kiya: (emotional issues)
( Oct. 11th, 2011 03:51 pm)
A confluence of things is sort of crashing around in my head at the moment, between reading a few bloggy threads and some of the IP work I'm doing and some other stuff but.

I'm feeling very struck with the whole "I'm thirty-three years old and I'm finally starting to get a handle on what I want to do when I grow up." Which is generally the sort of thing that a lot of people want to have sorted out before they have the two-year-old kid, but what the hell, hey?

I'm expecting this navel-gazing to run for a while. )

You can get on with your search, baby, and I can get on with mine -
And maybe someday we will find that it wasn't really wasted time.
A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, I was a physics/astronomy major.

And therein lies a tail. )
Cut for lengthy Warcraft neepery )
I feel like a river pebble, like all of me is being worn smooth by this constant gentle abrasion. I have such striations, but once upon a time I had edges. Purposes. Something to catch on things.

This is not helped by the fact that I took long enough getting over the Doom Cold that I seem to have picked up something minor and secondary that makes me feel like my head has been pumped full of ... bees.

I find myself rattling around with contemplating the kink content of "The Music of the Night" for me (first thing I encountered that scratched that itch any), trying to come up with coherent comment on The Curse of Chalion (beyond, "Yes, [ profile] jenett, you were right; I needed that"), dealing with bouts of weepy something-or-other at [ profile] teinedreugan, being generally kind of morbid, and having my eyes cross.

Maybe if I sneeze hard enough I'll eject all the stinging insects from my head ....
My house smells vaguely of the process of making chicken stock. Alas, I seem to respond to cutting raw parsnips similarly to my response to raw carrots, though less severely; will want to be cautious with that. There's something satisfying about boiling down the bones; it's not exactly primal, but it's root. I come back to wanting to do things like this regularly, back to the root; I know I can go out and buy a can of chicken stock -- and there are several in the pantry -- but doing it myself has a certain raw satisfaction. I didn't raise the chicken; I didn't kill it (though the rooster down the street has been tempting that way of late); I still made as full a use of it as I could.

I have half the things that go into the veggie garden planted. I'm going from seed, so this will probably be a bit erratic, but I wanted to do it reasonably cheaply because the investment for filling the beds was rather large. Next year should be easier. None of the seeds have come up yet; both grapevines, however, are putting out leaves, one of them quite profusely. The tiny visible bits of the daylilies have gone from washed-out never-seen-the-sun white to little rich green cores.

I've made some progress on controlling the vast proliferation of heaps of books by getting some of them onto shelves; it's getting easier to estimate just how many more shelves we're going to need to have. I need to get back onto getting them into the catalogue, but perhaps I should assemble a landing zone first by clearing the piles ...

Today has been full of chopping things for stock, discussion of the equations for calculating the heliacal rising of Sirius, and trying to figure out why nobody on the web will tell me how many caudal vertebrae lions have.

And there was a thunderstorm this morning. Yum.
That lyric was stuck in my head all the way home from training. I did at least eventually remember it was a New Order line.

This was a hard, intense weekend for me. (And for several of my classmates, for that matter.)

We did some energy work around the yes-meets-no polarity, which is frequently an eroticism thing for me when I'm working it; what I got when I was holding that was black and silver and blue and dark and deep and soft, an intense, demanding urge to cocoon. When I drew cards around that -- the five of Thorn's Black Heart reading, and then three followup of an 'okay, now what?' nature, I got the tower reversed, the ten of wands (can't recall if it was upright or inverted), three threes -- swords, and pents and wands reversed .... The only actually cheerful bit was in the three-card followup, which indicated that my relationships are fine and good for me.

General message: you need to pull back, stop overcommitting, withdraw, and fucking well take care of yourself, or you're going to explode. And I kept getting repeats and variations on that the entire weekend. With other things -- like how to unbind my energy from relationships where things are too tangled up for me to feel able to forgive. With my tendency to put energy at things that I can't get to right now rather than the steps I need to get there. With a bunch of other things.

