So he called tonight, out of the blue, said he just wanted to catch up. We talked about ORF, and upcoming events, and SXSW and his plans for the weekend. It was good to hear his voice, but it was also difficult.
I managed to maintain some boundaries and not jump into my pattern of volunteering to go help clean TWK or anything like that. So that was good.
It was difficult though. Difficult to hear his voice and not sink back into that magical place of bliss, not check out hypnotically and just let that voice wash over me once again, that voice, that incredible voice.
A week, hell maybe the day before we broke up, maybe that morning, I'm not sure anymore, we had this kind of cute conversation about whether I would trade his voice or his body for someone else. Most of the options I chose his voice. When we got to Elvis, it was more of a toss up. That's about as close to the perfection of SJ's voice as they come.
I did make one error when we spoke. As a way to carry the conversation forward, I asked him about his weekend, what he did. He told me he went to Galveston. I know it wasn't to visit the coast as he is fairly anti-water. He said it was to "break his pattern". Which I can understand, after all, Sunday was a holy day for us, the day we spent together, immersed in one another. As much as possible, we tried to hold that without allowing the outside world to enter. Oftentimes, it did, and sometimes, that was okay. Like ROPE Sundays and other events. We knew what we had to do and took the time in our rituals to connect.
I say it was an error because I know he went there to be with someone else. It's none of my business what he did or with whom and intellectually I know that. Emotionally it is a bitter pill to swallow. Emotionally it hurts to know that so soon after our end he has a new beginning.
And yet, it is okay too. I will have new beginnings eventually and some may come naturally and some may feel forced and some may be old friends with new aspects added. I don't know what they might be, but my unconscious mind will sort that out when the time is right.
It's just not right for me yet.
LA posted this tonight, "The only thing sweeter than surrendering to hypnotic control is when the "holy shit" awesome melts into passive unthinking bliss."
That is something I may never know again. At this point, I can't imagine ever being hypnotized again. And it's my favorite kink, one of my favorite things in the whole world and right now it seems like an absolute impossibility. As if I may never be able to let go and let someone into my mind to mold and create new things in my unconscious the way he did. It's things like this, these realizations, that make me weep for wont of him, as I weep now.
These last two days have been full of weeping. Tonight was my first taste of any anger and there was no need for it.
I know I will be happy when he finds someone better suited to him than I was, when he finds the missing piece of himself and embraces it without fear or reservation, when he opens up to another and becomes complete, things he could not do with me. I truly do want happiness for him.
Now, I also want happiness and fulfillment and joy and contentment and commitment and harmony for myself. Not just immersing myself in another in an attempt to become what they want, but being my own person, self-realized and self-actualized, with a purpose and passion of my own choosing.
Perhaps that means I won't ever be hypnotized again, perhaps at this point I simply can't be. That would be my unconscious mind setting its own boundaries. It certainly is not something I will attempt to seek.
Tonight's change was creating a profile for OKCupid, a bit reactionary maybe, but it was good to talk about me and what I want. That's not something I've ever been particularly comfortable doing. I like telling stories and I love being the center of attention as an entertainer, but even that feels like it isn't about me, but about the enjoyment of the audience.
I survived the call and I'm sure there will be many more things that feel like survival before they feel ok and before they feel like thriving. One step at a time.
"Galveston, oh Galveston" ~ KM Kern
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
It's been a great and trying week.
Monday was work, work and more work. Then I went by TWK to retrieve some items SJ donated to my son. Then home for a late dinner and watching TV before going to bed.
Tuesday was awesome - it was my 46th birthday! I started the day by dying my hair (again) and then got a mani and pedi at Pro Nails in my neighborhood. Then dashed off to meet a dear friend for luncheon. I arrived a few minutes early and took that few minutes to shop, just to wander the aisles, of Burlington. Not one of my usual haunts though I always seem to find some little thing I can use.
I actually bought my first piece of commercially produced wall art in 20 years. My house is filled with original works of art - paintings, sculpture, pottery, mirrors, photographs - and they all elicit some particular emotion from me, from my heart and soul. Each has its special story.
