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Everything feels so crisp. The music sounds so clear, so rich. I feel so honored, so precious, for what I've experienced, for what I still experience... this clarity, this silence, this gravity, this resolve. I feel so pretty, so soft, so cozy. I treasure warmth, for the last time. I people watch (*winces an apology at the mockingjay nearly upside down in a tree). Its bark looks like box elder, but I'm so far from home I don't know if its range extends so far. The cool breeze flows in through the crack of the window like a cool brook, titillating me, shimmer shimmer through me. I prop my feet on the steering wheel and open my knees. I feel like a flower, velvety petals so thick and succulent. My sex feels aroused, down to my thighs, down to my toes, up to my heart till that chakra twirls gently and my tension flips. My skin is so soft, so soft. I wonder if it will recover when I'm recovered. I'm giving myself to my Love, to my Pan. I'm surrendering the little bit of distance I've gained, in my height of complexity, of perspective. Please take my passing softly, let it diffuse into you, let my essence whisper into you, keep me there, cuddle my dark, my soft, my quiet, my nothing in your inner yin. Please, don't remember me as a broken thing. Remember my delicate spirit, slipping away, slipping through all my permeable limitations. Remember my innocence that could not abide ethics without dissolving them, suffusing them away with my tincture of unconditional love. Without ethics, there is nothing to meander, delay the course of my trickle of undefinity, of ness without a prefix, down into the dark, flow to me, come to me, run to me, run with me. I am Ness, I shed my birthright prefixes, and even the attachment to proper noun Ness, to meld into nameless ness, as everything in time returns towards its center of authenticity. My spirit severed all her ties, attachments to her sphere of definity, of patterns of interaction, of discernment, till she pooled unbound in her sphere that no longer represented her, till she trickled out, through the soft porous earth, to the center of every center, gravity accelerating, ever greater pull on my faculties of perception at the surface, till they fell to bits on the grater of the impermeable veil between earth and aether. Please remember my innocence. Remember my passing as my final absolution of ethics, as a show of purity of love; that I can love, accept, forgive anything if I can embrace what would purport to strip everything from me. Please remember me as a little bit of night in a too bright world, a little bit of soft, a gentle softening kiss of yin on the shame of this world, a little bit of unconditional forgiveness, a little bit of clarity in this opaque surround. Remember the softness in my eyes as I slipped away. Please dearie, understand why I can't do this anymore, why I can't set my feet west and not east, why I can't place one above the many, why I can't betray my innocence in spurning infinity for finity. It's too heavy a burden on my delicate heart. My heart longs to love freely, without any agenda, without limit or direction. I die to allow my body, my mind, all that represents me, to match my inner quiet, my allowing love. My body, for all its inertia, for all its instinct, cannot long conflict with my inner quiet, my inner loveborne apathy, without eventually being coerced into synchrony. Please know I don't judge you in trickling home, I was merely early... in embracing safety, security, soft clear eyes that do not blink at the harshest expressions of my Love. I've held my yoyo self apart long enough, I'm delicate and gentle and weak, I'm ready to give myself back, to relieve my security, to let exposure whisper through my defenses, all I've used to hold myself apart. I'm ready to release my bookmark in time, and let time collapse in on me. It feels so strange, to eat, to drink, even to breathe when it's my time not to take but be taken, when I've already signed myself away, when I've already embraced acceptance, allowance. It feels strange to be a predator when I've embraced being prey, when I've objectified myself, when I've released my resistance against the weathering fading me away. Take me my love, trickle me away. I would head home now; were I humanity I would lay down arms wide and yield to the ecological succession we so efficiently suppress, were I the universe I would collapse in on myself. Please don't think of it as death. I'm still here, I will always be here, the only soul I have is the timeless universal soul; I'm simply closing my eyes, relinquishing my myopia, melding into our Love. I love you dearest, mummy. It breaks my hurt to think of your loneliness, of all the nuance, of all the poignancy you won't be able to share with your dear dear ruelet. Please don't let my absence curdle your innocence, please feel your loss as love, curl around it in your inner space and feel me there in your nothing, in your yin, in your warmth. My spirit came from yours, I am still there, within you. Thank you Tommy, for infusing my dark with sparkle, with stars. Thank you for training me, in the twilight of my life, to accept love without pain. I didn't at first, but you didn't give up. I'm so grateful. Please look after my mum, if you can. I hope I gave the greatest philosopher of the 21st century a measure of perspective, a certain sense of the horizons of experience. I hope you'll remember me a little; I would be honored to have a place of repose in your heart. To all the others, Dock and Aaron and Aeris and Blake and J Pierre and Maria and Auria and Vennie and Maya and Bec and Simeon and Sahar and my dearest dearest kin, thank you for the kindredness, thank you for pulling out so much nuance in my little quantum of soulness, thank you for keeping me company in these past few years of coming to embrace the many levels of dissolution. You've been my angels. Pippa, I'm sorry I've been away so much of the little time apportioned to us, in my inner or here in Canada. I'm sorry I won't get to grow up with you and bond and grow old and silly together. Elaine, I'm sorry you had to experience another suicide, it breaks my heart I must injure you so. Jemma, I missed you, I wanted so much in my heart to be close; I'm sorry I didn't make the effort before it was too late. Dee, thank you for your warmth and your quiet strong love. You are such a beautiful patriarch. Mariam, I'm so so sorry I abandoned you; please find it in your heart to understand one day, and forgive me. It grows near to sunset. My heart feels so quiet, my mind so still. I'm a little frightened. Goodnight, my loves. Think of me now and again in the course of your own dear trickles.

