Sands of Time

Love is not an exhaustible resource, it doesn’t get used up, it only dies when left without expression.

‘A’Ole E ‘Olelo mai Ana Ke Ahi Ua Ana Ia.

Translation: The fire of Love will burn as long as it has something to feed on.

Do I bury you in the recesses of my mind like I did him 6 months ago today?

I will bury you in your phone call about his death; in my screams of a heart broken and bloody.

I will bury you in the sting as you lash my flesh and your eyes turn midnight blue; the gift of your vulnerability, the gift of my submission.

I will bury you the glider high above the clouds 7000 feet over the North Shore of Oahu.

I will bury you at the foot of the Navigators Beacon on a dark star filled night at Waimanalo beach.

I will bury you at Montana del Oro where the surf sings its song washing over a jade pebbled beach.

I will file the papers under lessons learned. How to risk, and lose….

First:

A day,

a week,

a month….

6 months to the minute now
since I learned you were gone.

Dead.
Buried.
Ashes to ashes,
dust to dust.

Only your bones live there now.

Your spirit,
Your Love,
Your memory,
Lives in mt heart
Forever.

That will never change.

Time heals all wounds.
Changes grief to acceptance,
Softens its face
Makes managable

Saltwater tears still flow
My heart still bleeds

You take care of you, you hear? I miss you. I Love You, Dear.

One Man, One Dominant Male, One Apprentice Master, One Long Time Best Friend. 5’11”, 200# Ginger with deep blue eyes. Last seen wearing Black polo shirt, jeans, white tennis shoes and trailing 10′ long dick behind him. May be found hanging around hot dog stands at Home Depot. Loves loose women in low cut tops and heels. May also be spotted opening doors and carrying heavy packages for women of all shapes and sizes.

If found, loop wounded dick around neck and send home to the ones who love and serve him…

Signed: Two concerned submissives, patiently waiting for his return. PH:555-555-5555

All truth passes through three stages. First, it is ridiculed. Second, it is violently opposed. Third, it is accepted as being self-evident.
Arthur Schopenhauer

Radiate me, subjugate me, incubate me, recreate me, demarcate me, educate me, punctuate me, evaluate me, conjugate me, impregnate me, designate me, humiliate me, segregate me, opiate me, calibrate me, replicate me

Really.

Photos courtesy of FeelinKnotty

I can’t help but re-post this here. From another site.
~SherynB~

Right now, this minute….who are you with?

Did you just say Nobody?

Really??

Look again, my friend. At the VERY least you are with the person you were born with. The one who has been with you for every lovely, joyful, sorrowful, painful, frightening, exciting, boring, pleasurable, ever-lovin’ minute of your life, and will walk with you even when you die. And you just said Nobody.

So tell me again. Who are you saving the good wine and the pretty china for? Whose body did you love and pamper and give pleasure to today? Who was the feast for?

I heard you Wishing for somebody to “share it with”. Your “One and Only” who makes you more important than anybody else in the world. If only THEY were here, you’d trot out the Special Things and you’d be Happy, and the world would be Right.

I don’t believe for one moment that there is ROOM in your life for the person big enough, worthy enough, to fill that space for you as long as you are hanging a “Closed” sign on the door, and expecting that when They show up, you’ll turn on the lights and get the party started.

Not me.

Lights are on. Dinner’s cooking. Bed’s warm. There’s plenty here, there’s enough to share. I’m full up, and there’s always room for more.

The rules are simple. Love full out. Be Here Now. Treat Yourself Beautifully.

Every decision we’ve made in our life, every person we’ve known, every choice, every journey, every bit of happenstance and planning and luck and bizarre beautiful coincidence has conspired to lead us to this one beautiful moment. No matter how exciting or mundane it is, it is REAL. And most of the people I know aren’t paying the least bit of attention to it. Too busy bemoaning a past that didn’t happen, a future that may or may not come to pass. Inventing hosts of potential tragedies to worry about and chewing on fantasies of what “should have been” or how things Will Be as soon as Someone Else Does Something.

Not me. Not any more.

I may not be anybody’s “Primary Partner”. Hell, most of the time I’m not even on the list of “Secondary” partners, “metamours”, or for the busy types, first fuckers once removed. And you know what? I’m OKAY WITH THAT.

My life does not begin When Somebody Loves Me.

My life exists because I Love.

Right here. Right now. Me. You. Him. Her. Hir. Them.

From the innocent flirt with the old man at the bakery counter to the puppy pile after the party to the spouse/significant other someone was kind enough to give permission to play with, kiss, hug, fight with or fuck.

Full out. No reserves. No expectations except: Be Honest. Be Here. Be Real.

Maybe it’s just for tonight. Maybe it’s Same Time Next Year. Maybe we flirt until the end of time and nothing more. I’m okay with that.

Don’t apologize to me because we got all naked and you’d…Really. Rather. Cuddle. or Sleep. If you feel safe enough to curl up in my arms and sleep happily, I am just as loved as if we’d worked our way through the first half the Kama Sutra before the police showed up.