This piece has no story. There is almost nothing to it. Bright red peonies on a mustard yellow background. I wasn't looking for a piece to "replace" the painting I had done with such a surge of energy the morning after I met him. Just like the painting, the discovery of this piece just happened. It was there and for now, it is here. I don't know if it will remain long, or if it matters. What matters is that I'm happy with it hanging on the wall, complimenting the three African sculptures which grace the wall. I am happy with it.
This shopping excursion took maybe 10 minutes and then I walked through the parking lot, tucked my purchase away in the car and met my friend for lunch. We had Indian food. It's long been one of my favorites, one of my favorite restaurants, a place I used to frequent, and it has been far too long since I ate there. This was very special. I ate well. I enjoyed each bite and savored the conversation.
At one point, I referenced an old movie, one based on an Eugene O'Neill play, called Strange Interlude. The movie was made in the mid thirties and my delightful companion knew it, she knew the movie and the play. I am simply delighted to spend time with her because the conversation is always so engaging and her interests are so vast and varied that conversing on almost any topic is possible. She is a wonder and a joy.
After a lengthy luncheon and a wonderful conversation, we parted ways and I returned home to get ready for Karaoke. I love karaoke, love to sing and delight in the sharing of touchstone moments in the songs we recall fondly. I love that sense of shared cultural intelligence, like threads woven into our communal fabric.
We went to the High Ball on South Lamar. It's a bowling alley, a restaurant, a night club and has private karaoke rooms upstairs. I chose the psychedelic room. Very 60's, very upbeat and felt it was the perfect setting for this little party. Friends arrived, with the lovely LA acting as host, and before too long, I was singing. I sang most of the night, rarely relinquishing the mike for more than a brief interlude while someone else led the festivities.
I had come prepared, prepared with a list of songs I wanted to sing. This was both a tribute concert and a comeback in one set list.
I started off with "Lonely Teardrops" and "Tracks of my Tears" and moved to "I know I'll never love this way again", which brought the only bout of crying, wracked by sobs, unable to sing moment of the night. Strange, I had heard it in my mind for the ten days prior, though it has never held any particular meaning for me. Here I was, imbuing this song with the weight of my loss. This crushing loss which even now brings tears over the brim and spilling down my cheeks. (I've taken to carrying handkerchiefs with me for the tears, not bandannas, handkerchiefs)
With hugs from dear friends, I marshaled on. LA sang some Styx which delighted the crowd. She had also given thought to what she would sing and brought with her the strength she wanted to impart on me. It was magical.
I ran through a dozen more songs as more friends arrived. For the last time, I sang "I will follow him", the song I sang for him whenever we were at karaoke, and often times at his home it would be my companion as I joyfully served. I immediately followed that with "You don't own me..." but since it wasn't on karaoke, I sang it a capella. During the course of the evening, I chose to sing a few songs we couldn't find this way.
On my list was "Love Me" by Elvis. It wasn't available so I sang "She's not you" instead, then launched into "Love me" on my own. "Treat me like a fool, treat me mean and cruel, but love me. I'm begging on my knees, darling won't you please, please love me." And I wished with all my heart that he would walk through the door, take me in his arms and take me back into his heart. But some birthday wishes aren't meant to come true.
It was time for "Me & Bobby McGee" and I knew I had to sing it soon simply because I might lose my voice if I waited to exhale this powerhouse from my spirit. I sing this all the time. It is my traveling song, driving the streets of Austin, Janis rides shotgun and we sing. We sing at the top of our lungs and pour out our hearts onto the bitter pavement. It is a spiritual cleansing to sing this song, to embrace it with every molecule and live it in that moment. "I would trade all of my tomorrows for one single yesterday."
Friends were snacking, laughing, singing along, jumping whenever the flash from LA's camera emblazoned the room with light. They sang and as the afternoon turned to evening, we went into survivor mode. We sang female empowerment songs from "I am woman, hear me roar" to "You're so vain" to "Survivor" and finished the night as it should be, all of us on our feet, dancing and singing with no thought for a microphone, just raucously devouring "I will survive" before the lights went out.
