aspinelikeasword

[aspinelikeasword]

Ten minutes before it rains, when a cloudy sky moves in dark and increasingly ominous, is incredibly comforting to me. 

If you’re lucky to have shelter and someone says, “looks like rain, better close all the windows and tell your brother to come in”, you’re safe.  It feels like home, I can’t describe it, the before of it all; the preparation and manoeuvering, seeking safety even though water can’t harm. 

But water, to those with shelter, is a threat to comfort.

[aspinelikeasword]

Infinity

Blue skies have always scared me. They’re limitless, where do they even end?

If we were to tip over, forgoing all laws of gravity, how far would we fall? 

Is there a bottom? Will I die before I reach it?

Blue skies, 

Blue skies, 

Everyone loves a blue sky.

The sky reflects the ocean and the ocean reflects the sky; that kind of limitlessness scares me, and it comforts me too.

I’m at the bottom of my own blue sky and I don’t know how long it will take to climb out, my whole entire world upside down, as I knew it is no more.

Blue skies, 

Blue skies, 

Everyone loves a blue sky.

[aspinelikeasword]

People tell me they love the sound of my laugh. When I think about it, I can’t reference it, I can’t pull the sound out of my head the way I can the colour of my own eyes or the shape of my noise. It’s like trying to conjure up a reference for how you smell. 

Can you hear the sound of your own laugh in your head when you’re not laughing? Could you describe it to someone while you’re doing it? And even if you hear yourself and you can describe it, does it sound the same way to me that it does to other people? 

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I read somewhere that we don’t ever truly know what we look like, we’ve only ever seen ourselves in photos, the mirror, in videos. Isn’t that a weird thought? And that to every single person on this earth, we look different. Combined by the fact that people have visual biases based on feelings and visual associations with people they love, people they hate, traumatic experiences with people who share the same hair colour and hands; we look a million different ways.

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I love the sound of other people’s laughter, specifically two people and one is dead. I miss their laugh the most in this whole world. I have a recording of it and every now and then I’ll play it, but most of the time it just makes me sad. 

A good laugh makes you want to keep that laugh going; telling jokes and stringing together elaborate stories. That person I loved to make laugh was a very troubled soul and it made me safe to stand in a moment of time and keep them laughing because everything was beautiful and nothing hurt. Fuck, I miss them.

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Another thing I’ve read is that every noise we’ve ever made is out in space somewhere, swirling round. Whether that’s true or not, it sounds like a garbage heap symphony, but also kinda cool if you have the ability to isolate sounds the way you do in a park adjacent to a noisy street where bird calls can be the loudest or listening to a song and being able to pick out just the bass.

If this is true, it comforts me to know that somewhere, in some audible alternate dimension, their laugh is ringing out in a thousand different ways.

[aspinelikeasword]

Grab what you can before we all turn to dust

There’s no right way of doing anything, if it comes, let it

If it goes, let it

I don’t have to wait until a finite end point to receive love, be in love, ask for help, receive abundance.

I can be waist deep in it and have a net thrown from shore

I can be the anchor and I can also be in the net

If I fall in love midway through this work, then so be it

If it takes another 5 years, so be it.

I’m fully committed to myself for the first time in my life

And it hurts and it’s beautiful, it’s haunting and liberating and there’s so much grief at times that it feels like my chest is going to implode in on itself. 

Sometimes when I’m walking I start sobbing so hard I choke and have to put my arm up on the nearest solid surface and lean against it for support.

But that’s the thing, there’s always support around me, I just have to look.

[aspinelikeasword]

Ace of Swords

Sword in hand, no more white knights, they died on the road. 

No more the pain of desperation; looking out of my eyes like a child who was thrown into the wind, no protection, landing on top of others as a shield.

I’ve come to rescue myself and here in this liminal space, eleven angels circle me, 

I’m protected, I’m arriving.

I’m descending into the darkest hour, ringed with pain and grief through which clarity and strength grow; dark night of the soul.

This is the longest journey I’ll ever take, the one to my own heart.

