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.

What is hope?

As I laid down to sleep a snippet of a thought drifted in. Hope was a flower. And then I fell into dreams. I named a flower hope and watched it bloom and then wilt before my eyes. It brought forth no seeds and thus died. How could this be hope if hope can die?

As I watched the wilted flower, it was turned into the earth to become the rot that nourished a different flower. This one bloomed even bigger and brighter. I saw that there were other flowers around that wilted and died. But this one bloomed and seeded the ground.

In dying it became like the rot before it, nourishment for the next generation of flowers awaiting their chance to bloom and hopefully seed. From its seeds, stronger flowers grew and bloomed. Some seeded and others did not. All in their time became the rot that nourished the roots of the next generation.

This is hope. It lies not in the flower nor in the seed. It lies not in the rot or the ground. It lays in the cycle of life continuing on.

A story of bricks.

I woke up from a dream about bricks. I feel like I’m a well that someone suddenly with fury tossed in a ton of bricks. I dreamed of him again. This time, he drew a line in the sand between us. I stood confused looking at this line. He placed down a single brick on top of that line and looked at me. He spoke words I dare not repeat.

For a time, I stared at the brick, willing it to move off the line. It did not. Then I heard his voice calling over that brick and I looked up. He was on the other side beaconing me to come close and so I did. For a while, it was as if that line and brick were not even there. But when I leaned over, I’d stub and hurt myself on it. I’d see it lying there between us.

Then he layed the second brick beside the first. Once again said words I dare not repeat. This kept repeating, brick by brick. Now I sit beside a wall of bricks knowing it’s too high to lean over, too tall to climb over. I even have the feeling that if asked, he’d say those were bricks I placed myself. If that was the case, then why when I take my hands to remove them, they stay in place?

All I know is that I hear him calling from over the wall. Every time before when I crossed the wall, those bricks would wound me. How long am I supposed to sit and watch the wall rise higher every day? How am I to sit and hear him call out to me from beyond the wall?

I got smart once. Thought a ladder would do the trick. Layed it on the wall and climbed up to the top and called back. The power of his shout shoved the ladder back. I landed in the sand on my rump. I don’t understand. Why call out to me from beyond the wall when you don’t want me to cross it?

Thus I learned to respect the wall no matter the call for me. I’ll plant a hedgerow of roses along the wall and carry on. I don’t understand and I guess it’s unnecessary to respect the wall. My tears have watered the roses well and their blooms will be bright and light. One day if I should chance to look back, I’ll see nothing but roses blooming in the sun.

 

The Oddity of Dreams

Last week I had a dream I still don’t know how to interpret. My dreams are often prophetic or informative. This felt different in a way I had not experienced.

When my father died over a year ago, I spent the next six months having nightmares. Each one reliving the days after my mother died. Each one reliving the abuse at his hands. Each one in perfect detail and recollection. And they hurt. Yet the dreams stopped as abruptly as they started and I breathed a sigh in relief.

Been almost over a year and then I had a dream about my father.  In my dream, I returned to the family home and saw on the door a child’s drawing and pictures taped to the side of the house. The fury and rage that coursed through me should have sizzled me awake or at least into awareness that this was a dream. I opened the front door to see my father alive, healthy and in good spirits. He was surrounded by other people, unknown people as kids ran around, in and out of the house. Even the home was different- bigger, more alive, farm like. There were even goats there in the back yard.

This wasn’t the same man. It was as if I was given a glimpse in the multiverse and saw a version of my father that had made all the right choices and was rewarded for them. Family, love, life, grandchildren, laughter all surrounded him. And I, I was a stranger.

In this dream, I didn’t exist. I nor my sisters were born to him. And I went out to pet the goats, bemused. I was drained of anger. That man was not the one I was angry at. Yet I live and am alive due to his wrong choices.  We don’t get to choose the why of things in life. We do get to choose what to do with the choices we have.

And the goats. Never forget about the goats. I used to dream of taking care of goats once upon a time. They are so cute! And my father had the stock phrase of someone “getting his goat.” I guess in that universe he kept all his goats after all.

What dreams may come….

All the world is a stage…

And at night the play goes on..

Last night I slept fairly badly. Friends needed support and put off quite a few tasks for hours. I watch the long sun rise before my head hits the pillow. Normally four hours of sleep means that I won’t remember my dreams. This night is different.

I drempt the wind had come up howling, bending trees as the drum beat never waned. And my tent, was flying, upside down as it tried to anchor itself to the underbelly of the trees. And I standing in the middle of all this wind and fury felt no fear and laughed.