Hide and Seek
And if I find my hard headed woman…
~Cat Stevens
I know now that it has always been my heart and body that long to submit, that ache to offer themselves up to that which sees, with absolute clarity, their true natures.
This heart-body that is me, this untamed spirit-self - this is the wild, essential part of me that automatically shows throat at the right word or look or touch from the right man with the right light in his eyes.
This is the part of me that comfortably dwells in the flickering pools of light that illuminate the dark nexus of surrender and renewal, that place in each of us where all universes are created… and destroyed… and remade.
But my mind, my survive-at-all-costs mind, has always been totally dominant and will stubbornly stick to the straight road of its own self-serving purpose even though my heart-body often pleads its own case in the most convincing of ways.
And I suspect that no word, no touch, no look by even the most righteous of man with the most beautiful of eyes, will ever change that.
This is not to say that I believe my mind is "bad" for being stubbornly consistent, or even that my heart and body are "good" for being properly (according to ideas about my gender) acquiescent.
On the contrary, I am beginning to see just how strong and complete this combination has made me - and how it has gifted me with the capability for masterful submission as well as exquisitely loving dominance, sexually and otherwise.
But this self-knowledge of the finer points of my own inner alchemical make up has not always been clear to me. In fact, it is relatively new information.
And, as with most discoveries about one’s self, after the ah-ha, comes the oy vey… or as they say, if only I had known then what I know now…
I once had a lover who called me his hard-headed woman. We flirted with dominance and submission but never crossed into that land even though, unbeknownst to us, we were both citizens by birth.
And so, at that time, I could not understand why he insisted on calling me hard-headed when all I ever wanted to do was submit my "all" to his every request, his every need for release and renewal. But then, neither he nor I had any idea yet about the subtle divisions that existed inside that "all" of either of us.
His naming of me as a hard-headed woman was not an insult, though, as it might have been coming from another man. He never uttered those words with any hint of anger or exasperation; it was a nickname, a term of endearment, saved for only the most intimate and tender of times.
In fact, he always said it with a barely concealed lust in his voice and something else in his eyes, something that totally astonished and confused me at the time, something akin to awe.
Back then, it was only the lust I understood and responded to. But, recently, I have come to understand the awe - the combination of respect and wonder and dread with which he looked at me. I have come to understand what he saw; what manner of creature he had found in me, hiding.
And in my new understanding, I can only sit here dumbfounded at the immensity of what we both lost - he because of his eventual inability to claim what he saw, and me because of my inability to fully be what I was.
Luckily, time does help most things of this nature. Well, it usually helps… somewhat…
And so, as my own understanding is carving a way for me to forgive him for not coming to look for me after our game’s counting had ended, I can only hope he is also finding a way to both understand and forgive my own need, back then, to stay hidden for so long in the devestating aftermath of that silence.
.
Image credit: Unknown. If anyone knows who created this image, please let me know so I can credit him or her properly.
And that land is vivid, (the Otherworld) its razor sharp edges are outlined in a neon light and yet this place is so difficult to see. It shimmers under the skin, it flows like heat…
It is taboo to know this world. We are suposed to remain blind, women who can see really do risk all.
We risk exille.
But the need to forgive:
“And so, as my own understanding is carving a way for me to forgive him for not coming to look for me after our game’s counting had ended..”
… I used to forgive, until I understood that my form of forgivness was another way to remain in control…
Forgivness?
– self-blame made me a hero, brave and noble…or drenched me in self loathing.. I see myself as too much, not clever enough, too sexual, too much everything.
So no, not anymore; I don’t forgive.
Instead I name the steps that led to the moment; and most of the time I blame the myths and stories embedded within our culture for erasing the Sacred, for splitting the Otherworld from this one where-in pleasure, especially erotic pleasure, is imaged as a danger without worth.
Only by bringing our experiences of sexuality as it really is, can the stories and myths become empowering, rather than sources of fear.
Regardless of all that, it seems to be true that the Otherworld demands an honesty that is forbidden by this world. Not everyone wishes to see what lies within–
Beautiful words, Eliza vetta
xx
I wonder if he wonders too? Your erstwhile lover who failed to capture …I have a hard headed mind too and a yielding body and yes, the two seem, on the surface, incompatible… but are they?
I don’t think so for even in other species, submission is not something that occurs simply based on gender but rather, on a dynamic, in the animal world as well as the human.
“wild, essential part of me that automatically shows throat at the right word or look or touch from the right man with the right light in his eyes.” -
what delicious words… what imagry that conjures in my mind!
but that vulnerable throat is shown only to the RIGHT one …otherweise the chin is tilted and the teeth come into play…
E, I have been called obstinate and of all the words tossed at me, that one floated like a feather and caressed my skin.