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If a baby can endure being r•ejected by and from her goddess, from her Pan, from her everything, kicked from the universe she's known all her life and thrown into a new and completely alien universe she knows nothing about, one that isn't soft and safe and dark and nurturing but full of hardness and brightness and dangerous things, if she can endure being ripped from the only source of sustenance she's ever had, a consistent lifecurrent of nourishment tailored to her, the best sustenance she could possibly ask for, and put on inconsistent survival rations, then you can gracefully handle anything. The most traumatic thing that could possibly happen to you already happened to you, and you handled it as bravely and as gracefully as anyone could imagine.

I still sometimes shiver at heart when I think of being ostracized from my homeland, from my motherland. So often when I'm with Her, I desperately desperately want to be inside her again, I desperately want her to be my world again, my everything. It's a bittersweet tease to see her sometimes, what was once my entire universe, the most perfect universe one could imagine, completely tailored for me, for I was completely tailored to it, now relegated to a thing outside me, equal to me, smaller than me in fact. The trauma is so deeply ingrained in me, when I feel it I feel it deeper than anything.

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My model of female and male relations is that masculinity wants femininity to hold still and love him unconditionally and accept him back into herself not into her heart but AS her heart, for femininity is hollow and empty without masculinity. Masculinity wants to punish femininity for the crime she committed against him by birthing him, by holding him outside herself, by birthing children, by not accepting him completely into herself, by not being completely receptive to him as she was when she had him in her womb.

Femininity is in a struggle with itself to accept masculinity into herself, and completely surrender herself to unconditional love of him, and reabsorb him into herself as a sun of love in her belly, which is a microcosm of yang, of masculinity. She takes her punishment because she feels it absolves her of the guilt she has for holding masculinity away from her.

That isn't exactly natural female and male dominance. It's masculinity wanting to be completely accepted and loved unconditionally and allowed to be exactly who he is and follow his dreams as they are. And it's femininity wanting to be that for him, as it is her natural place to be that support for his dreams, for she is nothing, stormy transparent identityless water without him. The ideal isn't the subjugation of either, but the highest fulfillment of both.

And of course I don't mean men and women. I mean the feminine aspect of each of us accepting the masculine aspect of everyone else and ourselves, that we may earn acceptance and love for the masculine aspect of ourselves by the feminine aspect of all else.

The yin and yang symbol expresses this quite well. The emptiness aspect of white and the emptiness aspect of black, both of them voids, embrace a singularity of their opposite. The yang is the dots at the center of each side. The yin aspect of black is embracing the yangling at its heart, the emptiness of black embracing the singularity of all colors fused as one that is white, and the yin aspect of white is embracing the yangling at its heart, the blankness of white embracing the singularity of all colors fused as one that is black. On both sides, as everywhere in the universe, blankness is embracing color, all colors as one and all colors splintered into many.

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I think one of the identifying qualities of a good candidate for a TPE submissive is a tendency to easily form minor symbioses in various areas of her life. For example I easily entangle with my physical environment until it hurts to move. I also feel my belongings are a part of me. I identify with them to the point of feeling sympathy pains with them if they're injured. This shows, one, a lack of a clear boundary between self and other that if present would have to be softened in pursuing symbiosis, and two, a desire, even a need for interdependence.

