IN POSSESSIONN OF MY own HEAVEN. a sacred reality of the self and the surrounding world.
You must drink the water of pain and suffering.
You must stoke the fire of love with the wood of virtue.
Then you will live in the real desert.
Mechtild von Magdeburg.
The desert has twelve things, 1,35.
Chacun son rythme de chagrin.
Roland Barthes, Journal de deuil.
What I do is flee from the light to clarify the dark.
Antonin Artaud.
At noon my night begins. At night, before I fall asleep, my fear of mechanical repetition appears, performativity empty of meaning. When I dream I free myself and inhabit a space where random elements, animals, churches, strange situations play. On the threshold of my night and my dream, the repetitive expresses the inexpressible to understand and give relief to the tedium that shadows my thoughts that resonates like an echo in the abyss of my fracture, revealing the awareness of my pain.
Fear of becoming Myself, dwelling on consecrated ground, clearing the doors of perception, without yet having any clue of what is behind this liberation, of what I do, my decisions, where I direct the focus of my attention. Search for the divine in the depths of my being and not in the outside world, loosen the chains of mere instinct to raise awareness of opposites. Understand the mysterious darkness of the oriental spirit that inhabits me like a snake and wants to awaken(me) my deep psychic powers by submitting me to the spiritual.
Synchronicity reminds me that I am part of something bigger that guides me towards encounters that transform me, a dance between my outer and inner world. Repetitive synchronicity, however, overwhelms me. I feel in me the words dragged with regret of Paul Celan in Todesfuge. The boredom of the message remains in my chest, by dint of tedium, I repeat the emptiness, I exasperate myself, I go to the forest, I look for answers, I find some, I return to the repetition, sometimes I am surprised, so much so that I must return to the forest with this new perspective, I theorise it, I am afraid, I hold on to nothing, I ritualise with fire and ashes, despair suffocates me. And now the repetition, with a little more sense, becomes a sacred structure that helps me to understand certain points that I wielded from intuition. A black velvet kimono, blindfolded, hands tied behind your back, the petition not to listen to your breathe, the order to focus your attention on the middle point between your eyes, the punishment. I move forward and I have new answers.
Frater meus, the sorrow of your vulnerability, dilated pupils and the lightness of your body make me understand this journey where the feeling of nullity fragments what was apparently united. Little by little I understand what is no longer neither stone nor water, but the sacredness of an encounter where the ecstatic experience reveals the divine and singular aspect of the rite. Synchronicity and repetition seem less tedious to me, when in my moments of darkness, some Submissives communicate and their words become a lighthouse of return home. I am not alone in this.
In the radical separation between the sacred as internal and the profane as external, the dungeon presents itself on a different plane from the common one. And this physical plane is no longer homogeneous, but is fixed in it as a Centre, in which the physical body is presented as an altar, thus determining a fixed, particular and unique point for the foundation of the world and the beginning of real living. A new world could not be born from the homogeneity of space. In the balance between Chaos and Cosmos and my search for the multiplication of meaning, I discovered that the sacred is equivalent to Spinoza's potentia - I will quote him again ad infinitum. My food, my sexuality and my dreams are no longer just an organic process, but rather places where I allow myself to achieve a certain transcendence through the communion I generate with the objects consecrated in my private universe, where I establish a boundary that distinguishes the ordinary from what can be extraordinary. I recovered my insolent freedom, in my thirst for being and in the face of the terror that the idea of nothingness provokes in me, I decided to face another beginning, one more in the multiple lives I have already lived. I refuse to accept a simply human condition, I cleave myself as a malleable object ready for synchronicity, for the manifestation of the sacred and I unite myself intimately with the mysterious oriental spirit, the one that allows me to freely unleash my mental strength, my neurosis was a mere reflection of my complex and intense depth. In the face of this, my visits and returns to the forest have been the way to heal myself. I see my soul and I am no longer afraid of the abyss and the immolation of my Self.
I wonder how many times I will have to seek refuge in the forest. My sensibility, war, misfortune and horror, the unbearable and the inconceivable of our historical reality subjugates me to the necessity of my growing religiosity. I find it difficult to understand the Cosmos in its destructive aspect as a hierophanic edge, the crushing submission to my Nova maiestas.