No more white knights, I am my own,

Emerging naked from the funeral pyre, I lay my weapon down.

[aspinelikeasword]

We say we know people, but do we ever really know anyone? We don't even know ourselves. And people can tell us the truth but what about everything they're hiding from even themselves?

[aspinelikeasword]

The most honest thoughts I'll ever have rush in at 3, 4, 5am. They're so fucking loud they shake me awake, screaming in my ear. And no one is around, and it's dark, and it's haunting. I rock back and forth in a fetal position until the birds come alive to keep me company.

[aspinelikeasword]

Spiritual Anarchy & Collective Activism Through Internal Healing

I was in one of my recovery meetings this morning and someone said something I’ve heard many times but only really heard today and it activated such a ripple effect of intense reflection.

They said, “our society is very sick [and run by very sick people who are motivated by greed and power] and wants us to stay sick by staying distracted so we don’t see what’s really going on [what they are doing and how we’re being exploited to get what they want and keep the world functioning the way it is]. So our recovery is a way of saying no and waking up.”

That blew open a door in my mind and in rushed all this awareness. My engagement in thoughts, beliefs, behaviours and actions that are harmful are ways of keeping me looking away from what’s going on in the world, how I’m being manipulated and lied to. Whether that be addiction and distraction via substances, sex, gambling, other people (ex. attention, validation), smoking, caffeine, etc., anything can become an addiction by how and why I use it*. 

When I repeat, repeat, repeat, I numb out and quiet the internal alarms inside myself that tells me that something is wrong, harmful and unhealthy, in myself, in my engagement with others, in my place in the world and society at large. Every time I reach for another person to validate me and give me attention, yes, it is because I need to heal that original wound inside myself on a personal level, but the societal conditioning of promoting harmful distractions and behaviours makes me look away from healing that original wound. In turn, this makes me look away from how that original wound (that is compounded by generational trauma) encourages connection to harmful oppressive structures that I end up perpetuating and benefiting from while also being harmed by. 

Society is a narcissistic abuser and I am in a relationship with this faceless abuser who is gaslighting me every single day in a variety of cloaking devices - from media, to numbing agents (substances, tv, endless scrolling in a dissociative state on your phone), to lies and manipulation. I am broken down by a militaristic regime and then built back up to become a cog in the machine. I reach for other people out of biological drive only to run away because society didn’t teach my parents, who weren’t taught by their parents what healthy intimacy looks like. I am told that I am beautiful but then see commercial after commercial telling me that I need to kneel and worship at the altar of everlasting youth. I am then told I should buy this and this and this and this, handing conceptual currency back to the elite instead of redistribution to the people who built society on their backs for free and continue to be stolen from (BIPOC). 

The societal framework and all of its working mechanisms want to keep me separate from others. When we are separated, we are weakened, we are alone, we keep reaching and reaching and searching and searching in the dark; arms outstretched to grab the first thing that will bring us the comfort we were denied as children because our own authority figures were so sick and unwell, failed by the society and world that were supposed to take care of and teach them. So they failed us and now we fail each other. We fail the environment that is trying not to kill us even though we are killing it; our egocentric thinking bred into us that we are conditioned to maintain by policing each other and in turn ourselves.

In keeping with egocentric thinking and motivation, I am weakened, I’m not working collectively with others for the greater good against systems of oppression like racism, fat phobia, capitalism, ageism, classicism, transphobia, homophobia. Instead of working on myself and thereby helping and supporting others through their healing, (on our own internalized oppressive beliefs and turning that reflective work outward) I am coming from a place of reactivity and policing other’s behaviours. I am acting in line with the external validation I have been taught to seek to distract myself from what I really need to do, how I really need to proceed forward. 

I acknowledge that there is a generational component to healing, that I carry the wounds, the hurt, the harmful actions and thoughts of every ancestor who has gone before me. I have come to the decision and committed intention that I will no longer contribute to suffering at a greater level of humanity by staying committed to my own personal suffering. This is my own spiritual anarchy.

