My mind is fairly burbling like the brew in a witch's cauldron. Went to a meeting of the GMSMA Program Committee this evening. Coming up in a few weeks is a Wednesday evening program on S/M and spirituality. Past President will almost certainly be one of the presenters, and he is also the coordinator. The ideas flying around the table were wonderful, any one of them worth a chapter in the book I hope I write some day...

The Shamanic aspects of being a Top
...being healer, magician, guide to the sacred, initiator, priest... And I think about Henri Knouwen's book, The Wounded Healer, how bringing healing can only be done by one who has himself been wounded, and bound his own wounds, keeping them ever with him. The sacrifice of being a healer is that you are never healed yourself, as to be healed would mean giving up the ability to heal. The Healer lives with his loneliness, brokenness, and incompleteness, so that he may bring compassion and unity and completion to those around him.
The experience of the bottom as the Journey of the Hero
...the great hero myths in all cultures follow a similar pattern:
The miraculous birth fortold (the Christmas star, Moses in the bullrushes)
Early childhood signs and wonders that set the hero apart as having an ultramundane destiny (the infant Hercules strangled two serpents that Hera had sent into his cradle, the boy Christ teaching the scholars in the Temple)
The Calling, leading to a departure from the earthly father and home out into the wide world to pursue that ultramundane destiny (Jesus' baptism, the calling of Jesus' disciples, those Greek heroes that learn that they are the offspring of the gods, Prince Siddharta who leaves his home)
The Time of Fasting and Prayer in preparation (Buddha under the lotus, Jesus in the desert, Moses in the desert)
The Temptation (Nikos Kazantzakas got it right: the true temptation is to live a quiet life in the bosom of your family, to deny your calling)
Trials, Battles, Miracles (Ullysses, Hercules and his twelve labors, the miracles of Christ... During this time, the hero is refined and tested and gains wisdom and often followers.)
Often, this is thought to be the end of the story. But it's not. Because then...
The Hero Dies and Goes to Hell. (Christ, Orpheus, Ullyses, Dante) Hell can be symbolic of plunging into the subconscious. But basically, it's Hell. You contend with your Demons. In the Christian story, the crucifixion and death of Jesus' mean that everything he believed and stood for (love is greater than hatred, weakness is more beautiful than strength, the hungry will be fed and the poor will have riches everlasting) was a wrong. It doesn't work that way in the world.

But, that's not the end of the story either. Nobody stays in Hell. There is the
Return from Hell, the Resurrection, the coming back to life, the ultimate Victory.

This is followed by Apotheosis: the hero becomes a god (Hercules, Jesus) or becomes identified with his god/father, or surpasses his god/father. (Again in the Christ-story, God raised Jesus from the dead, making all those things that died with him God's things, God's own project.)

And Past President describes architypes: Warrior, Scholar/Sage, Magician. I haven't thought much about these, but it would make for fruitful contemplation.

And other ideas and categories for the Spirituality Program were discussed. For example, Sacred Space. That, essentially, is what the dungeon or playspace is. (Bottoms on AOL so frequently ask, "Do you have a dungeon?" Also probably the underlying reason why so much time and attention at Inferno is spent 'securing the perimeter.")

It occurred to me (I almost want to say, "It came to me in a dream," but I'm not sure if that's true, although I have had some wild dreams lately. That I can't recall, of course) that I know what I want to submit for my fantasy if I go to Inferno this year: I want to be annihilated and then resurrected. But, I realize, I don't want that. I'm not at that point yet.

But that's what I do want. Eventually. That, in fact, is what we all want: to be destroyed utterly and made new, to have all the toil and weakness and indecision and stupidity burned away. To have the flesh and sinew flayed from our bones,and then have the bones ground into powder, leaving only pure spirit.


So then I went to dinner at Manatus, and I read my book. Right now I'm reading 'The Blank Slate,' by Steven Pinker. Basically it's a discussion of Evolutionary Biology, or Sociobiology. And so it sort of dawned on me that when the flesh is flayed from the bones and the bones are ground into powder, then that's it. There's no more. You've ceased to be. That 'transcendance' we seek and find is really not a lot more than electro-chemical reactions in the cerebral cortex. Specifically, the actions of endorphins primarily. And that's all? Yeah. That's all.

But, why do we have those endorphins that we can exploit and find ecstasy? One theory holds that they are given to us so that women can endure the pain and rigor of childbirth. (That makes it pretty cool to be a man, we get the endorphins, but don't have to pump infants through a too small hole.) But think about childbirth. First, there's the fear and terror, amplified by the sight of your own blood, and the impending travail. Then, there are the contractions, which are rhythmic, and build in intensity. There's the breathing and the coaching, the intimacy of the coaching, by the midwife, one who is expert, and often feared and viewed with suspicion. The birth itself.

My friend Connie had a baby when she was in college. I remember well her vivid description. She said it's unbelievable, searing, destroying, terrible pain, much worse than you can imagine if you haven't been through it. But, the second that the baby is out, all the pain is suddenly over. (Not really, but comparatively, it feels that way.) However, all the endorphins that your body has produced to process and absorb the pain are suddenly without any countermanding pain. So you're flying. It's bliss and joy absolute.

The parallels to whipping, or to fisting, are fairly obvious.

So that's all it is. But, in a way, it's plenty.

One of my all-time favorite movie moments is from Wim Wenders' film, "Wiings of Desire." The plot involves angels, who are insensate. They can't be seen or felt by mortals. But, neither can they feel. Peter Falk is in the movie. Playing himself. He's in Berlin, where the movie is set, as he's filming a movie. We learn that Peter Falk was once an angel, but he decided to 'take on flesh.' Anyway, there's this wonderful scene where he walks away from the movie set to where two angels are observing. "I can't see you," he says, "but I know you're there," he tells them. And then he addresses them, in a soliloquy that sums up just about everything I believe. "Coffee is good. It's hot, and it feels wonderful going down. When you wake up on a cold morning, you ache, and you shiver, and you feel miserable. And then you make coffee. And you hold it in the mug, almost too hot to touch. And then you drink it down, and your senses come alive. And it feels so good going down, and feeling your body respond and wake up. Coffee is good. It's good here on the other side."

That's it. Coffee is good. (Well, actually I prefer tea...) So is the feeling of sunlight on your naked skin. So is the feeling of your body bouyant in salt water. So is the sensation of a kiss. And to be held. And to feel a sleeping body pressed againt yours. And watching firelight. And that feeling after sharing good food with friends. And I love it when it's really cold and you're moving, and even though your bare skin is exposed, it feels inviigoratiing. And the feeling of taking a really good piss. And the smell of a baby. And playing with a dog. Listening to Bach's Fugue in G Minor. And the way your body feels after a long, hard day of physical labor. Or hiking. And the smell of a field after the rain. And a thunderstorm. And lying down in bed after a long hard day and drifting off to sleep. Seeing the Northern Lights for the first time. And fireworks. And the buzzing in your brain from a bottle of wine. And sticking your face in a sink filled with cold water and ice cubes. And tea, brewed strong.

And throwing a whip, and seeing the wee spot of blood on the back, right where you were aiming. And feeling the last bit of resistance melt and your fist slips right up his ass. And feeling his cock slip in and fill you right up. And rendering a strong man powerless and helpless and under your control, feeling the blood surging through his veins, and knowing that if you wanted, you could stop his heart from beating. And tasting his sweat. And holding a weeping man in your arms as he says over and over again, "Thank you, Sir. Thank you. Oh my God. Oh my God that was so great. Thank you, Sir."

That's all good. That's very good. That's divine.