Survival is what makes submission so sweet. The ability to withstand, accept and resist, if need be.
Every episode of submission is a teaching lesson for both parties.
it is not only kind but wise to forgive him for not looking, for being silent. Maybe he just cannot say anything adequate enough to thank you for your gifts.
RideFlame,
I could basically quote your whole comment as the part where I was nodding my head, saying, “yes, yes, exactly!”
But it was this statement that I’ve carried around in my pocket all day, fingering like a prayer stone:
… I used to forgive, until I understood that my form of forgiveness was another way to remain in control…
I think I will eventually write a post about this, and some of the other things your comment in general brought up for me.
But for now, I will just say thank you for taking the time to write this. You have no idea what a gift your entire comment was for me today.
Selkie,
Ah, yes, ’tis true, in order for me to submit, a whole lot of “rights” must be in place, or forget it! And isn’t that kind of setting of requirements exactly the work of the hard headedness? Ironic…
Is a hard headed mind and a soft yielding body incompatible? No not at all… and what I was kind of hinting at in this post is that not only are they not incompatible, they can be seductively and even dangerously complimentary - at least to certain types of men.
You ask, does he wonder, too, my “erstwhile lover who failed to capture?” (love how you worded that!)
I’m sure he does. Otherwise, there would be no reason for such scrupulous and continued silence.
Nasty,
Survival is what makes submission so sweet. The ability to withstand, accept and resist, if need be.
So, so true.
It is not only kind but wise to forgive him for not looking, for being silent. Maybe he just cannot say anything adequate enough to thank you for your gifts.
This is a very interesting complimentary statement to RideFlame’s words on forgiveness. And pondering both your comments together give me much food for thought. Thank you.
Thank you for your companionship, dear sister.
x
I thought as you wrote about the hints you made to the double sides of your nature…to dominate and to submit.
It is a rare man who can hold that in his hands and ride the duality in us. Like Poseidon and Osiris at once he must be.
I think too of the sadness that I feel in not be free to claim back. I have been claimed…It was and is glorious. But I have not been free to claim back. What I wanted was withheld from me…that right to know that He/he is mine/Mine also.
I don’t want to waste my energy with anger…not even with sadness. But it flows over me like waves. It is something that I have to wait out. And sooner or later a man will let me claim him and keep him.
I love your writing.
Elizavetta….I come here often.
And it’s often that what I read here zings my soul so intensely that I can think of nothing to say except something inaudible along the lines of “blubblubblub.”
This is the third time I’ve come here and read this piece and had that same reaction…and today I want to say that I don’t know what else to say except I don’t know what to say. But please keep saying what you say on here.
GIllette’s comment made me laugh because I can so relate to it. And, so often I’m poised to write some (sure to be) articulate and thoughtful response, and then … the kids start fighting, or a chicken escapes, or I spill my coffee …
I was realizing, in one of my readings of this post, that how my own dominance finds release is in motherhood. I am absolutely the primary parent of all three of my children. For the first because his father is dead. And for the younger ones because I will not allow their father (my Ex) that role. I make all the decisions. I am very dominant and classically feminist in the role of mother.
But as a lover, a woman outside that role? I’m on the floor, where I like it.
I don’t even know how closely this comment responds to this post! LOL But here it is, written at last.
And oddly italicized, too. Oops.
RideFlame,
Thank you for your companionship, dear sister.
In response to that, I echo your own words back to you
Greenwoman,
It is a rare man who can hold that in his hands and ride the duality in us.
Rare indeed.
Gillette,
You’re so cute when you blub! Always feel free to blub at will here
I often feel that way, too, after reading your blog (and others). In fact, it’s such a common occurrence, I think we should create a new word or term in the blogger’s lexicon for those posts that leave us speechless (or at least comment-less). Something like…
blub worthy
blubberly
blubtasitc
blubalicious…
I’m sure there are more *hint, hint*
Beth,
See, now your problem is a very different one than Gillette’s blubbery. Yours has to do with interruption, so maybe in this case we could call it commentus interruptus. Or perhaps, in this particular case, over-italicization due to interruption of brilliant articulation.
But seriously… about realizing that your own dominance finds its expression in mothering: Ah, yes, I can definitely count myself as a member of that tribe, too. Though my children are grown now, I was definitely the Momma In Charge as they were growing up. And I, too, longed to be submissive in my “off-hours.”