I think that the only place I can truly think of myself is in my own internal and deep personal healing and growth of self. Starting from the inside and working my way out instead of thinking that the external is going to fix the internal. This is the apex of anarchy; you can kill a person, but you can never kill a thought or a belief. 

*I want to make clear that when speaking about addiction and ways in which we engage in self-harm, I am not condemning anyone. There is no blame here. Zero. As much as we’re told this, we are in fact, not in control of our own reality, not completely. We are influenced at a subliminal level that goes down to a cellular level in ways we can’t even conceive. All we can do is stay aware, think for ourselves, come together/work together and question everything. 

[aspinelikeasword]

I COULD START A FIRE WITH WATER

[aspinelikeasword]

heed

I see you making your way across the razed land

Shaking every dry bush and dead limb

I see you as clearly as I saw you the day we met;

Malicious, steel-plated, ominous,

But your mask is forever slipping and you know I know

I told you no but you went ahead and lit the match anyway

How dare you

How dare you

How dare you

How dare you

Four times a boundary broken, makes you an unlucky criminal

We know

We know

We 

All 

Know

You’re marked now

Best of luck to you, may your gods have mercy on your soul

And if you cross me again, 

I’ll light this bridge on fire

[aspinelikeasword]

a life of coming home

It’s in that moment when you walk in the door before announcing yourself. Your partner’s voice a singsong, asking your dog with such tenderness, “What did you see today? Where did you go?”. It’s that moment of comfort where the home, the life, the world you’ve made together comes to you in sounds; a voyeur, you listen with a smile on your face, eyes closed, so grateful to have seen it all, done everything, to come to this place. You fantasised about versions of this scene, more than you’ve ever fantasised about sex. It’s security; a weighted blanket, a life of coming home.

[aspinelikeasword]

50 Shades of Abuse: Or, E.L.James got it all wrong and here’s why

CW: Mention of BDSM, kink, sexual practices, & links at bottom go to pages with adult content. I trust that you know your limits, don’t force yourself to read. If you made it here, thank you, even if you can’t read the whole thing or even a bit. And if you read the whole thing, thank you xoxo

The above photo is from one of my favourite movies, Secretary, and stars Maggie Gyllenhaal and Original Daddy, James Spader. It’s based on a short story by Mary Gaitskill by the same name. It’s a beautiful piece of work about a sub/Dom relationship. ⁣

⁣It is also very sadly the story that E.L. James based the 50 Shades (of Abuse) book on. Not only is that book one of the worst that has ever been written in a technical sense, but the conveyance of the subject is dangerous and damaging because it’s basically about an abusive relationship void of consent passed off as a BDSM relationship. It is not. Christian Grey is an excellent example of a terrible/abusive Dominant (Dom). ⁣

⁣For example, the submissive* (sub), Anastasia, never signs the contract even though they proceed with their relationship. There are no honest conversations before, during, or after the scenes and he’s the one calling the shots when it is accepted that the sub holds all the power. He does a cursory amount of aftercare but he’s also withdrawn, flighty and inconsistent. THIS IS NOT BDSM or a BDSM relationship. ⁣

⁣BDSM (bondage and discipline, dominance and submission, and sadism and masochism) is different for everyone because the acts/practices are built on trust, consent and communication. Not to mention that our needs and desires, combined with any trauma or abuse we’ve experienced, are all in play. It involves sexual activities, kinks, and fetishes that can be incredibly healing when carried out properly. ⁣

⁣There are a ton of reasons people get into kink and BDSM. Many people engage in it because it can be a safe, ethical, loving and healthy way of setting up and playing out a scene that recreates the outcome of a past traumatic situation/incident. There are a lot of sex workers that incorporate BDSM into their work (hi, SEX WORK IS WORK BTW, in case we’re not clear). Other people may enjoy the submission factor of letting go (of anxieties, fear etc.) by letting someone else take control. BUT BUT BUT, if not done safely, you can end up re-traumatizing yourself by recreating the same outcome you originally experienced. ⁣

Most importantly, and this must be stressed, BDSM is not about abuse as is commonly believed and perpetuated in media (see above). However, it can be abusive when the perimeters of the relationship or scene are ignored, dismissed, and/or forced.⁣

