On risk and life and death. Mostly death.

"Risky behaviour?" the allergy nurse asked.

She was taking a medical history for their new, computerized record system.

I just looked at her, at a loss as to how to respond.
She thought I didn't understand the question.
I knew she'd be taken aback by the answer.

"Like HIV..." she said, trying to be helpful.
I just shook my head no.

Except when the sadist closes his hands around my neck, my risky behaviour doesn't seem to have any bearing on my asthma.

And besides.
I've made my decisions.
My activities may not always be safe,
but they are consensual.
We'll leave aside the issue of my sanity.

Still...
risky behaviour.

A child going to school...
this should not be risky behaviour.
We should -
should! -
be able to count on their coming home alive.

But this is the United States of NRA,*
where guns are easier to get than treatment for mental illness,
and little children
bleed out
their lives
on a classroom floor.
This isn't the lesson they were sent to school to learn.

And the lesson that is so clear to so many of us? The lesson we learn over and over, from one senseless massacre after another? Our politicians are too chicken shit to act on it. The election is over, and they're still being choked by the NRA's chain.

And people say we're perverted.


* NRA = National Rifle Association, which vehemently opposes any form of gun control.

Sensitive spanking article hits the Sunday NY Times

Sunday morning.
Well, no.
Not really.
Sunday afternoon.
Unknowing,
unprotected,
unprepared,
I'm reading the Sunday Styles section of the New York Times.
The actual paper!

Such joyful decadence on a weekend when the sadist and I were deprived of each other's company due to an unwelcome and lingering cold. He was not pleased with me. Admitting it wasn't really my fault, he was not pleased with me and required me to devise a 4-part plan to reduce the number of colds I get in the future.

I do get an awful lot of colds.

But I'm straying from the topic.

So I won't even mention how relieved and happy I am about the results of last Tuesday's election, both in the US as a whole and in my own state. On top of everything else, we won 3 out of 3 statewide measures legalizing marriage equality (one in my state of Maryland), and defeated a Minnesota constitutional amendment against gay marriage. A very good day.

Back to the topic.
An article.
The headline of which took my breath away.
  
Finding the Courage to Reveal a Fetish

Read it:

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/11/11/fashion/modern-love-a-spanking-fetish-is-not-revealed-easily.html?ref=fashion

It's about spanking.
Desire.
Need.
Hiding.
Revealing.
Sharing.

It's not about anything very extreme.
But it's open.
Honest.
Real.
And perhaps will get readers to think.
To wonder.
To reconsider their automatic responses.

It left me breathless.
In fact, kept me breathless through the entire article
and as I wrote the following letter to the author.

I sent the link to the fiend.
I sent the link to the philosopher.
I posted it on my oatmeal girl Facebook page.
But I did NOT post it on my other Facebook page.
and I did not send it to my "regular" friends.
I did not say - Here,
read this,
Perhaps you'll understand me a little better.

I'm not as brave as Jillian Keenan.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Dear, brave Jillian,

It was - is, even as I write - a painful debate as to which e-mail account I should use to write you. To thank you. The account with the name most of the world knows me by? The name on my checking account and electric bill and medical records? Or the name that in some ways even more people know me by? The name on my blog. The name on my stories. The name on the messages to my sadistic lover.

I began with the other account.
Then switched to this one.
And am still wavering.

In a way, it doesn't matter.
What matters most is to thank you.
Not that I'll be brave enough to use your article as a way of coming out.
The way I am,
what I respond to,
what I need,
the structure of my relationship,
these are all much to intimate to try to explain to my friends.
And in many ways it's none of their business.

It's the discomfort that's the problem. Knowing that they'll think there is something wrong with me. Something they should worry about. It's wincing every time I see BDSM misrepresented in cop shows, or made into a joke. All of which has its place. We shouldn't have to live in a purely painfully accurate world. But it shouldn't be only that.

And with knowing that other people have these feelings,
with knowing that a relationship can feed my needs,
comes liberation.
Comes joy.

Thank you for your bravery.
And for your sentence structure.
And for being unreasonably enthusiastic about Shakespeare - in any context.

oatmeal girl

VAGINA: it's a technical term, stupid.

American Heritage Medical Dictionary

vagina  va·gi·na (və-jī'nə)
n. pl. va·gi·nas  or va·gi·nae  (-nē)

1.  The genital canal in the female, leading from the opening of the vulva to the cervix of the uterus.
2.  A sheathlike anatomical structure.