It was a magical night. It was the tincture I needed to take. I let out a host of emotions which had been leaking out through a pinhole in a bottle, but on this night the bottle shattered and I let it all hang out. We all did. We hugged, we cried, we sang. We celebrated both what was and whatever is to come.
True friends will support you and commiserate without the need to disparage in any way that which has come before. These true friends did just that. They held me, the life preservers of my loss and my sorrow as well as my hopes and dreams, and allowed me to swim in this sea of emotion, buoyed by their strength, their presence, their friendship. For this and so much more, I am truly grateful. And I'm 46!
Monday was work, work and more work. Then I went by TWK to retrieve some items SJ donated to my son. Then home for a late dinner and watching TV before going to bed.
Tuesday was awesome - it was my 46th birthday! I started the day by dying my hair (again) and then got a mani and pedi at Pro Nails in my neighborhood. Then dashed off to meet a dear friend for luncheon. I arrived a few minutes early and took that few minutes to shop, just to wander the aisles, of Burlington. Not one of my usual haunts though I always seem to find some little thing I can use.
I actually bought my first piece of commercially produced wall art in 20 years. My house is filled with original works of art - paintings, sculpture, pottery, mirrors, photographs - and they all elicit some particular emotion from me, from my heart and soul. Each has its special story.
This piece has no story. There is almost nothing to it. Bright red peonies on a mustard yellow background. I wasn't looking for a piece to "replace" the painting I had done with such a surge of energy the morning after I met him. Just like the painting, the discovery of this piece just happened. It was there and for now, it is here. I don't know if it will remain long, or if it matters. What matters is that I'm happy with it hanging on the wall, complimenting the three African sculptures which grace the wall. I am happy with it.
This shopping excursion took maybe 10 minutes and then I walked through the parking lot, tucked my purchase away in the car and met my friend for lunch. We had Indian food. It's long been one of my favorites, one of my favorite restaurants, a place I used to frequent, and it has been far too long since I ate there. This was very special. I ate well. I enjoyed each bite and savored the conversation.
At one point, I referenced an old movie, one based on an Eugene O'Neill play, called Strange Interlude. The movie was made in the mid thirties and my delightful companion knew it, she knew the movie and the play. I am simply delighted to spend time with her because the conversation is always so engaging and her interests are so vast and varied that conversing on almost any topic is possible. She is a wonder and a joy.
After a lengthy luncheon and a wonderful conversation, we parted ways and I returned home to get ready for Karaoke. I love karaoke, love to sing and delight in the sharing of touchstone moments in the songs we recall fondly. I love that sense of shared cultural intelligence, like threads woven into our communal fabric.
We went to the High Ball on South Lamar. It's a bowling alley, a restaurant, a night club and has private karaoke rooms upstairs. I chose the psychedelic room. Very 60's, very upbeat and felt it was the perfect setting for this little party. Friends arrived, with the lovely LA acting as host, and before too long, I was singing. I sang most of the night, rarely relinquishing the mike for more than a brief interlude while someone else led the festivities.
I had come prepared, prepared with a list of songs I wanted to sing. This was both a tribute concert and a comeback in one set list.
I started off with "Lonely Teardrops" and "Tracks of my Tears" and moved to "I know I'll never love this way again", which brought the only bout of crying, wracked by sobs, unable to sing moment of the night. Strange, I had heard it in my mind for the ten days prior, though it has never held any particular meaning for me. Here I was, imbuing this song with the weight of my loss. This crushing loss which even now brings tears over the brim and spilling down my cheeks. (I've taken to carrying handkerchiefs with me for the tears, not bandannas, handkerchiefs)
With hugs from dear friends, I marshaled on. LA sang some Styx which delighted the crowd. She had also given thought to what she would sing and brought with her the strength she wanted to impart on me. It was magical.
I ran through a dozen more songs as more friends arrived. For the last time, I sang "I will follow him", the song I sang for him whenever we were at karaoke, and often times at his home it would be my companion as I joyfully served. I immediately followed that with "You don't own me..." but since it wasn't on karaoke, I sang it a capella. During the course of the evening, I chose to sing a few songs we couldn't find this way.
