the folks I tie, the ropes and the submission go together, at least a bit. For myself, I tend not to submit in ropes these days (and more's the pity . . . ), but I do have that part of my brain that adores the rope aesthetically as well as the other "track" in which I'm learning ties by being tied. In both scenarios, getting out of the ropes is usually the disappointing part. None of which helps make sense of the eel phenomenon.

So as I've got this on the brain, this lovely article from Graydancer on Ropes and Submission couldn't have come at a better time.

But not only was there never a time when I felt like submitting, but there was never really even a time when I felt vulnerable. I’m a big fan of leg sweeps and kicks and knees and head butts; I also, from lots of dance experience, am comfortable on the floor, or using other’s bodies as bases, and so there was never a moment when I felt that frisson of "what are they going to do to me?" And it makes me wonder more at that little psychological switch that seems to be in some of us, and not in others; the difference between surrendering and constantly evaluating the options to figure out what you can do next.

Hmm. I think that makes sense. And, as a contrasting backdrop, I think it helps me better understand what I'm looking for as a rope top. Which is probably the subject of another entry . . .

Riders

For those of you expecting an entry on pony play, my apologies for the misdirect.

No, today I'm thinking about the other kinds of riders. Those long lists on which big named rock stars spell out all their desires for a show: M&Ms with all the brown ones picked out, or day lilies, or local barbecue.

This morning, doing something as mundane as plucking my eyebrows, I realized that I have a set of riders for play.

Mine are quite nearly arbitrary, but strangely essential. A great many of them have to do with my mane.

• My hair must be well-kempt (at least to start). I wear my hair up so much for topping that on the days I wear it fully up otherwise I find myself being saucy and sly all day.
  
• Well shaven, natch.
  
• Eyebrows plucked or waxed. (If I cannot at least have ruly eyebrows, how on earth am I going to manage a bottom? I mean, really . . . )
  
• And, fizzy water. Perrier, or the like. That's the rider bit. It's not that I must have it; I'll take a pickup scene where I can get it, and I'm not a water fetishist. But the reverse isn't true. I almost never drink the stuff except when I'm scening. And so having it is a signal to self to go into scene space. Grabbing that nice cold bottle on the way into the playspace or bedroom? Mmmm. That itself gets me a little excited; my reptile brain knows exactly what's coming.
  
• I'm a sucker for robes, and blankets at the ready.
  
• And of course there's the little detail of choosing my toys to take on a party or out of town trip.

A little less formal than, say, using magick to get into scene space. But no less ritual. Some of these things get me in the mood hours or days before a play date. I pluck my eyebrows today because of things to come days from now. I am preparing myself, and that means that by the time play comes, I've got all of myself on board and ready.

And I have to say: I definitely suggest it. In my life right now, my play dates tend to be planned out weeks or sometimes months in advance. If I were waiting on an arbitrary "mood" to arrive (or not) I'd be lost in the water for a lot of it. Having these little keys to remembrance helps me bring myself fully to play in a way that is subtle, slips past all my guards, and is amazingly effective.

Make your own training adventures

Most days I tend to approach writing here with some calm and well formed thoughts. This morning, I'm feeling . . . not frustrated, but antsy maybe.

I want a dojo. I want a studio. I want somewhere I can go on a more regular basis to practice rigging. I want mentors.

I am blessed with the perfect rope bottom. (Who lives three hours away.) I have willing victims - er, volunteers - locally, but haven't been able to swing the time. It looks like it's have to be weeknights given my schedule. I already do two monthly SIGs. I have a wealth of riches. I feel almost ungrateful to have these longings at all, thinking back on how good I have it.

And yet. There's a yoga studio in my city where there are classes all day, all night - all levels. I wish I had something like that for rigging, where I could just make time to drop in and take a class, repeating it until I reach competancy and then getting on to the next one. There are days I want it to be that easy, or that challenging.

Thankfully, I've been doing this witch thing long enough that I know a bit about make-your-own-class adventures. I just finished helping to coordinate and priestess a local ritual that many of us also used as a catalyst for our Work in the last several weeks. Running up to Hallowe'en, I did the same thing kinkwise before a play party -- spending a couple of weeks really thinking about and practicing to do my best at a corset on a very attractive lass.

So: this is the point of suck it up. This is the time when I get past the holidays and start scheduling my own time in the dojo, even if it's on weekdays and even if I end up practicing mostly on myself. (Which, if I schedule right, I won't.) This is when I start figuring out what it takes for me to graduate to the next level, and reconfirm my committment to this art.

In any training, if I am doing it right, I hit a plateau of frustration about once a month or so. I'm there again. I want it to be easy, and it won't be. I want mentors that I don't necessarily have. So the important thing is that I continue the committment to teach myself, and that it's worthwhile. (It is.)

Supreme nerdiness

Uh oh. I've gotten out the glasses.

Nope, it's not for rope ties or caning. (Although I've had bottoms say they love me putting on my glasses to see better for those.)

Nope, it's far nerdier. It's RopeWiki.

Yep, I've been spending my coffee breaks this weekend playing secretary and nerd girl, trying to add what I can in the service of rope. There's something really fun and at the same time terrifying about joining a new Web project this early in its progress, but I have to say one of the best parts is that there's lots to do for a relative novice like me. No article yet on EMT shears? Hell, anyone can write that.

Wheee!