Collins World English Dictionary

1.	the moist canal in most female mammals, including humans, that extends from the cervix of the uterus to an external opening between the labia minora
2.	anatomy, biology  any sheath or sheathlike structure, such as a leaf base that encloses a stem

State representatives in Michigan:

" . . . so offensive, I don't even want to say it in front of women. I would not say that in mixed company."

What?!

During a heated debate on the floor of the Michigan state House, Rep. Lisa Brown made an impassioned speech against a bill that seeks to put new regulations on abortion providers and ban all abortions after 20 weeks.

Brown, a Democrat, argued that her Jewish faith allowed for therapeutic abortions when the mother's life is in danger without regard to length of pregnancy.

"I have not asked you to adopt and adhere to my religious beliefs. Why are you asking me to adopt yours?" she said. But what came next is what got her in trouble: "And finally, Mr. Speaker, I'm flattered that you're all so interested in my vagina, but 'no' means 'no.'"

 Here's a more complete account:

http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2012/06/14/155059849/michigan-state-rep-barred-from-speaking-after-vagina-comments?ps=cprs

And here, a great commentary from the British newspaper The Guardian.

Which ends thus:

To be honest I quite like that the worst swearword in the English language is derived from the fanny-fou-fah – and that there are a lot of offensive words for vagina; but vagina isn't one of them. Of course if Brown had referred to her vulva, I would have grimaced. Who wants their fun tunnel to sound a clapped-out car? But whatever accurate or euphemistic term is used for women's genitals, the aim is for legislators to distance themselves and refuse to acknowledge the intimate nature of their regulation. Yes, all of these examples are from the US where abortion continues to be a blue touch paper issue. But it is only a matter of time before these tactics swim the Atlantic and are deployed in the UK.

It is important that the visceral vocabulary of women's bodies is part of the abortion debate. It is difficult to imagine true equality for women when our internal organs are a public space. It is necessary for them to abstract women out of the debate otherwise they may find that forcing a woman through the trauma of an unwanted pregnancy or putting her life at risk by leaving her no other choice than an unsafe abortion, might make them look somewhat vicious. 

I'm all for fanny euphemisms. But when an elected representative cannot get up in a legislative chamber and refer to vaginas in a debate about women's health then we are risking uterus erasure. I say no to rubbing out the red snapper. It's time for us to shove our growlers in the faces of the anti-choicers and demand that they chow down on our bodily autonomy.

PS: Here is a nice compilation from the paper we used to refer to as the Lansing State Urinal of comments from various journalistic sources. It includes a video of the report on the Rachel Maddow Show, which gives some of the details of the truly horrific bill. You can also go directly to the Rachel Maddow link: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/26315908/ns/msnbc_tv-rachel_maddow_show/#47824110 If I still lived in Lansing - not that I would ever want to live in Lansing ever again - I would be down at the Capitol on Monday at 5 pm as Vaginas Take Back the Capitol: http://farmington-mi.patch.com/articles/vagina-monologues-star-to-back-rep-lisa-brown

Free to be you and you and me

What does the word "polygamy" make you think of?

[pause inserted here so you can examine your gut reactions]

An admission.
It makes my stomach tighten.
And not because I'm trying to either hide or strengthen those lazy muscles.

To me, the word "polygamy" implies oppression of women. A religious and/or cultural system which sees women only as property. Self-centered, narcissistic men needing to be catered to. Fawned over. Worshiped.

Yeah... I know... some of that does sound like the sadist, doesn't it?
Hold that thought.

But what if we say "polyamory"?
"Multiple relationships"?
"Open marriage"?

Then many of us might say - oh yes!
How forward thinking.
Open-minded.
Loving.
Great if you can make it work.

There's a challenging and informative op-ed article in the New York Times on just this issue. It's called One Big, Happy Polygamous Family and is definitely worth a read. The Utah family featured in the TLC reality show Sister Wives is challenging the state's law which criminalizes polygamy. The author, Jonathan Turley, is the lead attorney on the case. And the case comes down to whether such plural relationships are covered by the right to privacy established in the 2003 Supreme Court decision Lawrence v. Texas.

Turley says things so well that it seems best to quote a few key sections of his article, send you off to read the whole thing (don't worry, it's not super long) and then hope you'll come back here to comment and discuss.

One might expect the civil liberties community to defend those cases as a natural extension of its campaign for greater privacy and personal choice. But too many have either been silent or outright hostile to demands from polygamists for the same protections provided to other groups under Lawrence.

