It would be simpler if I felt the same way, but I’m still wishing I could explore and play. It’s just part of who I am. It took a while after the chaos of a specific event from this summer before I had an interest in playing again, but it’s still there, running through my veins.

So not sure if this blog is dead, or has to morph into something different. Trying to resurrect my faith life as well.

It’s an interesting, thoughtful time around here…not bad…just different…

Blessings,
Raven

It seems I have another story out in printed form. And the folks at Amazon.com were kind enough to smoosh me up next to Sommer in the description. Yummy…

Think that’s enough shameless self promotion?

Blessings,
Raven (aka Diana St.John)

So much for being a writer.

There have been some wonderful, challenging developments around here lately; those of you who see me on FetLife might know what those are.

I’ve mentioned my husband’s mistress on here…she’s an amazing, wonderful woman who I have come to love dearly. She makes me laugh, she makes me think, and is just a hell of a lot of fun to be around. It’s also a trip to see my 5-year-old daughter top her when she comes to visit.

I’ve mentioned my own dominant, Mr. Wycked, he of the gorgeous bondage furniture and toys, which I loved even when I first met him at Folsom Fringe 2007 and he explained why he wouldn’t make portable or easily-disguised furniture.

There’s another dynamic forming, however, that is not so easily categorized, but is very real. C (aka SamtheEagle on FetLife) was the first to identify it as this. The term we’re using is poly family. As DB refers to it, we’re a pleather family.

I have to admit – I have my own biases about the polyamory label; am a bit more comfortable with a variation found in The Ethical Slut called polyfidelity. Admittedly, my biases about the term polyamory have a lot to do with my assumptions that polyamory is a term people use to try to excuse promiscuity. And this is most decidedly not about being promiscuous. Within this grouping, C and I have intimacies and activities that are exclusive to us alone. As a group, we have discussed and continue to discuss what is okay in our minds for each of the pairings to do. The is the most extensive way in which we speak of what each couple does for a variety of reasons, I don’t wish to hear the details of C’s time with DeviantBitch; he doesn’t wish to hear much of what I do with Mr. Wycked, and we don’t really need specifics regarding what happens between Mr. Wycked and DB. We’re all maintaining our individual lives – we *don’t* all live together, nor do we plan on doing so at any point in the future. We try to each check in with each other and as a group on a regular basis – sometimes over coffee, sometimes over Sunday night family dinner with the kids present. Last weekend, with C gone, his mistress came up and gardened with me and the kids. Only she and the sweet girl child know what all is in that first raised bed; there’s quite a collection of seeds and plants of all sorts, it seems.

We’re not entirely sure what this means. It does mean that it’s increased the complexity and amount of communication that each of us has to choose to maintain. One might say that it increased the communication needs exponentially rather than in an additive way. Even as I write this, the next post is formulating in my mind that deals with some of the complexity and challenge of choosing to create and support a family-of-choice dynamic when moments of difficulty do not get resolved with communication, but instead fester and cause lingering hurt feelings.

One of the ways of describing this relationship, for me, is that of an intentional community, marked by committment to the members of the family. One of the things that encourages me is the committment we are making to each other and to the whole – that even when difficult issues come up, we will endeavor to choose love and move through them. We have all certainly heard horror stores of poly families of varying arrangements that have fallen apart and had disastrous consequences for all involved, including children of various family members. We have *every* intention of not letting this happen.

So – that is where things are now. It is amazing to walk this journey in a unique way with my spouse and my chosen family members, who I love deeply and who love me. It became profound last weekend, when I was having an unusually severe time with instant depresssion brought on by an extreme lack of sleep with C out of town during the last month while baby A’s canine teeth have been making their grand push through his gums; as a result, my sleep over the past month has come largely in 2 hour blocks, and that’s been when I’ve gotten any. Last Friday, as a result, I fell apart. It may have been the most severe experience of depression, certainly wtih very little warning/buildup, that I have ever had. C was on the phone listening, helpless to do anything – other than mobilizing the forces, as it were, and communicated on my behalf to Mr. W and DB (I tend to withdraw when I get depressed), and while he was talking me through the worst of it, they were preparing to come up here and help, if need be. (There wasn’t much they could do, and I eventually felt safe enough to stay on my own, but when baby A is uncomfortable, I’m the only one he wants, and there really isn’t anything anyone else can do; trying otherwise just escalates him). It was a profound experience of community, however, and something I’m not likely to forget soon.

I don’t know where this journey will take us. I know that I will be enriched for experiencing whatever it brings.

Love and blessings,
Raven

The night I wrote my last blog entry, my little dude didn’t sleep. Again. So the morning of my session, I was in a mood. Some of the words that come to mind are cranky, tired, exhausted, whining, frustrated, angry, and a whole host of other ones, but I think you get the drift. And a dangerous emotional place for me that really starts coming out after about 3 nights of no sleep. Among other things, even I’m aware of having a very flat affect. I’m just too tired/frustrated/scared/depressed to care about anything. Sleep’s a funny thing…

So I mentioned all of this to my dominant, nearly telling him that I just couldn’t do this, but stopping short and leaving it in his hands. Sweetheart that he is, he mentioned something about a sub care night and masssage. Yummy.