When I drew the five-card for the Black Heart, and was trying to interpret it, what I got was:

    Quick now, here, now, always—
    A condition of complete simplicity
    (Costing not less than everything)

We made meditational mandalas as spellwork, and mine was:

    And all shall be well and
    All manner of thing shall be well
    When the tongues of flame are in-folded
    Into the crowned knot of fire
    And the fire and the rose are one.

I'm going to poke and refine that design and then talk to [ profile] splurby about how much it would cost to get in her queue ....

When I resolved to pull back, call in my energy, not expend -- something that wound up meaning that I had a clear sense that I shouldn't try to render the images in my head in the Centre Guardian meditation/artwork -- I drew another three-card and got the Two of Swords, the High Priestess, and the Ace of Cups. Okay then.

It'll be interesting to see what that follow-up reading on the question of my enlightened self-interest turns up, in the context of all this.

(The poetry is the end of T. S. Eliot's "Little Gidding".)
I need to thrash at this concept until I get it into an essay, I think, but I'm making a note of the seeds of it so I don't lose it entire.

[ profile] oneironaut and I were talking about power exchange relationships and related stuff, and responses to the possession of power, power and ma'at. Or what [ profile] arawen sometimes refers to as "If I don't take good care of my toys, I don't get to play with them anymore."

There's something heady about having someone else in a position of vulnerability, by whatever means. It doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things whether it's kink, whether it's economic power, whether it's social power, physical capacity, spiritual knowledge, anything else: the mere fact of the capacity to do is a drug. And it's not a drug everyone has the skill to handle well. (And the toxicity of the drug depends, I think, somewhat, on whether or not the vulnerability is more chosen than coerced.)

Is the response to an exposed vulnerability to raise up, to work it synergistically, to hold that position to keep access to the drug? Any exposed vulnerability is an intimacy -- this is heavy currency in d/s, but it's also one of those flows of political stress that comes of being an oppressed minority, forced to be constantly more exposed, more intimate, to more people, with less consent, less freedom to say "I don't want to be naked here." Is that intimacy cherished, loved, protected, or is it played for personal advantage? Is it an intimacy that people can refuse to have if they don't want to be exposed, or don't want to be a party to someone else's exposure? (And that goes off into questions of [fitb] privilege rather handily -- not only the confidence of being able to lay a hand on a shirt, but the ability to not notice when other people are stripped, to step away from the whole question.)

My experience of d/s situations is that they make these reactions, the responses to power and exposure, all very immediate and present. [ profile] oneironaut and I exchanged "You know who you really are when" comments about it -- the whole question of whether or not the jump when granted intense, extensive power over another person is towards ma'at or away. It's always, always, always going to be a drug, but there are good trips and bad trips, and good ways of dealing with the chemistry and bad ones.

I come around to my tendency towards fealty models, exchange of powers, interdependent obligations.

And I come around to, sometimes, choosing to be naked beneath everything, because I show myself who I really am.

(Words aren't coming out quite right. Oh well.)

(ETA: This is partly related to discussion linked from [ profile] takingsteps, too.)
I'm watching an argument, mostly.

It's an argument that ten years ago I would have come in on, vehemently, passionately, in the belief that cites and rhetoric could win. In the intervening decade, I've learned that that doesn't actually work so well. Or I've learned that arguing that way means investing too much of myself in a place where I risk losing a handle on it. Or something.

And there's a part of me that misses the ... optimism of the hotheadedness, I guess it is. The sense that I could, in fact, if I just pushed hard enough, cared hard enough, it would be a good enough place to stand to go with this here lever. I regret its passing, even while I recognise what remains is more effective.

And I'm reminded of the thing I posted to rasseff back an age ago, about the feeling that treating things as if they matter is one of those things that doesn't fit in well, that makes people wary and hard to get along with. So there's that sort of weird edgy space in which things matter, but expressing how much they matter ... doesn't help.

I don't have the words for why this all makes me oddly melancholy.
Vaguely religious maundering, on the mystical side of things.