On my list was "Love Me" by Elvis. It wasn't available so I sang "She's not you" instead, then launched into "Love me" on my own. "Treat me like a fool, treat me mean and cruel, but love me. I'm begging on my knees, darling won't you please, please love me." And I wished with all my heart that he would walk through the door, take me in his arms and take me back into his heart. But some birthday wishes aren't meant to come true.
It was time for "Me & Bobby McGee" and I knew I had to sing it soon simply because I might lose my voice if I waited to exhale this powerhouse from my spirit. I sing this all the time. It is my traveling song, driving the streets of Austin, Janis rides shotgun and we sing. We sing at the top of our lungs and pour out our hearts onto the bitter pavement. It is a spiritual cleansing to sing this song, to embrace it with every molecule and live it in that moment. "I would trade all of my tomorrows for one single yesterday."
Friends were snacking, laughing, singing along, jumping whenever the flash from LA's camera emblazoned the room with light. They sang and as the afternoon turned to evening, we went into survivor mode. We sang female empowerment songs from "I am woman, hear me roar" to "You're so vain" to "Survivor" and finished the night as it should be, all of us on our feet, dancing and singing with no thought for a microphone, just raucously devouring "I will survive" before the lights went out.
It was a magical night. It was the tincture I needed to take. I let out a host of emotions which had been leaking out through a pinhole in a bottle, but on this night the bottle shattered and I let it all hang out. We all did. We hugged, we cried, we sang. We celebrated both what was and whatever is to come.
True friends will support you and commiserate without the need to disparage in any way that which has come before. These true friends did just that. They held me, the life preservers of my loss and my sorrow as well as my hopes and dreams, and allowed me to swim in this sea of emotion, buoyed by their strength, their presence, their friendship. For this and so much more, I am truly grateful. And I'm 46!
Motivation comes from many sources. Last night, I received an unexpected and most welcome motivation in the form of a new nickname. I am the "Nuclear Bomb of Awesome."
My best girlfriend, LA, anointed me thus, and I love it.
This past week has seen a range of emotions. I've experienced incredible highs and the depths of melancholy and depression. Regret reared its ugly head and pain was present more often than I care to admit. Loneliness and longing ebbed in like a fog creeping into my conscious. But there was happiness and joy and there was movement forward and there was and is a sense of direction. (Does anyone else hear "The Race is On"?)
There has also been a sense of ownership. Of me owning me. This is new, almost forbidden, an uncharted territory waiting to be explored. It is scary and thrilling and daunting. Yet it is also empowering, beautiful, inspiring. It is all of these at the same time. I hold all of these in my hands and know that it is possible to experience all of these emotions, and a host of others, within me, within my grasp, and look towards my future with less hesitation and more integration.
I am becoming me.
For so long all, each and every part, of my becoming was for him. It was both from and for him. And now, that motivation is gone, it know longer exists. I've been through a spate of erroneous assumptions, things like, "if I just accomplish X which he wanted - then he will want me back", but the reality is that we had our time and whatever is left undone for HIM, will remain undone for him, for that time that reality is ended.
What I am finding interesting though, is the knowledge that some of what is unaccomplished are things I actually want for myself. So then I can turn off the whispered recriminations and wholesale disposal and remember that what I want matters. What I want matters. What I believe matters. What I desire matters. What I need matters.
This is my journey and I choose the path based on my own beliefs, based on my own needs, and based on this, these things, I can chart my own course and seek out that which enlightens me.
My best girlfriend, LA, anointed me thus, and I love it.
This past week has seen a range of emotions. I've experienced incredible highs and the depths of melancholy and depression. Regret reared its ugly head and pain was present more often than I care to admit. Loneliness and longing ebbed in like a fog creeping into my conscious. But there was happiness and joy and there was movement forward and there was and is a sense of direction. (Does anyone else hear "The Race is On"?)
