Drowning in the sea of love
Where everyone would love to drown
I have always been one for big thoughts and bigger feelings. I remember finding Kafka, reading about existentialism and I remember it hitting me deeply, striking a true chord: these were the questions I had always been considering, thoughts that had consumed me for my entire young life. Why were we here and for what? Life seems so arbitrary and is made even more absurd by the constant repetitive action of nearly each and every human being trying to find divine purpose, a kernel of meaning, a glint of hope that there is some magical ‘more’ that we can aspire to and find, if only we have the mettle. While we do this navel gazing, we spend our time eating and sleeping and fucking, all whilst thinking we are the most evolved and most well adapted organisms in the universe.
Wait a minute, baby
Stay with me awhile
Said you’d give me light
But you never told me about the fire
My youth, like the youths of so many, was candy coloured on the outside, drab and grim within. Self knowledge and understanding was belittled by the peers of my generation, there was a constant suck and pull of the tide of conformity that I fought in small ways; I was outspoken, wildly competitive “for a girl” and I fucked around. A lot. I didn’t earn a scarlet letter, I wasn’t a commodity in the community of horny boys in my school. I was more of a reflective rebel, secure enough to initiate, insecure enough to get high on the attention, but always gnashing my teeth for control. By the time young adulthood rolled around, I was well versed in the trappings of love and the indelicacies of carnal knowledge. I was comfortable with my leanings to non monogamy, I fell in love and then fell in love again, and again. I adjusted to the moral quagmire of polyamory and it suited me well, I found partners that clicked and came to a place where I felt I could stop seeking and swimming upstream with my sexuality; just float, Violet, just tread water a bit. Then I found BDSM.
You’re the poet in my heart
I tried on a figurative sweater called submission. It was warm and cozy. It had pockets filled with sweet things, it had a label of care instructions to be carefully followed. There was comfort there, even when the wool itched, even when the collar of that sweater was so tight and the hem hitched up past my slapped-raw cheeks. I wanted to stay in that sweater and be soft with it, wear it with me everywhere, suck the cuffs and forget the big thoughts and big feelings. I wanted to escape into a version of myself that I had never really been. When I realized that, the sweater no longer fit.
But now it’s gone
It doesn’t matter what for
But when you build your house
Then call me home
Determined to continue to understand, I swung the pendulum the other way. I dabbled and dipped into Domination and spent countless hours, days, months, looking, connecting, letting go, being short changed or abandoned, not knowing quite what it was that I needed. I knew that I wanted to belong. Not to a group or a whole, but to feel like I belonged to someone and that they belonged to me. By this point I had been married a long time but our definition of ’til death do us part wasn’t quite what would satisfy that hunger. I wanted ownership. I wanted iron clad. I wanted to protect. I wanted to lead. I wanted to be worshiped. I wanted control. This realization was the point where my mind and my heart and my body synched up. There was a hum that ran through me, some sort of conduit to a truth I had been afraid to look at, a knife’s edge I had been afraid to walk. But there I was, on a precipice, I just needed someone to jump with me.
And one day, there he was.
And he was just like a great dark wing
Within the wings of a storm
I think I had met my match
He was singing
And undoing the laces
Undoing the laces
I think I was in love with him long before we ever spoke, long before we connected in any real way. His words resonated with me so much, his expression and voice in his writing was so clear and pure, I felt like his blog posts were a trail of pretty stones, leading me to him. Despite my new found sense of self I found myself shuffling my toes in the dirt and standing just out of view, bashful, already too invested to risk reaching out. I hazarded a comment or two, found my feet with some flirtation about his love of breadmaking (knead/need is such a fun interplay for word nerds like us) and suddenly we were in the swirling eddies of a transatlantic love affair.
I’d found my Darling.
The internal journey is not complete, perhaps it never is. All I know is that I have a partner in adventure, a true friend to learn with, a dashing Mr. Bond, a devoted Disciple who will sit at my feet, a gentle creature to remind me of the need for play and a valiant Knight that keeps a vigil over land and sea. Call it divine purpose, a kernel of meaning, a glint of hope.
The night is coming and the starling flew for days
I’d stay home at night all the time
I’d go anywhere, anywhere, anywhere
Ask me and I’m there
Ask me and I’m there
Just float, Violet. Let the sea of love hold you.
*lyrics in italics from Sara by Peter Wolf, performed by Fleetwood Mac