I chose a territory and began to let my roots grow, assuming the creation of my world that seemed to have no past. I return from the diaspora because I need answers, I return to my center to recognize the gods of my ancestors. A DNA test like a virtual rhizome reveals me be Iberian, Arab and indigenous American, my big eyes finally have factual answers. I begin my journey of reconnection to the East. My visits to Morocco awakened in me a deep and sublime desire to belong, I began to dream of mosques and deserts. The first words I learned in Arabic are undoubtedly words that contain me -Dunya, Mreyte, Leyla, Sama, Fawda, Ahmar, Kabir, Qawm- (Earth, Mirror, Night, Sky, Chaos, Big, Resist). My victory here lies in recognizing the unknown, facing different presences like a mirror, accepting reverence, enjoying the constant exchange of roles where there is no object or subject, because we both share a common third entity. Get out of hierarchical tyranny and return to presence. If I'm no longer alone, then neither are you. Now, as a geometric space I wish to create a sacro-religious, rebellious and emancipatory theory, where repetition becomes a necessity to establish a rite of initiation, a threshold towards a deep unconscious, to look face to face the Animate and the Animus, because without the soul the spirit is as dead as matter. I am able to connect with multiple ruptures, your pain and mine share roots from the same matrix.
On November 23rd I celebrate one year since my first session in a dungeon like Dominatrix, the same day that the Sun passes through my natal Lilith in 0 degree of Sagittarius, the day when I accepted and appreciated the will of my longing that sought the path of liberation. At the threshold of my night I learned to trust my shadow.
DE
DESIRE IN FRONT OF A MIRROR, CONFRONTATION WITH THE SHADOW WHEN CONTACTING THE SACRED
Practising domination has been a constant crossroads between elucidating if I'm really contacting the mystical reality of the Self, that space apart from the ordinary world and the surrounding time, as Paul Tillich understood the ontological impulse to reunite the separate, with a veiled intuition that attempts to connect the private sphere with the religious, which is the sacred that resides in all existence. I consider this hesitation as the consequence resulting from the exile of the contact of my self with my soul, accepting that there is also an exile with the exterior, just as the hermetic principle runs: as above so below, a fundamental truth that leads to the confirmation, by way of a metaphysical equation, of the missing part of an approach that torments me: am I sinning when I dominate and strengthen bonds with submissives or am I simply a subject who dares, through a performative ritual, to liberate those who come to me? As I have always said, never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that I would be in my early thirties practising domination. But why am I so afraid of it that I am constantly paralysed? Perhaps these practices have a profound impact on my unconscious, enough that I must take pauses that seem like neurotic recesses, as I struggle to subvert the negative connotation I am trying to carve out.
Taking the risk of being seen while answering the call of desire, of reminding myself in this guilt-induced disconnection to rethink myself, how to redeem me from the burden of the self and recreate myself in the sacrament of joy? My first steps are directed towards understanding that opening up doesn't weaken me, but intensifies what identifies me in my individuality, to recognize and increase my potentia.
One of the greatest achievements of a mature psyché is to manage the symbolic freedom of the imagination, and in this space, guilt-infused religious disciplines encourage believers to stay away from the temptations of the flesh, to abandon the lower passions of the body and to work towards the sacred yearnings of the spirit. But behind this wholesome façade, there is a mystical knowledge that uses sexuality as a way to sublimate the spiritual consciousness: if approached in the right way, it can become a sacramental experience, bringing us closer to the fullness of the self.
In this metamorphosis I have kept in mind Bawa Muhaiyaddeen when he states that we cannot seek The Truth because it's too big for human beings, but that we must do as if we were rowing in a boat, letting the truth remain on our backs. As we go forward, keep rowing to push the mirage away from us, so that gradually we come closer to the truth.
I set myself the task of vindicating the senses and recovering contact with what satisfies and delights me, with the erotism that lives abundantly and naturally in me, cautiously awakening the wild and wounded animal that must have hidden in the forest at a dark time in my life, when with regret it realised, as Sartre rightly warned, that hell is other people. To my surprise, one day I found her footprints forming a wandering path,which made me love more the ruins of what I had been, accepting that any process of deep transformation must be at some point painful and confusing. I slipped through the leafy and dark forest that allowed light to enter. And so, my world has begun again.