There has also been a sense of ownership. Of me owning me. This is new, almost forbidden, an uncharted territory waiting to be explored. It is scary and thrilling and daunting. Yet it is also empowering, beautiful, inspiring. It is all of these at the same time. I hold all of these in my hands and know that it is possible to experience all of these emotions, and a host of others, within me, within my grasp, and look towards my future with less hesitation and more integration.
I am becoming me.
For so long all, each and every part, of my becoming was for him. It was both from and for him. And now, that motivation is gone, it know longer exists. I've been through a spate of erroneous assumptions, things like, "if I just accomplish X which he wanted - then he will want me back", but the reality is that we had our time and whatever is left undone for HIM, will remain undone for him, for that time that reality is ended.
What I am finding interesting though, is the knowledge that some of what is unaccomplished are things I actually want for myself. So then I can turn off the whispered recriminations and wholesale disposal and remember that what I want matters. What I want matters. What I believe matters. What I desire matters. What I need matters.
This is my journey and I choose the path based on my own beliefs, based on my own needs, and based on this, these things, I can chart my own course and seek out that which enlightens me.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Today has been a mixed bag. I was able to get a few things done, but have also spent too much time on the couch. I think this vacillation is just one aspect of accepting the changes which are occurring. I have enough energy for some things and then it wanes and I am left bereft again.
It is so easy sometimes to quiet my mind and get things done and at other times, my mind races like a film being rewound and I see so clearly where I should have chosen the blue pill instead of the red pill. Would that I could be reinserted and wipe this painful two weeks away.
But that isn't reality and the unfortunate reality is that we are no longer together. WE are no longer. It is just SJ and it is just me. Just him. Just me.
We no longer will share that infinite connection,a connection which bound us so strongly that I knew when he was sleeping, I knew when he was awake. I was Santa Claus in pigtails. Yes, I knew when he had been bad or good, or at least when he held that perception of himself, his day, his thoughts, his words, his deeds. Across the 20 miles which separate us, across the span of time, I could feel him and his moods and be insanely happy for him or overwhelmed with concern.
And then there came a time when I was less attuned, when I was less intentional in my service, when the cares and concerns from my own life took precedence over the needs, wants and desires of the one I served. And that time lasted for far too long a period.
While SJ says this was not the cause or primal cause or only cause of our demise, I am having trouble letting go of that part of the past, that part that fills me with the most gut-wrenching regret.
But I try, each day, to let it go. I try with each breath to renew my soul and restore some of that faith in myself. I know I will need it, strength, faith, belief, in order to persevere. In between times of energy, I rest and try to divert my immediate thoughts into the pages of a good book or film. Sometimes it works as it did last night with LA. Today my success in that arena has been spotty.
I will try to rest. I will rest, continuing to look for other avenues to fortify my will and strengthen my resolve. Good friends and good conversation helps too.
breathing in and out ~ KM Kern
It is so easy sometimes to quiet my mind and get things done and at other times, my mind races like a film being rewound and I see so clearly where I should have chosen the blue pill instead of the red pill. Would that I could be reinserted and wipe this painful two weeks away.
But that isn't reality and the unfortunate reality is that we are no longer together. WE are no longer. It is just SJ and it is just me. Just him. Just me.
We no longer will share that infinite connection,a connection which bound us so strongly that I knew when he was sleeping, I knew when he was awake. I was Santa Claus in pigtails. Yes, I knew when he had been bad or good, or at least when he held that perception of himself, his day, his thoughts, his words, his deeds. Across the 20 miles which separate us, across the span of time, I could feel him and his moods and be insanely happy for him or overwhelmed with concern.
And then there came a time when I was less attuned, when I was less intentional in my service, when the cares and concerns from my own life took precedence over the needs, wants and desires of the one I served. And that time lasted for far too long a period.
While SJ says this was not the cause or primal cause or only cause of our demise, I am having trouble letting go of that part of the past, that part that fills me with the most gut-wrenching regret.