On the other hand, if I just fucked your husband or partner into next Tuesday and would happily do it again…please do trust me that it doesn’t mean I’m interested in his care and feeding, or plotting to steal him away. If you were generous and gracious enough to share him (trust me, I made sure of that before we started…and if he lied about it, we’re done anyway), I’m not about to bitch EVER about him prioritizing you. I insist on it.

I have friends that are lovers, lovers that are friends, people I like to fuck, and people I’d prefer not to. I love them all the same. Some of them love me back. Some don’t call it love, they just enjoy my company.

Some of the best sex I’ve ever had, I chased the last body out the door at the end of the weekend thinking “That was the best fu…..OMG…we never actually DID fuck” and laughed in joy.

Loving doesn’t require genitals. It doesn’t require permission. It doesn’t require reciprocation, ownership, permanence, promises or guarantees.

I do it all the time.

Do I get hurt? Sure I do. Mostly when I start fantasizing about how much better I think Something I Don’t Have might be and forget to enjoy what I have Right Here Right Now. More often when someone who simply cannot see that I mean what say when I say I’m good with Exactly What I Have destroys things and closes doors out of jealousy and fear. That always hurts my heart.

But you know what? My capacity to Love will never be greater than my willingness to be hurt. So I will hurt. And at the end of the day, the hurt will fade, and the Love will still be there. It is the way we are made.

We cannot lose this game except by not playing.

It took me a long time to realize I may not have The One Great Love. I may not be somebody’s Primary Partner, Dearly Beloved, or The One. I may not spend my lifetime gazing happily into the eyes of a partner.

But whether I die tomorrow or 50 years from now, I will have had the great honor to have loved a great number of people completely. For a day, a moment, an hour, or years, and in that, I have riches beyond measure.

And in the meantime, I will set my own place at the table, and treat my Self beautifully. My house is full, the lights are on, and there’s always room at the table for more.

We get one pass at this beautiful life. Live it full out. Love, full out.

I don’t need anyone’s permission to Love anyone, at anytime.
And I sure as fuck, don’t need Your permission to Love You.
It’s not about You.
It’s about serving ME.

warm sand, sunsets, sunrise, blue crab, sound of the surf, sand dollars, french press coffee, sashimi and nigiri, warm summer nights, hoarfrost, a full moon, candles, Peter and the Wolf, bamboo, hemp rope, silk, cashmere, chickens, goats and sheep, The Little Prince, cats, muscle cars, orchids, dirt, meadows, the Rocky Mountains, glider planes, blue sky, puffy clouds, kites, rainbows, Westminster chimes, Turkish coffee, iron gates, sapphires, cemeteries, papayas, Monty Pythons Flying Circus, stained glass, Santana, Montana Del Oro, skin, swings, old Saturday Night Live, violets, Patsy Cline, Etta James, Billie Holiday, Ray Charles, flowers in a vase, Assimov, lace, old cookbooks, Venus and Mars, gas lights, cobblestone streets, slate, babbling brooks, slow moving streams, raging rivers, WWII pin up girls, Calvin & Hobbs, dragonflies and butterflies, The Missouri River, Bob Dylan, telescopes, cast iron, ice cold milk, brick walls covered with ivy, orchids, glow sticks, honeysuckle, the smell of rain on hot pavement, sake, liverwurst on white bread, fireplaces and wood stoves, just baked bread, down comforters, Cathedrals, lapis, quilts, small planes and helicopters, The 4 Agreements, pasta, cannolis, railroad tracks, graffiti covered freight trains, Ahi Tuna, art and science museums, words, children laughing, salsa and flamingo dancing, herons, kingfishers, loons, hot tubs, Skouras Red 2008, hummingbirds, sailboats, gumbo, used bookstores, béarnaise sauce, massages, lightning, key lime pie, eye contact, grapevines, Santa Fe, red nail polish, potato pancakes, black seamed stockings, Moro Bay, clam chowder, paper birches, sealing wax, gardening books, sipping tequila, Stranger in a Strange Land, pocket watches, pate, David Bowie, conversation, hugs, watercolors, pelicans, clam chowder, hummingbirds A Song for You, freedom, snakes, Alice’s Restaurant, tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, sand castles, raptors, Merrill hiking boots, pickled ginger, 2 dollar notes, stick pins, vintage perfume bottles, Star Trek, leather, mangoes, lightning bugs, the Milky Way, bubblegum pink lipstick, marching bands, geocaching, women with spunk, Men with 5 o’clock shadows, thunderstorms, friends and family-every last one of them, You, and Me.

You’ve always listened.
I’ve just never allowed myself to hear you; to let you speak.

I am “open” today. Huge gaping holes anyone can enter.
The gates stand unguarded.
Defenseless is vulnerable and fragile.
Feeling I could be easily wounded and wondering who or what will protect me if I cannot….