There is SO much more that is written about BDSM, so many great books and articles that go into it in depth!⁣ 

Rope bondage (Shibari) is also a great way to get into the BDSM world because it’s a beautiful, artistic practice that can lead into the incorporation of sexual acts or not (if you so choose). ⁣⁣

If you’re interested but don’t know where to start, just start googling and read up on it, A LOT. Read about consent and the psychology, as well as the dynamics and relationships therein. You can sign up for FetLife too (like Facebook but for the kink world, and a great place to find events to check out/get involved in and meet other like-minded people). ⁣

Here are some links to people/resources practicing in the kink and BDSM community (links show NSFW/adult content, and if you benefit from their work, please consider donating to any payment platforms they have)**:⁣

Mistress Velvet⁣ - a feminist scholar and Dominatrix who has her clients read Black Feminist Theory *update* - she has since passed away 

Midori⁣ - a multidisciplinary artist and sex educator who writes about BDSM, sexual fetishism, and bondage

Sacred Sadism - a cool polyamorous couple who explore their love of ecofetishism and BDSM (they also sell amazing handmade plant-themed sex toys. Worth a visit just to check them out!)

Capilky - there are a lot of Shibari photographers out there, most of whom are white cis dudes, but this is a good page that is filled with beautiful and creative photos by a woman who ties and photographs her own work

Shibaridojo⁣ - a good dude I used to know, was gonna take sword-fighting with him but he lives too far away so...but if you are interested and live in Barrie, get in touch with him!

The Feminist Porn Book: The Politics of Producing Pleasure⁣ - a wicked- good intersectional look at sex work in the world of porn from the perspective of people who are queer, trans, gender non-conforming, as well as black and brown people, abled and disabled voices and way more.

* Capitalization of sub and Dom follows that which is used in the Kink/BDSM community.

**The kink community is changing slowly, but it is still overwhelmingly white, cis, thin, and able-bodied so I urge you to dig deep to discover different perspectives. ⁣

[aspinelikeasword]

A Voyeur of My Own Body

*CW: mention of sexual trauma, dissociation

I want to feel, in my body, my own growing beliefs. I want to feel and embody the boundaries I create and the accomplishments I’ve made. I really want to feel the love people give me, the compliments, the pleasure, the acts of service. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t live solely in my head, viewing the world, myself, and my experiences through a convex perspective of dissociation.

The conditioning to repress and hide my feelings is a destructive narrative that I grew up with; that other people will be pulled down, disgusted, and not want to be around me. That they might even die if I cried or expressed hurt. Everything was made out to be a catastrophe when I was little, and I felt like the smallest person with the greatest negative influence. 

I grew up divorced from my emotions, rationalizing everything, which trapped me in this neural pathway that I run deeper and deeper when I feed the same thought patterns, making it increasingly difficult to switch tracks. This endless etching triggers feelings that trigger actions. I then overthink those actions which compound into an endless cycle of behaviours that go down to a cellular level. 

My healing feels like honey has been poured over my head and it is settling; moving slowly downward and around. Trickles are starting to move into my chest, wrapping warm, golden tendrils around my heart. My mind activates at this foreign feeling and the thoughts start to tangle in the sticky cloud in my head. 

I’m trying to take care to come into my body, to stay with myself as much as I want to flee, to feel my emotions, and try to locate their presence. This is so damn hard but I know it’s where all my healing needs to happen. I need to move the rocks at the bottom of the depths to allow the sediment to filter to the surface. I’ve come to this place because nothing else is working. My mind, while quicksilver, is not a place to find my higher self. My physical being is starting to exhibit palpable pain and discomfort. I don’t want to live like this anymore. I owe it to myself to find out how good it can be, how secure, how happy.

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I recognize that my inability to allow anyone to touch my body, especially with tenderness (other than safe hugs from people I trust) is rooted in sexual and physical trauma. I learned that it wasn’t safe to occupy my body; that I couldn’t carry it without shame, without fear, or a sense of looking out of my eyes through the male gaze, like a voyeur of my own body. 