The reason might be strategic: some view the effort to decriminalize polygamy as a threat to the recognition of same-sex marriages or gay rights generally. After all, many who opposed the decriminalization of homosexual relations used polygamy as the culmination of a parade of horribles. In his dissent in Lawrence, Justice Antonin Scalia said the case would mean the legalization of “bigamy, same-sex marriage, adult incest, prostitution, masturbation, adultery, fornication, bestiality and obscenity.”

Personally, I think it's also due to that pit of the stomach reaction, especially as so many of us automatically tie it in with patriarchal religious oppression and devaluing of women. But stop and think.

How would most Americans characterize the kinds of relationships that you and I and many of the readers of this little edge of blogland?

How many of you play with or have sex with more than one person?

How many are involved with someone who has a spouse or significant other who is not you?

In how many of these cases is there some agreement, whether tacit or clearly defined, for people to have other relationships of various kinds?

How does this honest acknowledgement of how hard it is for one person to meet all of another's needs - including but not limited to sexual needs - compare with pretending to be monogamous while sneaking around on the side?

Meanwhile, the quote from Justice Scalia left my mouth hanging open. I've heard that little list before, with its lumping together of homosexuality and bestiality. But I never noticed the inclusion of masturbation before. Masturbation??!!? Excuse me, buster. Although I may not agree, I can at least see the reasoning behind his opposition to the other items on the list. But masturbation? Talk about a victimless crime. Especially when women do it, because (I'm going all Biblical here) there's no issue of depriving a baby the right to be born by our spilling our seed on the ground.

I can see the irony, though, considering the huge contribution Mormons made to outlawing same-sex marriage in California. Just imagine Mormons marching side-by-side with supporters of gay rights in one grand united movement to protect our right to privacy.

[T]here is nothing uniquely abusive about consenting polygamous relationships. It is no more fair to prosecute the Browns because of abuse in other polygamous families than it would be to hold a conventional family liable for the hundreds of thousands of domestic violence cases each year in monogamous families.

And finally:

Civil libertarians should not be scared away by the arguments of people like Justice Scalia. We should fight for privacy as an inclusive concept, benefiting everyone in the same way. Regardless of whether it is a gay or plural relationship, the struggle and the issue remains the same: the right to live your life according to your own values and faith.

This is where it comes back to hit every one of us.

The right to live our lives according to our own values.

The right to use birth control if we wish to.

The right of consenting adults to give or get an erotic spanking.

Never take your freedoms for granted.

To read about one example of polyamory, spend some time with The Heron Clan, one man and two women in a long-standing relationship. Like all of us, they have their crises, with the last few years being particularly challenging. Most of the posts come from swan, who sometimes comments here. She is warm, thoughtful, and analytic, and well-worth visiting.

They have taken untold millions that they never toiled to earn

Solidarity Forever

©Ralph Chaplin 1915

When the union's inspiration through the workers' blood shall run
There can be no power greater anywhere beneath the sun
Yet what force on earth is weaker than the feeble strength of one
For the Union makes us strong

Chorus
Solidarity forever, solidarity forever
Solidarity forever
For the Union makes us strong

Is there aught we hold in common with the greedy parasite
Who would lash us into serfdom and would crush us with his might?
Is there anything left to us but to organize and fight?
For the union makes us strong

It is we who ploughed the prairies, built the cities where they trade
Dug the mines and built the workshops, endless miles of railroad laid
Now we stand outcast and starving 'mid the wonders we have made
But the union makes us strong

All the world that's owned by idle drones is ours and ours alone
We have laid the wide foundations, built it skyward stone by stone
It is ours, not to slave in, but to master and to own
While the union makes us strong

They have taken untold millions that they never toiled to earn
But without our brain and muscle not a single wheel can turn
We can break their haughty power gain our freedom when we learn
That the Union makes us strong

In our hands is placed a power greater than their hoarded gold
Greater than the might of armies magnified a thousandfold
We can bring to birth a new world from the ashes of the old
For the Union makes us strong

Head over cock, freedom over tyranny

My poor sadist. He missed his weekly visit with his constantly sick little cocksucker. His poet hasn't been very forthcoming, either. That's the problem when you have multiple functions being served by the same member of your stable. These are the days I am so grateful for the other women and men who suck his cock and serve him in assorted other ways.

Still, he's been sounding pretty grumpy about my being out of commission.

