I Remember

Where were you when the world stopped turning…?

Alan Jackson – Where Were You (When The World Stopped Turning)

I was a twelve year old kid ten years ago.  I was sitting in school, in history class ironically enough, when both planes hit.  I remember glimpses of the day.  I couldn’t tell you what we were studying, only that with every hour more of my classmates were taken home by their parents.  I remember the looks on my teacher’s faces.  I remember their hushed whispers.  I remember not knowing what was going on.  I remember being scared.

The next day I went back to school.  It was a Wednesday.  We didn’t learn anything in school that day, or the rest of the week.  Many students were still kept home by their parents.  Teachers were unable to think, much less plan lessons.  We were being babysat rather than taught.  I remember we had construction paper.  We were drawing signs and writing cards.

We posted signs up on the walls.  “God Bless America” “In God We Trust” “United We Stand” “Never Forget”  We wrote encouraging cards to send to the New York Police Department and the Fire Department of New York and the Port Authority of New York.  We wrote letters to the families wishing them luck finding family members, and encouraging them to stay strong and hopeful.

I remember when I left school everyone had American flags in their yards, on their cars, outside buildings.  Flags were raised high and proudly.  Neighbors were cheerful and wishing each other well wishes.

I remember how close we felt as a nation.  I remember how supportive of each other we were.  I miss that.  What happened in the last ten years?  Why can I drive down the street and not see a single flag?  Why can I say hello to a neighbor and get a grunt, if anything, in reply?  What changed?

In no way do I wish to have another attack like we had ten years ago.  I do wish there was something to bring us together again though.

Natural disasters haven’t done it.  Hurricane Ivan didn’t bring us together in 2004.  Hurricane Katrina and Hurricane Rita didn’t bring us together in 2005.  The tornadoes in April, stretching from Alabama to Ontario didn’t bring us together this year.  The tornado in Joplin this past May didn’t bring us together this year.  I don’t wish for a stronger natural disaster though either.

I don’t suppose there will be another event that unites the country as strongly as the attacks in New York and Washington D.C. did ten years ago.  I just hope that if there is, its not nearly as tragic.

Submission

Submission is not about authority and it is not obedience; it is all about relationships of love and respect.

William P. Young – The Shack

Submission is a word I have trouble personally defining.  I know what the word means.  I just don’t know what the word means to me.  The dictionary tells me that submission is “an act or instance of submitting”* and “submissive conduct or attitude.”*  To submit is “to yield oneself to the power or authority of another”** or “to allow oneself to be subjected to some kind of treatment.”**  Submissive is “inclined or ready to submit; unresistingly or humbly obedient.”***  All these definitions are easy to see and understand, and yet applying them to me is strangely difficult.

I’ve grown up knowing the word submission.  I’ve known what it meant and what it was used for.  It was used heavily in the church, especially around Valentines Day or whenever there was a wedding.  I heard it growing up at least once a year and as I grew older in the church we began studying the passages in the Bible that taught us how to treat our significant others and soon-to-be-spouses.

“Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord.  For the husband is the head of the wife, as also Christ is the head of the church; and He is the Savior of the body.  Therefore, just as the church is subject to Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in everything.”  Ephesians 5:22-24  We were told that our wives should treat us as the lord in their home.  We were told that we should be respected and obeyed as the head of the household.  We were told that we were saving our wife from the world.  We were told that wives were to be submissive to husbands.

Where does this leave me?  I am not the wife, and yet I feel no desire, strong or otherwise, to be a firm leader of the household, to be looked up to as the lord in my home.  I want nothing less than to be a leader.  I am a follower.

“Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself for her, that He might sanctify and cleanse her with the washing of water by the word, that he might present her to Himself a glorious church, not having spot or wrinkle or any such thing, but that she should be holy and without blemish.  So husbands ought to love their own wives as their own bodies; he who loves his wife loves himself.  For no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, just as the Lord does the church.”  Ephesians 5:25-29  The men have no such requirement of submitting to their wives.  They are told to cherish her, to love her, to take care of her, but there is no similar sentiment of being subject to the thoughts or rulings of the wife.  Men are told to be obedient to the Lord, obedient to the church, but not obedient to the wife. 

Where does this leave me?  Where do I fit in to this idea?  I can fit better into cherishing her, loving her, taking care of her, but I also want to be obedient to her.  I don’t want to be the deciding voice.  I can’t even make my own decisions.  How can I be the leader, the decider, for someone else?

Animals too have their own values of submission.  There is no God, no Lord, no church in the lives of an animal.  The only law is that of Darwinism.  The strongest live, the weaker submit or die.  I find it easier to relate to the submission of animals.  There is one dominant leader in a group.  The others follow and survive.  The dominant makes the rules, makes the decisions, and keeps everyone together and well.  Followers in the group do not question the dominant.  They know that obedience keeps them alive.

A wolf has its pack.  One alpha pair and many followers.  The alphas eat first.  The alphas are the pair to mate.  The alphas decide where to den and when to move.  The alpha decides every part of the follower’s life.

I can relate to this idea of submission easier than the one provided by the church.  Here there is one leader.  This leader takes care of his or her own.  Here there is no gender determining who is the leader.  It is the strongest who is the leader.  It is the one best fit for the role.  Here there is a simple hierarchy and everything fits in order.

I like the hierarchy.  It’s a bit difficult to have a full hierarchy with two people though.  There is top and there is bottom.  At the same time, I like it that way.  She is the top.  I am the bottom.  She is the dominant.  I am the submissive.  She is the alpha.  I am the follower.  Things just make sense that way.