We always hear about how men who are responsible for a great deal in the world of work often long to be sexually submissive. I think it’s the same for women, too, but not just those women who are powerful in the world of work outside the home.
I think this is also true (maybe even especially so) of mothers who are responsible for the management of a household full of children (whether those women also work outside the home or not).
The need for an individual to find a balance to the rigors of responsibility is the same need whether we’re talking about managing the daily operations of a multi-million dollar corporation or those of a household which includes a band of unruly pre-schoolers (or teenagers - which can be just as exhausting!).
In other words, a hot bath and a good book are not the only things some hard working Mammas are jonesin’ for.
What of those who are jonesing and fiending for a hot brandy and a good spanking? Should they get what they seek, Elizavetta?
What fun it would be to give it…
Such a beautiful post Elizavetta. Like you, I hope he is coming to understand…
Livvy xxx
I can only speak for myself…peeling away a lifetime of conditioning, moralities, is extremely difficult and sometimes frightening. Knowing I am capable of almost anything (not knowing intellectually, but viscerally) calls into question everything. Knowing and accepting ones desires calls for ruthless honesty. Most do not live honestly, but rather as they are told. Understanding that at times, striking a woman is a loving act, that at times, ‘rape’ is an act of supreme loving, and understanding that at times, I am capable of that, is not an understanding easily won. I think it is far easier to retreat into living as we are told. Danger is everywhere in this ‘dark’ world, as is incredible beauty and love. Not white picket happy ever after love, perhaps, but real love, nonetheless.
And, I remain convinced that dominance and submission are not one-way avenues, but a shared sensibility, a flow of energy between the two partners. Submission is a very, very powerful act. Sometimes, it is difficult for even me to accept, but to live honestly, I must. As I must accept and explore ‘her’ act, I must also accept and explore mine. Elizavetta, didn’t you once mention ‘topping from the bottom’? That is the dance, exactly…
Liras,
Should they get what they seek? Oh, absolutely! Brandy and spankings for everyone… that’s my idea of a perfect world indeed.
Livvy,
Thank you, dear. On both counts.
3barque,
Thank you for this thoughtful comment. I’ve been sitting here for several minutes thinking of how to respond. You’ve pointed at so many truths here that I simply cannot find a thing to say that doesn’t sound… superfluous.
So, I’ll just say again, thank you, and let your words here just stand as the doorways they are - unlocked for those who seek.
As for my mention of “topping from the bottom”… I agree, that is the dance, as you say. However, I’m stumped as to where I may have ever mentioned this; where you would have read it on this site. Can you clue me in?
I thought it ws your phrase…topping from the bottom…no? ‘Tea’s’? Well, then, I don’t know where it came from…it’s a nice turn of words though, isn’t it?
3barque,
Oh, yes - I did write about that on Tea and Oranges. I was thinking that you were referring to something I wrote here on Vespertine. Thank you for clarifying.
i’ve read and reread and rereread this post and the ensuing comment string. i’ve started and stopped commenting, backed off and read things again.
Amazing. You’re all so amazing. Your words weave together so beautifullly.
i’m overwhelmed.
Such a beautiful post, Elizavetta. And, once again, as i’ve said on his blog, 3barque gets it.
elise
[...] of it, so no links to any of my past stuff here, but one of the things I am mulling over is the comment made by an erotic writer that I’ve come to favor greatly, 3barque. Here’s a link to [...]
elise,
As I’ve said so many times, often the best aspect of this whole blogging thing is what emerges in the comments. Amazing, indeed.
And yes, Señor 3barque definitely gets it
This, of course, made me cry. How could it not? It reminded me of my failure (please excuse the wallowing - it’s Monday morning and pouring down), what could be, and at what price. You always challenge me, dearest Elizavetta.
o xxx
orchidea,
Wallowing - oh, yes, of course you’re excused, dear. I actually wrote this in a wallowing state of mind (can you, um, tell?)
Plus, a post like this, a rainy Monday, and those pesky mind tricks called memory and regret… a recipe for wallowing if I ever saw one. Perhaps you and I can give elisesome wallowing lessons
Or, maybe just share our favorite recipes?
i rather think i might benefit from such lessons. And recipes. And … i miss Orchidea.
Just so she knows.
elise
elise,
I second that (about orchidea), just so she knows
As for the wallowing lessons… hmm… perhaps an old fashioned recipe party is in order here? We can all bake up our most sappy, dripping-with-woe dishes and have a wallowing potluck.
Although, now that I think of it, and though I am loathe to admit it, my whole site borders on being a somewhat wallow-y potluck as it is. Sigh…