So I built those walls out of self-protection, but I built them so high and so thick that it’s turned against me and now few can get in and I can’t find my way out. 

Maybe the walls serve another heart-breaking purpose. Maybe the barrier I created not only keeps me away from the threat of abandonment, of rejection, of hurt and abuse, but it keeps my own body out; divorce my mind and change the locks. My physical self was a tool that turned into a weapon used against me and I’ve grown to hate the violence it holds, the remnants of all the people who intruded upon my body and the space around it. 

There is a term in forensics called Locard’s Exchange Principle that says that anytime you make contact with a person, place or thing, you take something with you and leave something behind. Traditionally, this means stuff like DNA, clothing, and fingerprints. But what about all the stuff that can’t be bagged and tagged? 

How do I remove from my body the essence, the words, the energy, the social conditioning? How do I reclaim a body that seems so far away that I can’t even feel it? How do you reclaim what you can’t touch or grab onto and pull back? And how do I grieve so much lost time, lost pleasure, lost feeling, lost evolution? I’m so close to all of this, my face pressed up against the glass with such force, trying to find the answers, that I can’t see a hand in front of my face.                                                

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Something that I’ve held onto for years, something that soothes me is the scientific fact that every 7 years, every cell in your body is replaced with a new one. That means that you have a new physical self at 7, 14, 21, 28 etc.

It also means that people from your past haven’t touched the body you have. They haven’t felt your skin, they haven’t looked into your beautiful eyes. It’s like they never existed, as though it never happened, which can be comforting if you don’t look deeper. My physical body fell away, but the energy left behind is still there; the stain on the floor, the imprint on my heart. It’s mingling with those new cells and I don’t want them casting impressions.

I want so badly to heal RIGHT NOW because I feel like everything I want, everything I want to be and do is on the other side of the roadblock of trauma I can’t seem to move or see around. But it’s a honey-drip. It’s a slow, subtle warming that burns my skin on contact, like standing in the shower when you have a fever. It acclimates with time, a willingness to feel, and with trust in myself and the process. I’m working on this.         

                                                                           ------------------------                    For now though, there is one thing I come back to that makes me feel solid and held down by gravity, the great weighted blanket of the universe: dancing. When I got sober, I didn’t go out dancing for two years. I was scared I’d be bad at it, that people would stare, and my social anxiety would choke me out because I had only ever danced in public while drunk out of my mind. I was a good dancer then (or at least that’s what I told myself because I didn’t care who saw me, I didn’t care about much to be honest). When I finally went out dancing with friends two winters ago, it felt like a spiritual experience. I moved with abandon and realized that I actually am a good dancer. Or I genuinely no longer cared what anyone thought of me. 

So I dance wildly, taking up space because I made myself small for so long and it hurt so bad. I dance with my eyes closed now, not because I’m self-conscious, but because it helps me come into my body. And my god, I feel free. I feel exhilarated, like I’m experiencing my highest self. I move about the room like a butterfly, testing out my integrated self, dancing on my own or with random people who respect my personal space. I’m in the moment and nothing hurts. 

But I haven’t danced in a while. For all the self-confidence I have developed and the self-care I prioritize, I still struggle with pleasure (sexual or otherwise) and feeling like I deserve to feel good so I don’t do the very things I know will help me heal. I’m also working on this.

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I wrote this early one morning when everything was quiet and I was shot through with inspiration. Then as I strung together the sentences the fear started to set in that it would be too much, too scary, too triggering for anyone who might read it. That people would think I’m broken beyond repair and who could ever love all this?

Fuck that voice. That’s not my voice. So I’m putting it all down here, a proper place to honour these feelings, to make them real and valid. I’m doing the opposite of what my mind wants me to do and I can’t stop crying. It’s that deep, feral outpouring, the kind that feels like my body is trying to speak, so I’m letting it. I’m practicing radical honesty, vulnerability, and compassion by sharing all of this, by standing on top of the shame and planting my flag of resilience.