Which does make me feel awfully good.
Even though I've still been feeling not so good.

I am getting better.
That main being-sick part is over.
But oh, the lingering effects...

Coughing.
Nose blowing.
Exhaustion.

It's the exhaustion that's the worst.

As I said on Wednesday, Daddy has really had it with my being sick. Not that I can blame him. I've had it, too. The first virus struck on Wednesday, January 5th, as I was emerging from 2 months of assorted misery and life interruption courtesy of Marko's near death, the murder of my car, and Seasonal Affective Disorder. And then, just as I was delighting in an expected return to functionality, illness struck. And struck again. And again. And again.

So yes.
We've both had it with my being sick.
Daddy was getting impatient.
But I was still exhausted.

Luckily, logic managed to trump desire.
The sadist does not visit when I am sick.
And he had to admit, from this morning's status report, that I am still not well.

So the visit was postponed.
To my great relief.

And I spent the day,
this extraordinary day,
sharing the joy of Egyptians
in their glorious freedom
which through peaceful revolution
they won
for
themselves.

Who knows how this will ultimately play out.
But for today.
let us rejoice.

Vermont

What more is there to say?

Except
perhaps
Iowa.

Equality is coming to America.
Go forth and love.

Solstice solace

As if to recognize that the Dark had once again lost its yearly campaign to swallow up the world, the clouds parted and the sun returned to the sky. Today is the Winter Solstice, and although in fact it will be a while yet before DC days do truly lengthen, the weather is conspiring in a symbolic celebration.

Today is also the first night of Chanukah, a festival commemorating two more victories against the Dark. One was a historic victory, and the holiday is viewed as a celebration of freedom. The other was a victory of faith over destruction, when a tiny amount of oil, enough to keep the reclaimed Temple's eternal light burning for but one day, lasted the 8 days it took to bring back a new supply.

Every culture has its stories of the triumph of light over darkness, and the holidays long pre-date the excuses we ascribe to them. There is only one story. Light is dying away, and along with it the hope that it will ever return. We know it did last year, and the year before, and the year before that, but still, faced with soul-strangling grey, it is hard to believe the sun will ever return.

And yet it does.
It did.
Today, it did.

I observed the solstice by going outside. I felt compelled to leave the house, where I tend to silently cower over dark weekends, barely speaking except to the cats. I drove the few minutes to a short old street of antique shops, wandered the sidewalks, stopped in my favorite stores, bought a book of poetry, chatted about the coming Inauguration, and took pictures of the sun to remind me that it had really been here.

Tears still clog my throat, partly from the persistent SAD, partly from persistent sadness, but faith has returned that I will survive. Somehow, next year I need to go south for a few days. Drugs and light boxes aren't enough. I'll plan ahead, I'll save up vacation days, and wangle an invitation to somewhere suitable.

Meanwhile, the countdown continues to another triumph of Light over Darkness. A triumph of Hope and Faith, not to mention hard work and an inspired community.

30 days till Inauguration Day.

Long distance can sometimes seem not so far

we were together last night.
the philosopher and i were together
or as close together as we could be
with 250 miles between us.
he wasn’t here for the party
of a dozen people and
homemade soup
and somersault salutes
and champagne celebration.
but he was here.
he phoned.
and phoned again.
and again.
every half hour or so
he phoned and we talked
and exulted and rejoiced
and we shared the victory
and we shared the speeches
and we shared the inspiration
and we shared the history
and tears of joy
and we were together
and i feel him here still.

YES WE DID!

I was looking for a really inspiring picture of Barack Obama as, with utmost faith, I prepared this post the night before Election Day. And then I realized that wasn't what belongs here.

Yes, he won the election.
Yes, he inspired people (including me) to an extraordinary extent.

But it was more than that.
Foolishly, the Republicans derided him
for being a community organizer.
Very foolish.
The community was organized
and it was the community
one person at a time
one neighbor at a time
that won this election.

"You and I together
will change this country
will change the world."

I've long thought that one of the most powerful things Barack Obama ever said, from very early one was: "We are the change that we seek." And I do believe that Obama's supporters have been changed by being part of this process. We have seen that we CAN make a difference. We can believe in something and we can work for it, we can work together, and we CAN make a difference.

We DID make a difference.

And together
we are already changing this country
and we are already changing the world.

VOTE!