Yule

My first thought was to write about gift giving this morning. A couple of problems with that. First, I don't want to out to anyone that reads this what kinky presents are in the works for them! And also I've sworn so many times that I don't want presents it would be truly bad form to start pining over canes or whatnot now. (And goddess knows that anything I can eat is truly off the menu. The more pics I get back from the SIG last week, the more I swear I am getting back in Pilates, stat.)

So, instead I'm thinking about rituals of the season. Here are a few things I'd love to do as kink rituals in the dark of the year . . .

Mummifications. There's something about Yule that gets me in a mind for very floaty, passive trance. Also, it seems the time of year for very long rituals; many communities do all night vigils. So a nice mummification seems perfect. Also: you really can't do a mummification in the summer in the South. Not. Going. To Happen. (And finally that part of me that wants to lose a few pounds thinks all that Saran Wrap can't hurt!)

Fire play. What better way to honor the festival of lights but with some lovely blue fire dancing across the body? How festive!

Rope play. Well, of course. I'll probably find a reason to put rope play on my list for every other holiday for some reason, too, because - well, rope. But think of all that lovely wrapping, and unwrapping, and wrapping again. It's just a lovely way to celebrate objects of great value through even further decoration. Mmm, rope.

And last, but not least:

Pony play. Because who never wanted a pony for Christmas?

Documentation

I've been thinking a lot lately about the power of documentation.

A lover once told me, "I feel like as you go through your day you're also writing about it in your head." She seemed a bit concerned by this: not concerned that I'd write about her, but that I might somehow not be fully living my life because my writer's brain never turns off.

And I have to say, at least in part: guilty as charged. I think of myself as a poet and a writer at least as much as I'm a witch. I have published in print and electronically under five names, put out two 'zines, helped produce three others, have run two Web sites, and currently have more blogs than I can count on one hand. Granted I'm no Ana Voog, but I've done a pretty good job of documenting my life, with more or less artistic license.

And, that changes how I look at the world.

The first change is somewhat passive. I constantly collect images for poems. I sometimes think of pithy phrases for my blogs as I go through my day. I am constantly scribbling down ideas for blogs or articles or books. So that's true.

More than that, there's something about documentation that makes me actively push myself into a different life than I might otherwise have. To write on a topic -- and I have a few I write on -- I need to keep up at least a bit on that topic. To write about magick and power exchange means that I have an extra incentive to keep honing my knowledge about two of my favorite things. I am generally not content to have a boring day; that gives me nothing to write about. (Yes, I realize Plath could wax rhapsodic about picking her nose. But please, let's not make her an example.)

It's not just writing. When I was a teenager, I desperately wanted to be Andy Warhol - not to be famous as an artist in my own right as much as for touching and connecting others' fifteen minutes of fame. In my twenties, I created and hosted salons and played yenta to other artists. I wanted, and still want, to lead my life as art. And so I've always surrounded myself by creative people, and so I tend to watch what they do as well: visual arts, performance arts, songwriting. I have no skills in those arts, but have a deep appreciation for them. I can only manage a good camera well enough to photograph well behaved subjects like artifacts and museum pieces, so of course I'm amazed at how these artists capture everything from gorgeous landscapes to writhing bondage babes. I've been intrigued by photography for most of my adult life, at least as long as I've been writing. Self-photography intrigues me. Little image blogs. Large installations. But I tend to watch it, not do it. And I'm okay with that -- the photography has other uses for me.

The community whose SIG I attended last week has both a bondage SIG and a photography SIG, and there seems to be a solid overlap. And so, as I found myself tied six ways to Sunday, there were also flash bulbs going off in all directions, photographers setting up shots, and the lively interplay of artists between the photographers, riggers and bottoms, who in turn seemed to keep switching roles. Naturally, I loved it.

And now suddenly I find myself with hundreds of shots piling up. In a few short months I've gone from the girl with the "don't photograph me" band on her arm to a massively documented bona fide rope slut. Just like with my writing, the representation is not the experience. (And I've been a postmodernist long enough to never expect it to.) And yet the representation is its own thing: a reminder, a testament, and ideally a dialogue with the experience. I find myself wondering, along with: what affect will this tie have on my bottom? also: what will this look like? what is the symmetry or deliberate asymmetry? how will this look at thus and such angle? Along with: how does this rope feel to be in? or: how can I do some yoga and dancing in this suspension? a bit of: how can I vamp to the camera? A physicist or post-modernist might call this observer theory: the camera does not merely document an event, but changes its very nature.

Perhaps that's what my lover was getting at. And I have to cop to it. And, I can't say I see it as a bad thing.

The SIG was going at a much higher level than I've seen before for demo and teaching work. Was it just the nature of the community (which has a lot of very good riggers)? Perhaps. But I like to think there's something else at play here. Rope is an art form which is beautiful in part because it's ephemeral. But photography changes that dynamic a bit. The ropes aren't just ephemeral and dynamic. They're also processual - the process is the product, and the documentation helps retain that. And of course the photograph takes the rope a step further into a tool for product: the finished photograph. So now we have three levels of art going on at the same time, at least: the ephemeral feeling of rope on body and power exchanged, the process of the tying and untying, the product of the photograph.

There have long been days I've wanted to play Kiki to someone's Man Ray, so perhaps it's no surprise I seem to be surrounded by photographers. There's something erotic about the dynamic when artists of different media come together: dancers and musicians, riggers and photographers, visual artists and writers. The dance between arts has an erotic charge as hot as sex: the orgasm that starts between the ears. If I recall correctly, the Thoth deck has art as alchemy, and that's it exactly: the third being that emerges when two creative beings collide.