Once more into the breach, dear friends…

This is round four with Writer World boot-camp. Just got lesson 1 tonight. I get to write it this time, the worst writer in the system. I’m starting to think we’ve all taken the basics at this point. Why, oh why, does it take us four to five times as much head pounding to get it in?

Once more, we go to war, not with words and lessons therein, but in ourselves to battle the daemons of the past that drift like smoke on our chard remains of life.
Once more, we go to war, to win! To Write! To Express! To Feel! To Bleed!

Henry V, Act III, Scene I
[Once more unto the breach, dear friends]

William Shakespeare, 1564 – 1616

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead!
In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man,
As modest stillness and humility;
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger:
Stiffen the sinews, conjure up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage:
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let it pry through the portage of the head,
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o’erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O’erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill’d with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide;
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English,
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought,
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument.
Dishonour not your mothers: now attest,
That those whom you call’d fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture: let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot:
Follow your spirit; and upon this charge,
Cry ‘God for Harry! England! and Saint George!’

The end of a Dream

All things come to an end, eventually. But for us, this dream we’ve had, I only say we ‘cause being a multiple-it’s really Isa’s dream, sense too young to know any better ends today. Today I put aside her dream of power exchange once and for all.

It’s my job to protect us. I take it serious enough that I don’t do this lightly. I no longer see any way to engage in any power exchange relationship of the kind Isa desires with any measure of safety. I don’t see any way for a part of us to stand as a slave to someone separate from the rest of us. For it is I who am held accountable to all the actions and promises any one of us makes and if I must use that veto power then I need to veto this ahead of time, for all time. As I am not willing to be a slave, as I am not willing to let go of limits, expectations of civility and respect, and the ability to say no, I am out.

I know it is possible for us as a system to be submissive, slave even. I have proof dating six years back of this but that man in all the ways that are important has moved on. Isa needed more than he was willing to give her and her choices were unfortunate. She broke trust and broke herself in the process. I am responsible for it all. The buck stops with me.

I don’t like the idea of cutting away this major part of Isa. But it is a dream deferred if not completely impossible. I don’t see how anyone will be able to scale the walls I’m building now.

Isa knew her Master would have to be extraordinary. That much hasn’t changed. Now the probability of that man existing has narrowed to a degree that makes this a fruitless prospect. You could consider this as me quiting. I think of it as re-pointing all of us to a different goal that we can single mindedly pursue. A Master is no longer our life goal.

Isa isn’t doing too good. I’m stuck out here without her. She’s quiet, too quiet. Right now it’s just a lot of self care, placing her back in places she’s always felt safe, turning tunes on that make her feel safe. This betrayal will take time to get over. It’s just not worth it.

All this upset, all this work and struggle and lessons gained just to face the final lesson, to learn to let go. So I’m forcing us to let go of a dream. I can’t let any of us hold on to the past. I need us to walk into the future happily and hopeful. The past is just gonna drag us down.

I have large dreams that don’t have a damn thing to do with sex or relationships. I will bury our noses into those. Hard work will keep the daemons of the past at bay, long enough for them to evaporate.

Odd thought to all of this, is that there is no way for anyone to master us until I master all of me. And when I do master me, what need I of a master then? For it has always been out of love that Isa knelt. She may love but never kneel until I can first. And that, sadly, my friends, will never happen.