YOU'VE GOT
THE WHOLE WORLD
IN
YOUR
HANDS.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Later: I did it.
I voted.
And yes, I cried.
Before, during, and after.
I cried,
and I hung out
at the Obama tent
with a friend from the health club.
He said he loved how
emotionally vulnerable I was.
The fiend feeds on my vulnerability.
Would he have laughed
at my tears?
Or swallowed them?
As for my friend, hmmm...
could he be a dom, too?

Who cares?
What we all are is ecstatic.
Triumphant.
Exulting in our power
together
to defeat the devil
and change the world.

Lest we forget...

Never take for granted your right to vote.

Pinned

The week of the Democratic convention, I was convinced that I was going to receive a gift from the philosopher. I didn't know why I felt that way, but the feeling was clear and solid. On the Tuesday I came home at lunch and saw a large-ish padded bag in the mailbox, but it turned out to be yet another Obama t-shirt as a reward for yet another contribution to the campaign.

That Wednesday there was nothing, and I felt let down.

And then, on the Thursday, the day of Obama's acceptance speech, there it was. A small padded bag this time. Inside was a white cardboard jewelry box. And inside that was The Pin.

I cried.

It was so beautiful.
It was Obama's logo.
And it was a gift from him.

I've worn it nearly every day since.

It arrived a few weeks after the final break-up, perhaps a week and a half after we'd started talking again. He had bought it a while before, having fund it on-line.

It really is beautiful. You may not be able to tell from the picture but it is handmade, pieced together from different kinds of wood, in their natural colors, as if it were a jigsaw puzzle. My office mate informed me that the technique is called intarsia. Whatever it is, it's beautiful, alive, glowing...

I wear it almost every day.

And when the election is over...
it will still be beautiful
it will still be a gift
how long do you think can I keep wearing it?

YES WE CAN-VASS!

The fiend kindly gave me permission to "redistribute [my] servitude" in service to the greater good (thank you again, Sir!), allowing me to head down to Virginia with my best friend and steady canvassing partner M, along with a host of other volunteers from Maryland in general and Montgomery County in particular. A glorious day. Each time we go out, we never feel like we've accomplished all that much, but in fact we are winning this election one vote at a time.

And we WILL win this election.

Wanting...

I’m tired. I worked late again tonight and I’m tired. Not that late, not till eight, that was last week, and seven last night. It was only till 6, and then 10 minutes to home, most people would sneer at my kvetching. But the cats needed feeding and I need my downtime and I have my assignments for my most demanding tutor so I logged off and walked out and here I am home.

I love having cats. I love how they swarm, just two of them but they swarm, they turn up their faces and present a head or a nose to be touched, Ketzel rises up on her strong little legs and gives me a kiss on my nose with hers. They make me feel welcome. They make me feel loved. They make me feel needed as they act like they haven’t been fed in two weeks. And then I’ll find myself with one in my lap, and another hard against my legs, trading their heat for mine, trading their love for mine, and my drafty house feels like a home and my lap and my legs and my heart feel warm.

But you know, sometimes I’d like there to be more. More warmth, from a bigger body, a bigger human body snuggled up against mine. A big soft hard human body to snuggle and hold me and stroke my hair and kiss me for hours and not hurt me. Not hurt my heart and only sometimes hurt my nipples. Arms and lips and tongue and fingers and chest and legs and cock… yeah, sometimes a cock is nice… and losing myself in sensual touch instead of wrestling with the pain… to be aware of every tiny section of my body as it is explored and caressed and enjoyed for my pleasure as well as his.

I want to be loved. Sometimes, I just need to be loved.

There are many forms of intimacy, and many roads to reach it. I’m not saying that one is better than the other, or that I want only one or the other. And of course that can be a problem, too, wanting so much, wanting to be loved, wanting to submit, wanting to be caressed, wanting to be hurt even though I don’t really like the pain but I do find joy in offering my pain… Wanting more than one person is likely to be able to give me.

And I do have a lot now. I do. And I am grateful for it. But sometimes…. sometimes I want the rest of it. Sometimes I want to curl up next to someone the way Marko is now curled up next to me, and to feel someone’s hand stroking my hair and my skin the way I am stroking Marko, and to know that I will feel it again tomorrow… or if not then, at least next week… and that when Barack Obama lands that winning electoral vote he will be here by my side crying and laughing and drinking champagne and toasting a new, hopeful future.

So Marko… how do you feel about champagne?

Vote now - we can change the world

It's not too early to be sure it's not too late.