Through the day my mood bounced around quite a bit. And that curious water rule…

The flat affect and just totally drained feeling got me to a place where, I wasn’t intending to test him on the water thing (though I question my motivation in retrospect); I simply felt too drained and tired to care. It wasn’t a digging in my heels kind of brat mood – just simply not enough of anything in me , as I put it then, to actually give a shit about drinking water, or the consequences for ignoring that.

I texted him at some point asking if I could have a pass for water that day. I’ve unfortunately reset the software on my cell phone, so I can’t quote exactly what went back and forth as I had intended. One quote is rather firmly embedded in my mind, though; I havce a feeling you can get the gist of the conversation with just this tasty morsel. He texted, “I’d rather spank your ass than break it.”

You figured out that one too?

I did, in fact, divert to Target, pick up a few water bottles, and start chugging…and the elevation in my mood by the time I was there probably had nothing to do with it, right? (And then the sadist made me *wait* to pee…including while he pressed on my belly. Damn!)

It wasn’t so much that I had the brat type energy where I was testing; I do think there was probably a different sort of testing going on, though. It was a place of, “this is hard, I’m having a hard time, and I don’t want to.” Which he was well aware of, was only trying to make me take care of myself, and to experience that I will be held to taking care of myself and following the rules he’s set down for me, even when the going gets tough. (and, let’s not forget, it’s only flipping water!) More than anything, I really wanted the experience of knowing that when my world is swirling out of control, he is there to provide some of that control when I simply can’t. And that is a very, very good thing.

Did I mention it was fun, too? There was a long lovely climax during flogging…

[setcontentedsigh=on]

Blessings,
Raven

And I’m afraid I’m going to forget some detail of being ready. I’m still not in a groove yet, so it would be so easy to forget an instruction or task so easily.

And I’m just spinning, not in a good way, afraid of failing.

Not seriously afraid, but worried that I will get so caught up in the minutiae of mundane stuff, and my serious sense of perfectionism, that I won’t get this submission thing right. That what will come out is not submission, but all of my frustration, my whining, my imperfections, all out there for him to see. Not like I seriously think I’m perfect, of course. LOL. (The visual reminder of all of this fucking laundry seems to be in my face reminding me of that). But I want to be perfect at this.

And I’m beyond frustrated that I’m just not.

And it’s bugging me.

Raven

I’m one of the luckiest women in the world. I have a husband who I adore, who adores me, and is brave enough to navigate the crazy, uncharted water that is me.

I’m also lucky because I love his new mistress, and I’m probably one of the few women who is able to say such a thing about one’s husband’s mistress and mean it. My sweet husband, profile name sam the eagle on FetLife, is committed as a submissive to his mistress, DeviantBitch916. I understand a formal collaring is in the works, but I wanted to be the first to give my blessing publicly, as well as to tell them both how absolutely joyous I am for them as they begin this journey together.

Love you two…

Blessings on the journey,
Raven

I had a session with my dominant Thursday night; a time of clarification of boundaries and expectations, a time of play and exploration, and a time of punishment. I know, it’s just astounding to believe I would have tested the very first rule I requested, the very first couple of weeks.

Stop snickering.

Since I know no one’s on here with any voyeuristic instincts and just wants to read my philosophical ponderings on the whole experience rather than reading any word pictures of how punishment or play might have looked, I’ll oblige.

The whole experience left me feeling profoundly blessed and grateful – to him for getting it and giving me the many different parts of what I need; to my spouse for trusting me/us with our respective journeys; and to the Divine for the blessing of getting this gift at what seems to be the perfect time in my life.

Oh – did you say you really did want to know specifics?

On the topic of rules and expectations and consequences, we took a moment to clarify how that will work between us. Mainly, he reassured me in words that he takes that part seriously; that he might not remind me, and he won’t necessarily tell me all week just what it is that I’ve earned. It may not always be a spanking. But I’m entrusting him with this – to help me reinforce some habits I’ve had mixed success with reinforcing on my own and giving me a safe way to blow off steam and experience a sense of beginning again when I fail, rather than getting caught up in a tailspin of “I never do xxx right, so I might as well stop trying”

That was how the rule – the one I requested – of drinking a minimum of 8 glasses of water a day went. (I requested this rule because I suck at drinking enough water, and I’ve been hospitalized for dehydration before when left to my own devices on this one, not to mention the regular headaches I get when I try to live on coffee and Mountain Dew). It went well for about 2 days. 3 if I round up on the water I drank the third day. And then I just sort of got into a mood, and in my mind, said, “fuck it” and promptly stopped being clear with him about how I was faring with this rule, along with not drinking water altogether. I also had asked him to check in with me on my school work for my MPA program. While I’m willing to be somewhat gentle with myself with the reality that I’m balancing grad school with work and parenting 2 small children, it’s also easy to use that as an excuse to forgo doing homework. That leaves me at the end of each class scrambling to read, write papers, and be ready for finals, which doesn’t exactly bring out the most pleasant aspects of my personality.