But I try, each day, to let it go. I try with each breath to renew my soul and restore some of that faith in myself. I know I will need it, strength, faith, belief, in order to persevere. In between times of energy, I rest and try to divert my immediate thoughts into the pages of a good book or film. Sometimes it works as it did last night with LA. Today my success in that arena has been spotty.
I will try to rest. I will rest, continuing to look for other avenues to fortify my will and strengthen my resolve. Good friends and good conversation helps too.
breathing in and out ~ KM Kern
Finding the good. One 'good' which immediately jumps out at me about this ending is that I will have more time to spend with my girlfriend, LA. She is intelligent and outspoken and beautiful. I love her mind, I love her curiosity, her wit and her breasts. She has the most beautiful breasts.
Tonight, she invited me to her home to share a movie with me. Some of you might have seen it as it was nominated for an Academy Award this year. It is the latest offering from Woody Allen, a delightful film called "Midnight in Paris".
It was meant to be, this movie and me, as so much of it is the unfulfilled dreams of my childhood. I too, want to go to Paris to live, to write, to paint, to create - to be surrounded by beauty on a scale unimaginable and that says a lot from one with such an astounding imagination.
A Parisian night in the rain, listening to Cole Porter, discussing art for arts sake and falling in love. Just the thought of it sends my imagination flying.
daydreaming at night ~ KM Kern
Tonight, she invited me to her home to share a movie with me. Some of you might have seen it as it was nominated for an Academy Award this year. It is the latest offering from Woody Allen, a delightful film called "Midnight in Paris".
It was meant to be, this movie and me, as so much of it is the unfulfilled dreams of my childhood. I too, want to go to Paris to live, to write, to paint, to create - to be surrounded by beauty on a scale unimaginable and that says a lot from one with such an astounding imagination.
A Parisian night in the rain, listening to Cole Porter, discussing art for arts sake and falling in love. Just the thought of it sends my imagination flying.
daydreaming at night ~ KM Kern
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Tonight's change was very uplifting. Difficult but uplifting. I took every piece of clothing SJ ever gave me as well as the pieces I had purchased to wear for him and put them away. They are all stored neatly in a box which will both preserve them and remove them from my day to day options.
No more girly dresses, no more cute t-shirts, no more footie pajamas, no more gothic lolita. I doubt I will ever be 6 again.
Being 6, allowing the little girl inside of me to 'come out and play', was very enlightening for me, very entertaining for him, but for now she must be put away, along with her dresses, her coloring books, and her little bows and ribbons.
I also took down and tucked away two very important paintings in my home. The first was the one I painted immediately, compulsively, upon waking after the first night I met SJ. That was a magical night. One I will never forget. The painting itself is a chaotic dream of swirling miasma. I love it, have loved it, and have enjoyed looking upon it and remembering that night. I wanted nothing more than to sit with him all evening but didn't want to take up his time. After all, he was the host and this was his birthday party. Every 15 minutes or so, I would walk through the party looking for him, chancing upon him, and sit and converse for a few moments. This was after that magical introduction underneath the light in the living room. This was after that first serendipitous scene under the bar in the rope room. This was bathing in the aftermath of what was a momentous first meeting.
The second painting was the first gift SJ ever gave me. It was a spontaneous gift. We were walking through Antique Marketplace, which, in its original incarnation, I was once upon a time the manager. We looked at boots and furniture and dinner ware and all sorts of things. As SJ pulled off a pair of boots, he gazed across the way and asked "Would you like that?" I glanced at a wall of hangings, portraits, paintings and photographs and knew immediately which one had caught his eye.
Black framed on a red background, a 40's style pin-up, demonic siren sits. Below her the words are emblazoned, "Good Girl".
I turned back to him, nodding my head over and over again, "Yes, Sir, please." I looked up at him through my 6 year old eyes, awed at the idea that he might buy me this painting, this gift. For the 2 1/2 years since I've received it, it has hung over my bed and has been a part of my nightly ritual to gaze upon her and appreciate her. For I do appreciate all that he has given me, truly, and now it is time for her and so many other things to be tucked away, to be preserved, so that in the future, I may retrieve them and gaze upon them once again.