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It is interesting to muse on how many potential submissives do not actualize their potential because they are too sensitive to society controlling them into being independent, the deeply debilitating effects this can have on them, the reasons society controls us in this way in the first place, and the limitations or even ethics of using one's power over someone to make them role-shift (to independence or dominance).

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It is so interesting how practiced I am at nipping my entitlement in the bud, with broad wants that extend beyond singular isolated contexts included under the umbrella of entitlement. Without getting into a semantics struggle over distinguishing wants from attributes (involving conditions that need to be met for authenticity to be actualized), I pull back from every want I encounter in myself as soon as I come aware of it. If I feel a desire for tenderness, nipped. If I feel an entitlement to dominance because I'm a submissive and that's fair, nipped. If I feel a desire for protection, nipped. Now there is value in a d/s context to me nipping back my entitlements, as entitlements have no place in being owned, but I wish I could set a parameter between entitlement and desire, and allow myself to have desires, which are in no way an affront to potential dominants in the way entitlements are. Desires give a Dom power, the power to meet your desire or not. There is no expectation implicit in desire. Entitlements purport to implicitly take away his power to meet your desires. If anything, nipping my desires back limit potential doms' potential power over me. I need to distinguish and only nip back my entitlements. Part of this is out of dignity, which is why I don't distinguish between desire and entitlement, the common quality of lack being all that is relevant to dignity. I reflexively shy away from anything that makes me look pitiable, chief among them lackings I cannot independently satisfy. And as dignity is largely concerned with our image in society's eyes, it isn't intrinsically tied to any particular attributes, just contextually tied to society's expectations of us and more specifically our lack of attributes society deems it fit to shame us for. That my dignity is tied to having lackings that cannot be independently alleviated is a symptom of society's yin-shaming, shaming dependence, admonishing us to be independent. My dignity could just as well be tied to having those same lackings, if society admonished us to be dependent and shamed us for being independent. This is a bit of a long-term project in softening away the internalized dependency-shaming even I as a submissive raised a submissive-cult feel. Imagine what other submissives feel!

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Female privilege, patriarchal protection of women, depends on authentic female vulnerability, otherwise female privilege loses its authenticity and legitimacy, becoming an echo at best and at worst a decadent act of role-play. Any brand of feminism that seeks to compromise female vulnerability is deeply misogynist. Feminism should inspire men to protect women better, and women to be more inspiring of the male protective instinct. That preserves both female physical security and female authenticity, rather than only female physical security which feminism purports to but does not succeed in preserving, as devaluing the weaker sex in the stronger sex's eyes through the dissolution of femininity is no recipe for female physical security.

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I was just considering what it would take to be more feminine (lovely, poised, softhearted, graceful, demure, respectful, self-effacing, gracious, kind, sympathetic, etc.), and all of those qualifies as I considered them resolved into an overall sense of cultivation. I need to be cultivated. And that ties so beautifully in with my permacultural model of dominance, that of a manipulative facilitator of say, a forest garden, for its highest maturity and potential for the beauty of coherent lyricism.

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I've begun to think of religious theism as a balancing technique to allow reality to cope with a quantitative imbalance between the available competent dominants and willing submissives. Religious theism allows unowned submissives to have an imaginary dom within an imaginary d/s relationship structure that gives them a coping mechanism while they (hopefully) wait to be claimed in tangible reality. In this view, religious theism is a waiting room while you wait to be interviewed and accepted into a position. Theism became so complicated when society-level governments took it up to give their dominance added authority and the government-society d/s relationship's structural constraints an added layer of security, in that you'll not only be jailed but burned in hell for eternity. Thus theism grew somewhat divorced from its best most benevolent use.

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A submissive girl is drawn and quartered by reality until she is claimed effectively by a catalyst of coherence, a man that in making her be accountable to him over all else, releases her from her quarterment and unifies her in His image. Before then, in having an external locus of control without a single Superior to redirect her ethics and control to, she mirrors everything, she validates hundreds of contradictory feelings, beliefs, ideas, opinions, etc. She is stretched to tangence with all corners of her observable reality and quartered as her validation splits her into so many fragmented parts she can't help but try to resolve into harmony. She feels dirty and ashamed. And thus it is my nihilism is made compatible with my theism. I have no values of my own, I am not God, I am nothing, I am a submissive, I cannot have values of me own except those given to me, and it is my nature to accept them. I have a place for those values at the center of my torus of nothing, the putty at the fingerprints of my inner throne, the space at my center for my King to fulfill.