After having to admit this to him, he reassured me with his actions that he takes this part seriously. He paddled me. From my perspective, it felt hard, primarily because there was no warmup. Let me tell you that 7 swats with a heavy wood paddle feels like much longer of a paddling than it looks like in text. It was intense, both emotionally and physically, and when it was over, the sense of relief I felt was something I have missed in a very long time.

Incidentally, I’ve not been at all tempted to ease up on the water drinking these past 2 days, and lest you think it’s due to the promise that the punishment will be doubled next time, I think it’s more related to the reality that I really don’t want to have to look him in his amazing eyes and admit choosing not to obey. Funny how that works.

But on to more interesting matters. Assuming, of course, you think the thought of my pussy being cropped and whipped, then alternating with being teased with a Hitachi magic wand is interesting, of course.

Really, I didn’t think you did, either.

Hm…maybe I should do some homework before continuing.

Playfully,
Raven

This time of year is like that; the call to change and sacrificial living of Lent gives way to the high holy days and the celebration of the Triduum – the single liturgy stretched out over 3 days that take us from the Last Supper to the celebration of the Easter Vigil after sundown on Holy Saturday. The Vigil is my favorite celebration of the Church year; while not kid friendly, there is something so profound about gathering as a family, telling and retelling the stories of salvation history from Creation to Abraham, the Exodus, to the prophets who all pointed to the redemptive work of Christ, and celebrating the ultimate triumph of life over death.

Even when I’m not observing as carefully as I would like, I miss it at times, and I smile when I realize that those gentle nudges of remembrance may well be heaven-sent. In a recent conversation with one of the most gifted catechists and liturgists I know, she was making some of the preparations for the Easter Vigil and in a very spontaneous moment, asked if I would like to be one of the lectors (lay readers of scripture) for the Vigil, and then in the next sentence said, “I didn’t even know I was going to ask that until I did, but it was just right!” I’ve read at the Vigil before – it is a profoundly sacred responsibility, in my mind, to be entrusted with the work of sharing these sacred stories with the family of God, particularly as the Vigil is the night where we baptize adult converts, initiating them into full communion with us. While they’re no doubt familiar with the stories, it’s the first time they’ve heard them as part of the family, not from the outside looking in.

The process of Christian initiation (done well as a journey of faith rather than just as a series of classes to learn facts about Christianity) reminds me, at its best, of the journey of discovery that BDSM, at its best, can be as well. It also reminds me that sometimes in our impatience, we go out seeking to learn more, know more, do more – and yet, if the timing isn’t right, or if there are ways we aren’t really ready to go deeper into the mystery, the universe often waits rather than giving us what we’re sure we want now.

I’ve spent a fair amount of time blogging about BDSM and spirituality as one who has played regularly in the past, and as one who plays sporadically – but not nearly often enough for my tastes – in the present. I’ve spent many blog entries bemoaning the lack of a top in my life. (For new readers, I’m a sub who switches, my spouse is a sub).

But perhaps I wasn’t ready.

The universe seems to have shifted, not only reflected in my life as a person of (somewhat undefined) mostly Catholic faith, but also in my life as a woman who is deeply, deeply kinky and, when I’m honest enough to admit it, deeply submissive to my core.

I blogged recently that C and I had become involved in our local BDSM group and, in the midst of community, were meeting friends with whom we could relate, and begin experiencing the journey in the context of a group rather than just alone.

In the process, we’ve each begun playing more, experiencing both the enjoyment of bottoming and the tentative exploration of more meaningful submission. It’s an area that had seemed dead in our own relationship. As we’ve found people to play with – who each of us and both of us feel comfortable with the other playing – the hope of new life in this area has been raised from that place of apparent death. And in the process of finding a way that we can each have our needs in these areas met, we’re finding a certain amount of relief in our own marriage – that this is no longer an area of tension and lack of fulfillment, and we have had quite a reenergizing of our relationship.

I’m so very thrilled for him that he’s getting what he needs on a regular basis.

And he is genuinely pleased that I’m doing the same.

While nothing particularly formal, per se, I’m beginning a journey of exploring submission with another person – Mr. Wycked, of Wycked Synsations. We’re not sure if this will lead to anything particularly formal, but we’re both pleased that the journey seems to be beginning. Anyone who questions my sanity in subbing to someone who delights in making gorgeous paddles, canes and furniture that all can be described as truly wycked, probably has something there.

I know he reads my blog; have no idea if he’ll comment, but the possibility is there. We’re working on a framework for this experimental journey in dominance and submission. Right now I have a limited number of rules. Chris will no doubt be delighted that drinking enough water is one of them. (Rules were meant to be broken, right?)

It truly amazes me to realize how much I’ve missed this part of life – like not knowing just how thirsty you are until that first sip of water is taken and then you greedily drink the whole glass. Or like a piece of music playing through a sound system that sounds pretty good, until someone turns on the subwoofer and you realize how much richer, how much fuller it sounds with the bass grounding the music’s higher notes.

What wondrous love is this, to be celebrating hope and new possibilities in part of my life I had believed to be fully, irrevocably dead.

May the Paschal mystery, in all of its permutations, never cease to amaze us.

In the promise of Alleluia,
Raven