I have retained the use of many things he has given me; various kitchen implements, a flat-screen TV, and a pair of earrings. The kitchen items, pots, bowls, a mixer and so on, I will enjoy and use them as they were intended to be used. The TV, well, quite frankly my son would kill me in my sleep if I put it away. I do enjoy it too. It's quite lovely.
The earrings, well, they are special to me and I've decided that I'd like to continue wearing them for a long while. To keep them with me, these will be my immediate touchstone to SJ. They are light green and lovely and he purchased them for me at the Hope Farmer's Market They are a reminder of so many different pieces of our life, so simple and yet imbued with so much meaning.
For all I am and will ever be, I thank you for your contributions to my consciousness.
Love ~ KM Kern
No more girly dresses, no more cute t-shirts, no more footie pajamas, no more gothic lolita. I doubt I will ever be 6 again.
Being 6, allowing the little girl inside of me to 'come out and play', was very enlightening for me, very entertaining for him, but for now she must be put away, along with her dresses, her coloring books, and her little bows and ribbons.
I also took down and tucked away two very important paintings in my home. The first was the one I painted immediately, compulsively, upon waking after the first night I met SJ. That was a magical night. One I will never forget. The painting itself is a chaotic dream of swirling miasma. I love it, have loved it, and have enjoyed looking upon it and remembering that night. I wanted nothing more than to sit with him all evening but didn't want to take up his time. After all, he was the host and this was his birthday party. Every 15 minutes or so, I would walk through the party looking for him, chancing upon him, and sit and converse for a few moments. This was after that magical introduction underneath the light in the living room. This was after that first serendipitous scene under the bar in the rope room. This was bathing in the aftermath of what was a momentous first meeting.
The second painting was the first gift SJ ever gave me. It was a spontaneous gift. We were walking through Antique Marketplace, which, in its original incarnation, I was once upon a time the manager. We looked at boots and furniture and dinner ware and all sorts of things. As SJ pulled off a pair of boots, he gazed across the way and asked "Would you like that?" I glanced at a wall of hangings, portraits, paintings and photographs and knew immediately which one had caught his eye.
Black framed on a red background, a 40's style pin-up, demonic siren sits. Below her the words are emblazoned, "Good Girl".
I turned back to him, nodding my head over and over again, "Yes, Sir, please." I looked up at him through my 6 year old eyes, awed at the idea that he might buy me this painting, this gift. For the 2 1/2 years since I've received it, it has hung over my bed and has been a part of my nightly ritual to gaze upon her and appreciate her. For I do appreciate all that he has given me, truly, and now it is time for her and so many other things to be tucked away, to be preserved, so that in the future, I may retrieve them and gaze upon them once again.
I have retained the use of many things he has given me; various kitchen implements, a flat-screen TV, and a pair of earrings. The kitchen items, pots, bowls, a mixer and so on, I will enjoy and use them as they were intended to be used. The TV, well, quite frankly my son would kill me in my sleep if I put it away. I do enjoy it too. It's quite lovely.
The earrings, well, they are special to me and I've decided that I'd like to continue wearing them for a long while. To keep them with me, these will be my immediate touchstone to SJ. They are light green and lovely and he purchased them for me at the Hope Farmer's Market They are a reminder of so many different pieces of our life, so simple and yet imbued with so much meaning.
For all I am and will ever be, I thank you for your contributions to my consciousness.
Love ~ KM Kern
One of the biggest and most far reaching changes I am experiencing is the realization that I must make my own choices. This is big because I don't have any idea what I actually like or prefer at this time. Everything I am has been created, shaped and formed to become what he wants me to be, what he wanted me to be.
I can remember before SJ, that I was fairly neutral on chocolate - milk, dark, white - they each had their place and time and I don't remember having a stated or distinct preference for one over the other. Then, our first Christmas together, someone gave me a bar of dark chocolate and SJ said "That's good. She loves dark chocolate." I can remember an immediate internal shift and thought "I love dark chocolate!"