If you can, vote early.

You never know what could happen next Tuesday.
- long lines
- snow
- flat tire
- not enough machines
- broken machines
- confusing ballots
- attempts at voter disenfranchisement

Do it now.
This is too important.
Don't risk not being able to vote.
This is historic.
And your vote can be the one to make the difference.

The following states permit no excuse, in-person early voting at election offices and, in some states, other satellite locations:

Alaska
Arizona
Arkansas
California
Colorado
Florida
Georgia
Hawaii
Idaho
Ilinios
Indiana
Iowa
Kansas
Louisiana
Maine
Montana
Nebraska
Nevada
New Mexico
North Carolina
North Dakota
Ohio
Oklahoma
South Dakota
Tennessee
Texas
Utah
Vermont
West Virginia
Wisconsin
Wyoming

Source for this list is the National Conference of State Legislatures.

I've made it quite clear on this blog where I stand. I've worked for my candidate and I'll be out there again this weekend. So yes, I'd be happiest if you voted for my guy, and I'll be beside myself with joy and relief when he wins. I think most of the world will be happiest when he wins.

But beyond that, I care about democracy. I care about taking responsibility for our future. We have an amazing freedom here in the United States, we CAN vote, and yet an embarrassingly small percentage of us do.

A single vote can make the difference.
And it could be yours.
So vote.
And if you can
vote early.

Thanks to Deity for inspiring me to write this post today rather than next week.

3 more weeks

Three more weeks
until the future rides into town
and Hope becomes Reality.
Three more weeks
and WE will have done it.

But we can't be complacent.
This election will be won
one vote at a time.

Don't know what to do?

Go to the website:

www.barackobama.com

Canvas.
Make phone calls.
Talk to your neighbors.
Wear a button.
Put up a yard sign.
Put blatantly political statements on your sex-and-poetry blog.

Join the Great Shlep to Florida

from which my parents saved me by moving back up to Connecticut.
(Speaking of which, congratulations Connecticut
for letting wedding bells ring for all!)

Do you remember that great line from Tom Lehrer's song The Folk Song Army?

Remember the war against Franco?
That's the kind where each of us belongs.
Though he may have won all the battles,
We had all the good songs.

Well, this time we've got it all. We WILL win the battle, in a respectful, non-violent sort of way, but we also have the most creative and resourceful bunch of supporters any cause or candidate could want. So when you get tired of making phone calls to Ohio, or need to let your cell phone re-charge, take a little break for this seasonal activity (website courtesy of the philosopher):

http://yeswecarve.com

And if you can't vote in this election, for whatever reason, including being citizens of a country on the other side of the globe (Hej då Sverige! Hello Turkey! Hello Malta!), hope and pray that we can get it right this time. The world we save will be yours.

The birthday of the world

Today is the birthday of the world.
Rosh hashanah.
The beginning of the Jewish High Holy Days.

We say it is the birthday of the world.
But we also say it is the day the world was conceived.

Conception, birth, creation, it is an ongoing process, creation. We are constantly being created, born, re-born. We look around us, look back, rethink, make adjustments, and are born anew.

The universe is a great, continuous work of performance art. And our lives are part of that.

These are the Days of Awe. A time to look back. A time to look forward. A time to heal the world, on both an intimate and a grand scale.

I'm not sure how I feel about this whole God thing. I've had certain experiences that I don't like to talk about, experiences that made me doubt the doctrinaire atheism with which I was raised. Yes, there are Jewish atheists, and I was a third generation one. But I started to feel things, sense things... things that made even less rational sense than an orgasm-inducing stick of oak baseboard trim. My rabbi says I'm a pantheist. He doesn't seem to mind. Indeed, he sounds proud of me. I suspect he's a bit of a pantheist himself.

So I'm heading into 10 days of looking back and looking ahead. And looking into right now.

I can't help looking back. I have so many memories tied up with the holidays. The first time I came to my synagogue was shortly after September 11th. I came with the woman I thought I was in love with. I don't think I was really in love with her, but she broke my heart anyway. By Yom Kippur it was all over. We each kept seeing the man we were both involved with. Now THAT was an interesting story... I still see him every so often when he's back in town visiting his mother. I'm expecting another visit in about a month or so. I... um... no. Let's just say I'm looking forward to it.

I had my dyke haircut back then. I was trying very hard to be a lesbian. I failed miserably, but now I wonder if that didn't have to do with my unrealized submission. Another thing to think about.