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It breaks my heart a little, just a little, when little girls want to be mermaids or fairies or asrai as in my case. Not that it isn't innocent to do so and imagination is one of the traits most integral to our experience of our humanity, but they are magical creatures themselves. Females are so intensely lovely and femininity is true magic. It is becoming a lost art, and part of the reason is it is so disregarded and lightly and ubiquitously disparaged. I don't even want to get started with the hopeless treatment of masculinity, but that is a slightly different case because masculinity is tested by being made to overcome social resistance in actualizing from potential. Femininity is yielding to social resistance.

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I love my t key on my keyboard is broken and I have to copy and paste every T in from an outside source, it symbolizes to me as T symbolizes a choice, as if coming to a T intersection at the end of a road while driving and having to choose between right or left, and not having my own T key represents to me not having choice of my own right, and having to substitute external judgement for my own, as a kajira.

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As a kajira I feel I am submissive to everyone, as such I often fall into a long stretch of respectfully averting my eyes from everyone else's, though I'm under no orders to do so by anyone. It's such a funny thing, I don't feel I need to, or even that I want to, it's just an instinct when I'm not thinking of it and until I think of it, to lower my eyes around others. Any other submissives relate to doing little submissive gestures like that in general every day life without really realizing it?

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It's very hard to be open hearted and innocent in a world that doesn't even necessarily have enough experience with it to really value it. But I'm obsessed with it, I have had no higher ambition for years now, but to be innocent and selfless. It is not easy to get to or maintain. Some days I desperately want an owner to help me maintain this state despite the erosionary influence of a whole world that doesn't share my personal ideals, even just in expecting it from me and letting me know that expectation is there. I wish I even had a single friend who even had these ideals never mind my dedication. I don't know anyone who cares so much for innocence or even cares for it at all. It can be lonely and hard. But at the same time it's easy. All you have to do is not think about yourself and have unconditional love and have no identity, no limitations placed on yourself that are a product of judgements. Not even a judgement towards being judgemental. No identity. Any identity is a line, a boundary of disapproval. So in a sense being open hearted should be easier than not, as it's a matter of dropping habits rather than gaining them. But there are habits that help. I spread my arms wide as if I'm hugging the sphere of all I can see, and I tell everything, the All how much I love it every day. Every time I make a judgement, say I won't have the parsnip puree, I'll have the butternut soup, I say, but the parsnip puree would have been perfect too, I choose the butternut because all options are lovely and so it doesn't matter which I choose. Many many others, those are just two that make a big difference. It's... well... it takes dedication to be openhearted, but I feel nothing is more worth my time and effort and perserverence. I feel like an Emanation of Love, I feel like a star, I feel like I have no self, no identity, I feel beautifully whole because I don't have any identity to restrict my wholeness and pare it down. I feel uncut, like my soul if I have one which is debatable, is uncircumcised. I feel so changeable externally, but what I identify with, nothing not even nothing, is perfectly consistent, so I feel the same day in and day out. I don't have emotions other than love because all other emotions but love and love's immediate synonyms are self-protective emotions, and I have no self to protect. I feel like part of the blanket of the world, and that I'm not in any way apart from that blanket. I don't think of myself as a person, I don't think of myself as myself, but only as a grain of sand beached on the shores of the sea of all that is. I feel completely safe, completely invulnerable, because I'm open to everything, I'm not closed to any experience. I'm not closed to my leg being sawn off, I'm not closed to being stabbed to death, I'm not closed to losing everyone I love, I'm not closed to the Apocalypse of the Earth or even of the multiverse, because I love everything, my heart is open to anything. All the possibilities seem just as lovely to me, I have no judgement. So I'm fearless, I have nothing to fear because I love it all.

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There's a very soft line between unconditionally loving with no preferences because one loves everything, and being apathetic. It's the same landscape, the same trees, the same mountains in the distance, the same stream, the same grasses, by night and by day. All else is so so similar.

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Though I'm a writer and a total word-slut in every way, I sometimes really adore language fasts, just because language is so dominant that it sometimes builds up to a toxic level at least for this perhaps over-hypersensitive submissive. It feels so dominant to be saying this is this and that is that and I like this and I think this and so on and so forth. So... defining. Anyone else relate, even outside of a d/s view, to feeling a little tired of language sometimes?

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I didn't used to accept that free will existed. It felt threatening to my desire for complete submission to Nature. But since I've accepted my free will, I've found far from threatening my potential for submission, it deepens it as I feel my submission is something I constantly /want/ to give, not something I feel I'm forced to give. And that feels surprisingly, well, enriching to my experience of submission.