Call it brainwashing or training or anything else. It doesn't matter. All that mattered for me for the past 4 1/2 years is that if he said it, then it was. His words spoke directly to my unconscious mind and created a world in which my every thought, conscious or unconscious, was for the purpose of aligning my will with his. And so it was.
I have no idea if I like a bitter salad dressing, less oil and more vinegar. I have no idea if I like tomatoes, alone they still taste like raspberries to me.
I know I enjoyed music before SJ, I know I listened to a lot of the same music before we met as we did when we were together, and yet, am I listening with the same ear? Is it my taste or his taste?
For years, I have stated that if a girl can do anything but kneel she should. If you can walk away, you should. This is not easy. It isn't easy to be a slave and it isn't easy to discover who you are when your time as a slave has ended.
The pervasiveness of his influence may never fully be known or come to a conscious awareness. This leg of the journey will be incredibly lengthy, difficult and fraught with uncertainty. When I talked to him of this, he told me it sounded like an exciting adventure.
For one who has been so fearless in so many aspects of life to be afraid in the face of the decision to shave or not to shave, is very disheartening. The paradigm has shifted and I can no longer use the formatted "What would Master prefer? What would Master choose? What would Master do?" as my guiding principle.
Now, the guiding principle must be "What is best for me? What do I like? How will this benefit me?"
I know that by making these decisions with intention is key. It would not be beneficial to simply react and choose the opposite of what SJ would choose. I move forward by making choices with a bigger picture in mind and that bigger picture is about serving myself first. That's something I've never done before. I can't remember ever putting myself first. I can't remember ever saying "my needs are what is most important". I'm just not wired that way, wasn't raised that way and making that shift will be one of the most difficult and challenging things I've ever done.
Yet it is necessary for me to move forward, to put this relationship in my past and discover all the wonderful things about myself which have long been dormant. The time is now and my future is for me.
Resolutely speaking ~ KM Kern
I can remember before SJ, that I was fairly neutral on chocolate - milk, dark, white - they each had their place and time and I don't remember having a stated or distinct preference for one over the other. Then, our first Christmas together, someone gave me a bar of dark chocolate and SJ said "That's good. She loves dark chocolate." I can remember an immediate internal shift and thought "I love dark chocolate!"
Call it brainwashing or training or anything else. It doesn't matter. All that mattered for me for the past 4 1/2 years is that if he said it, then it was. His words spoke directly to my unconscious mind and created a world in which my every thought, conscious or unconscious, was for the purpose of aligning my will with his. And so it was.
I have no idea if I like a bitter salad dressing, less oil and more vinegar. I have no idea if I like tomatoes, alone they still taste like raspberries to me.
I know I enjoyed music before SJ, I know I listened to a lot of the same music before we met as we did when we were together, and yet, am I listening with the same ear? Is it my taste or his taste?
For years, I have stated that if a girl can do anything but kneel she should. If you can walk away, you should. This is not easy. It isn't easy to be a slave and it isn't easy to discover who you are when your time as a slave has ended.
The pervasiveness of his influence may never fully be known or come to a conscious awareness. This leg of the journey will be incredibly lengthy, difficult and fraught with uncertainty. When I talked to him of this, he told me it sounded like an exciting adventure.
For one who has been so fearless in so many aspects of life to be afraid in the face of the decision to shave or not to shave, is very disheartening. The paradigm has shifted and I can no longer use the formatted "What would Master prefer? What would Master choose? What would Master do?" as my guiding principle.
Now, the guiding principle must be "What is best for me? What do I like? How will this benefit me?"
I know that by making these decisions with intention is key. It would not be beneficial to simply react and choose the opposite of what SJ would choose. I move forward by making choices with a bigger picture in mind and that bigger picture is about serving myself first. That's something I've never done before. I can't remember ever putting myself first. I can't remember ever saying "my needs are what is most important". I'm just not wired that way, wasn't raised that way and making that shift will be one of the most difficult and challenging things I've ever done.
Yet it is necessary for me to move forward, to put this relationship in my past and discover all the wonderful things about myself which have long been dormant. The time is now and my future is for me.
Resolutely speaking ~ KM Kern
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