Now my hair is thick and shoulder length and with only a few more white bits around the temples. Everyone says how gorgeous it looks. And I thank them and think how it's long and gorgeous because the philosopher ordered me to grow it. So whether or not I choose to think of him, I can't help it. My hair looks beautiful and it is his.

I sit there in services with my little notebook, jotting down good bits from our prayerbook, jotting down bits that people say, jotting down my own thoughts... and feeling every moment that I am in service to my demon muse, to the Sorcerer, who told me in no uncertain terms to get myself a notebook or 3. I think of the year past and of all the loss, and I think of the year ahead and feel both dizzy and safe. I have given myself over to his mysterious plan for me, and it feels good to have given myself over. I'm afraid of heights, I'm afraid of falling, but I close my eyes and let myself fall back, and whether he catches me or lets me crash to the ground I will accept my fate.

I don't believe in that kind of God. I'm not sure if I believe in God at all, although I seem to have a sense of something... I think I'm some sort of mystic... but I don't believe in a God who has a plan for me and everyone and that i just have to have faith that Someone has already written the script. If I do believe in God, it is one who said ok folks, see this world you find yourself in? It's your job to sort things out, to fix it, to heal it. If your dog is lost, I'm not going to pop down and find it for you. You have to take care of each other and figure it all out.

But for some reason, I believe in my demon muse, this man who managed to hunt me without making me feel defensive. I'm a cautious pet, I run from people who pursue too hard. But I never realized the danger I was in until it was too late. And now he has this plan for me, and I say yes, Sir, I agree, this is not a game.

And I look at the year ahead, and all I see is me walking forward into the mist. And if he's leading me over a cliff, so be it, because I'm not looking down.

And to all of you for whom this applies, and anyone else who wants it:

L'shana tova.

A gut yontiff, a gut yor.

Best wishes for a good holiday and a good year.

(And God, if you DO get the urge to meddle down here, could you please make sure Barack Obama wins the election?)

FLASH! Le petit prince joins Kids for Obama

Seen at the Barack Obama campaign office in Fairfax, VA .

Power Loss

Wednesday, 4 June 2008

It is nearly 6:30 as I sit down to write. The power is out, victim of a series of over-enthusiastic storms that brought tornadoes to northern Virginia and killed one person. Good thing my laptop is fully charged. Good thing I don’t live in Virginia.

It was eerily quiet when I arrived home from work. Nothing whirred in the background. The cats were mildly disconcerted. I turned on the emergency radio, partly out of NPR addiction and partly for storm updates, but regret the loss of silence. It’s a crank radio in case the batteries die, with a flashlight option. I pulled out my Itty Bitty Book Light for evening reading. The house is well-supplied for power emergencies; I stocked up after Hurricane Isabel.

I wish you were here. There’s something especially intimate about being stuck without power. You would share my picnic of nuts and dried fruit, tomatoes and three-day old donuts left from Sunday morning’s indulgence.

We would curl up on the bed in the continuing evening light, reading books and unfinished sections of the Sunday NY Times. We would turn off the radio and exist in a world without immediacy. We would read and trade stories and laugh at the cats and at your irrepressible urge to pinch my nipples.

And when the natural blackout curtain fell over the street, we would feel our way down to the dungeon.

I twitched as I wrote that. The darkness of the basement will be absolute tonight. Traces of old pain and fear will emerge from every corner. Alone with the cats tonight, I’ll stay upstairs where civilization is as close as next door or the speaker of my little red crank-up radio. But if you were here…

We would feel our way down to the dungeon. I would be as if blindfolded. You would carry a flashlight in one hand and implements of torture in the other hand. I would carry candles, but unlit.

The sense of roaming dungeon demons nearly suffocates me. I shiver and moan. You chuckle and order me to strip, then propel me toward the ottoman and force me over it. Only then do you light the candles that earlier you placed in strategic spots. The shadows they cast just intensify the atmosphere.

I feel myself floating away, wound in the web of your sadism and desire, swathed in your sweetness and strangled by your lust.

Someday, it will happen. Someday you will be here when the power goes out. But your own power lingers, like the scent of wild honeysuckle that loiters round the house, uncontrollable, ineradicable. The fear and pain hover in the basement, the laughter and gentleness, the spankings and threats, the affection and perfect peace fill the entire house.

I miss you. But in truth you never left.

And when Barack Obama is declared the next president of these hopeful United States, you will be by my side.