She Let Go

She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.

She let go of the fear. She let go of the judgments. She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head. She let go of the committee of indecision within her. She let go of all the 'right' reasons. Wholly and completely, without hesitation or worry, she just let go.

She didn't ask anyone for advice. She didn't read a book on how to let go... She didn't search the scriptures. She just let go. She let go of all of the memories that held her back. She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward. She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.

She didn't promise to let go. She didn't journal about it. She didn't write the projected date in her Day-Timer. She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper. She didn't check the weather report or read her daily horoscope. She just let go.

She didn't analyze whether she should let go. She didn't call her friends to discuss the matter. She didn't do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment. She didn't call the prayer line. She didn't utter one word. She just let go.

No one was around when it happened. There was no applause or congratulations. No one thanked her or praised her. No one noticed a thing. Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.

There was no effort. There was no struggle. It wasn't good and it wasn't bad. It was what it was, and it is just that.

In the space of letting go, she let it all be. A small smile came over her face. A light breeze blew through her. And the sun and the moon shone forevermore."

*The author of this poem is unclear. Some list Ernest Holmes as the author, another Jennifer Eckert Bernau and another Rev. Safire Rose.

I love...

I love being the one you tell your secrets to.

I love being the one who gets to witness you release the anger stoked to flames beneath your sternum from the battlefield you ran through just to pay rent and get home safely.

I love being the one to whom you confess your deepest fears - the kind that make you want to shrivel into a ball inside.

I love being the one who's shoulder you soak in tears from the pain and the hate and worry and the memories.

I love being the one you can laugh and fingerpaint with.

I love being the one with whom you can surrender and accept your whole self, even if it means confessing you care very very very much about so many things.

I love being the one who gets to purge you of shame and guilt - especially when we can turn that into fun together.

I love being the one who gets to hear how you have discovered something that gave you serenity, even if it was something incredibly small.

I love being the one with whom you can feel safe enough to take the mask off and just snuggle.

I love being the one you meet at the Crossroads.

I love being the one who can celebrate victories - large and small - with you.

I love being the one you can be little with.

I love being the one who can tell you the boogiemen are all gone and the cosmos has beautiful things in store for you.

I love being the one that makes you want to be your best self, to deeply value yourself and your gifts, and to be excited about tomorrow.

And more than anything…

I love being the one who gets to witness the Sun rise inside your eyes as you describe to me how you've been set free.

This Should be Simple

I was instructed to do this as a small child, then I retained it later on in life. Its something simple and rather practical. I was told to keep my hands to myself - to not make physical contact with another person until I was invited to do so. Whether they were less or more intelligent than I, regardless of how attracted to them I was, or how certain I was that we were destined to be best friends or more, etc., etc., etc., - I did not touch or otherwise manipulate their personal space unless I was invited to do so. Even then…I'd wait.

I'd wait for our energies to sync up. I'd let us catch up to how comfortable we were in each other's space - to see how or if we could help each other and have fun. This, for me, is rather simple. Its simple because I postulate something very specific - that though our species has a plethora of commonalities - each person is a curious coagulation of those commonalities and each person is, at any given moment, manifesting incredibly random points along each spectrum of those commonalities…

SIMPLY PUT: People are different and like different things. I think those differences make life beautiful. I think this because I chose to befriend myself. Now to my  point.

I don't give a flying-duck-fuck if you think I'm yummy, interesting, useful, or similar to gods-know-what/who. You are not allowed to touch me in any way, for any reason - until I indicate that you may. If you've taken a gunshot wound to the neck and can't, therefore, speak - then maybe you can touch me. Maybe.

The same goes for that yummy young little thing you're eyeing across the room - the one who looks far too naive to protest and call you on your bullshit - the one who hasn't been given scars, yet. I don't care how oppressed you felt or did not feel in high school, the workplace, home - or any other place. Grow a spine and don't encroach or manipulate. Its an act of cowardice.

Now - speaking directly to professional dommes who like to forget their manners --- I also don't care how typical you find anyone born with a penis. I'm not your client and regardless of how shiny your boots or how attractive you do or do not think you are - honey, don't fucking touch me - especially if you can't remember my name. I know some women who regard pro-domming as an act of Deep Healing and their clients as beloved friends. They're beautiful Humans renew my faith in humanity. Retain your dignity and don't shame them. If working in Kink has caused your Heart to shrink, then investigate a different source of income. Nobody likes a Grinch - even in lubey latex.

HERE'S THE WHY.
Do you know my past? Yes, my skin is soft, my face mostly wrinkle free, and my smile still accessible. My eyes still shine like the morning star and I still can find the grit to attempt enjoying our conversation without baggage. Don't mistake my joy for naiveté or my hope for ignorance. Being young doesn't save you from  devastation. Catastrophe is an equal-opportunity bandit.

I smile because I had everything taken away from me and watched new blessings overflow my cup again. Scars fade with each evening tide and my Heart slowly melts away the chains of yesteryear. For every friend lost to heartbreak, ten new ones are just around the corner ready to celebrate the fact that I still breathe.

I laugh because though the ache of loss rippled through my body to the point where I couldn't experience pleasure without triggering horrifying memories ----- seasons change at exactly the moment when you think they forgot about it. Warm loving hands come your way after you let go of the cold hateful ones. Sometimes that last step is the hardest part; you must love your Joy more than you hate someone else.

I had the grit to open my hand to kindness because my spine was forged in the fires of the blackest Hell and I made the choice to Love my Self. Have you? It will change your Life.

So no, sweetheart - keep your hands --- and your tendrils --- to yourself. I didn't claw my way out of the depths and teach myself how to laugh again for you. I did it for me.

You must earn this - Not because I'm King Dommy Dom-Dom of the Fourth Reich, but because I'm Real and if you want to speak to me, you must look me in the eyes and tell me the truth. Top or bottom, I require this. I think you should, too.