It flows through me like lava, burning my soul
It makes me want to shake and lose all control
Sometimes it breaks me, sometimes it makes me feel whole
It makes me live, when life has taken its toll
It wants what it wants but disappears at a whim
It teases and taunts and sometimes fills to the brim
To be there with it I have to go out on a limb
The way to contact it leads through the within
I write and talk to you and ask you to stay
I don’t want to bother you but I have so much to say
The cracks in the walls come out when we play
You know I’ll be there with you, come what may.
More about the breaking…it is not just a “BDSM” sexual thing..there is reality on multiple levels. And they interconnect…breaking is a part and a pathway to connection with our self inside, and with another on a deep level, and to broader awareness. It is not destructive. It is healing and freeing. Liberation, release. Sometimes breaking is good. Sometimes we need to break…break through…it does not always mean breakdown or destruction, at least not in the negative, tormenting sense. Words can’t capture the essence. But the word for me is important…I have my little fixations.
Breaking open. That is a good way to put it.
The BDSM aspect…that is another aspect. I am trying, to figure out how it all relates, ties….where reality lies. As usual.
She had always been a sensitive person, and when people mistreated her, which happened often, it felt as if she was being torn apart, crushed, and that she became nothing. The fragile tendrils attempting to reach out for sunlight, her desires for affection, respect, and connection with her fellow humans, were constantly thwarted. People made fun of her for who she was, judged her and found her lacking, used her and exploited her, and rejected her when she developed a longing for someone. So, as she grew into an adult after a lifetime of this, having it constantly drilled into her head that there was something wrong with her and that she did not deserve what she wanted and needed most of all, she slowly built a shell to hide inside. To keep the world, and life itself, from touching her. It was a hard shell, she blocked the vulnerability that she had been taught to fear. For a time, it felt like a solution. She felt secure in there, calm and impenetrable, not hurtable.
But before long this security turned to oppression, she felt disconnected from the only thing that made her feel alive, that she desired most of all, because deep down she felt that it wasn’t safe to want it. She felt buried alive, and her obsession became obtaining freedom, at any cost.
All she wanted any more was for the shell to break, to shatter, to be rescued and truly touched, Inside, again.