On the development of reasonable scope. )
Because I'm not running away to Montreal or something. :P

Some brooding cut for people who don't feel like listening to me dissect my mind. )
Today I'm thinking that it takes guts to go out and be beautiful in public.

It's much safer to keep the beauty tucked away in the private nooks, only bringing it out to show a few trusted people, if anyone is allowed to see it at all. It's easy to lose it, forget it, misplace it in the corners of the mind.

When I dare to be beautiful, I am exposed: my reality is presented where others might see it, and those others might dismiss it, ignore it, miss it entirely. If I never show it, it can never be rejected.

But there is abundance, there is bounty; this is not a universe of scarcity. I cannot afford to be a miser and hoard away precious things in solitude; I learn to show beauty in private places, to safe people who will not treat it with contempt. I grow, I step forward, I allow myself to be beautiful in moments, in little instants, fleeting eyeblinks. Perhaps someday I will have the guts to be beautiful all the time.

And then I will shake my tail and fill the seven heavens with my thunder.
[ contains self-examination and maunderings about closets, performances, territory, isfet, and being real. ]

Cutting this; I expect it to be longish and extremely self-absorbed. )
they all just nod and sigh, but I made a run at something real and they never even tried.

("Spectators", the Crüxshadows.)

I wonder why ... )
I am becoming increasingly convinced that one of the critical things I think people need is some serious work on dealing with their transgressive elements.

I return to the quote from this weekend, which I didn't get attributed, and google around and still don't get an attribution but a nice phrasing nonetheless: "The perfect law--is the law of liberty--liberty is the freedom to do what is right/righteous--not to be confused with license which is lawlessness."

Cut for rambling explorations of ethics and theology. )
    Well, I see the ones who crawl like moles
    Who for a front would trade their souls,
    A broken mirror's the only hole for them;
    And for you who'd exchange yourselves,
    Just to be somebody else,
    Pretending things you never felt or meant;
    Hey, you don't live what you defend,
    You can't give so you just bend.

(This entry may contain sex, pride, self, power, passion, love, law, knowledge, liberty, and/or wisdom. It may also make no damn sense. Caveat lector. Purchase not refundable without receipt. Offer not valid in some states of mind.)
Pondering the Black Heart of Innocence just a little )

Yeah, so that's a chunk of what's on my mind these days.
None too coherent.

On love and partnership. )
Dealing with mild folkishness and other stupid recon tricks. )

Weirded out by 'the BDSM community' again )

Also, for the amusement of all and sundry, not only am I the sort of person who would say "Your egotism is charming, but slightly confusing" to a partner, I just did.

And I'm out of rice vinegar. So sad.
So this "ask me five questions"/"I ask you five questions" thing is going around again.

Me on questions. )

That being written at last, I'm going to go see if ritual/making kala/pills will make me stop feeling panicky and possibly even induce a cessation of twitching. (This is unrelated to the above entry entirely.)
A bunch of threads of stuff are conspiring to make me ponder again. Funny how threads in various places wind up talking about the same sorts of things. And some of this is why I think I was pointing at something political in rasfc yesterday, not that it seems to have helped. Also, very lengthy and not entirely linear babble.

A quote from the Principia:

    DISORDER is simply unrelated information viewed through some particular grid. But, like "relation", no-relation is a concept. Male, like female, is an idea about sex. To say that male-ness is "absence of female-ness", or vice versa, is a matter of definition and metaphysically arbitrary. The artificial concept of no-relation is the ERISTIC PRINCIPLE.

Male, like female, is an idea about sex. )
Lotta people in various places have been talking about relationshipness in various ways. And I've had a bit of thinking at that I've been doing as a result.

This one mostly from poly-boston-chat: Language bitchiness: things I want specific words for, some of which I actually have some specific words for )
This one mostly from a post on [ profile] polyamory that I couldn't figure out how to reply to: Compartmentalisation? )
This one mostly from a Straight Dope Message Board thread about romantic love: And what is that whole 'romance' thing, anyway?: On Valentine's Day itself )

Amended with more concepts for the word-list 12/2/2003 at 3:20 PM Eastern (-5 GMT I think).


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