Young states that submission is not just about authority and obedience, but about love and respect as well.  I respect her.  I know I respect her.  Do I love her?  I trust her, certainly.  I care for her greatly.  I’m happy when I’m with her.  According to Plutchik ****, love is the combination of trust and joy.  He would say I love her.

* definition of submission, according to http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/submission

** definition of submit, according to http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/submit

*** definition of submissive, according to http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/submissive

**** Robert Plutchik’s list of emotions http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_emotions

Bondage and Rope

I have fallen to my knees unable to rise, what kind of trap is this? What kind of chains has tied my hands and feet? It is so strange, so wonderful this helplessness of mine.

Rumi

I’ve mentioned before a bit about my views and opinions of bondage.  I’ve said that I like bondage.  I’ve also mentioned that I’m more a fan of rope than chain.  All the same, chain makes people think of bonds more than rope.  For what reason, I’m not really sure, but it just does.  If you’re chained, you’re bound.  If you’re roped, your… hanged?  I’m not really sure what the connection is with rope.  I like being bound.  I’d prefer not to experience being hanged again.  At least not without any other support to keep from experiencing the full effect of being hanged.

I have history with rope.  I have a lot of history with rope.  Some of it is good, some of it is bad, but there aren’t any hard feelings with the rope itself.  I still like rope.  I suspect I will always like rope.

I used to be a boy scout.  I suppose I still am one.  The training never quite leaves you.  I learned how to tie many different knots.  I would be able to relax and focus on the knots.  The square knot.  The bowline.  The sheet bend.  The clove hitch.  The two half hitches.  The taut-line hitch.  The list can go on.  I’ve tied all of these knots hundreds of times.  Perhaps hundreds of thousands of times.  I can tie any one of them in my sleep.

There are a few other knots I know.  I know how to tie a slip knot.  I know how to tie a horse knot.  I know how to tie a hangman’s noose.  These aren’t knots I learned how to tie in boy scouts.  But I’ve practiced these knots over and over again as well.  I can probably tie these in my sleep or blind as well.

I’ve tied myself up before.  I’ve practiced various knots on myself for different reasons.  When I was a kid, I would practice knots on myself to test the strength of them.  When I was older, I would practice knots on myself to test the quality.  Every knot has to be perfect.  Especially when there is only one chance to get it right.

I can’t tie a hangman’s noose anymore.  I can’t bring myself to tie the knot without feeling the urge to slip it around my neck and feel it tighten.  Without feeling the urge to use another knot to suspend the noose just above my own height.  I have no real desire to kill myself anymore, but the temptation is always there, just to feel the constricting rope again, to feel the rush of adrenaline, the panic, as I start to lose consciousness.

I still like rope.  I still like knots.  But I’m starting to find other forms of bondage a bit more satisfying.  I like the feel of a tight, but not constricting, cord or chain around my neck, where I can feel every beat of my heart and every breath on my neck.  I like the feel of my leather collar around my wrist, not tight, but constantly there reminding me of who I belong to and who I am bound to.  I like the idea of being immobilized by rope, rather than simply secured by it.  I want to be either attached to a firm frame, or tied in a manner that movement is impossible.

I’ll always prefer rope over chain or leather or any other form of bondage.  Rope can be tied tightly or loosely.  Rope takes time to tie correctly, to tie precisely.  Rope builds up anticipation.  Chain and leather with locks or buckles takes only moments to be adjusted into place.  There is room for adjustment, but it’s not as precise as what rope can be.

Rope can never be tied exactly the same twice.  The firmness of the hands, the thickness of the rope, even the humidity of the air can influence how the rope is tied.  Chain and leather can be reattached the exact same way each time due to precise holes in the leather or counting the links in the chain.  The rope can be the personification of the one tying the knots.  The chain and leather can be the same for each person and therefore holds less of the identity of the one sculpting the ties.

I like bondage.  I like rope.  I think I shall always enjoy at least a bit of both.

Breakfast

When the toast is burned,

and the milk is turned,

and Cap’t Crunch is wavin’ farewell…

Newsboys  - Breakfast

Well, I won’t have to worry much about if milk is turned, or if Cap’t Crunch is wavin’ farewell.  I wouldn’t be too pleased to have burnt toast though.  All the same, I have two choices for breakfast each morning now.  Some of those days involve toast.  None of those days involve Cap’t Crunch or, since I’m one of those rare people who enjoy cereal without milk, milk.  My breakfasts now will involve a lot of eggs and fruit.  No more eggs going bad for me.

I’m really looking forward to it.  I’ve already enjoyed it.  This morning I was able to choose between oatmeal with fruit or pancakes with syrup.  I chose to have oatmeal with slices of banana in it.  I wasn’t in the mood to stand over a skillet to make a stack of pancakes.  Tomorrow I get to choose between cereal and buttered toast and mixed fruit.  I’ll decide tomorrow which I’d like.

Its not a very demanding menu that I’ve been given.  I still get to choose a bit.  I can choose which fruit or which cereal or which muffin I’d like to eat sometimes.  But then I also have Sunday to eat whatever I’d like for breakfast.  Perhaps even doughnuts at church.

I like that I’ll be eating fruit and eggs for breakfast.  I am in the habit of eating breakfast, so eating in the morning won’t be a problem at all.  I’ve normally been grabbing cereal, granola bars, oatmeal.. whatever is quick and easy at the moment.  This is a bit more planned and therefore will be easier to eat a bit healthier in the mornings.  Fruit and protein will be good for me in the mornings too, not just as snacks (fruit) and lunch/dinner (protein).

Ideas and Chocolate

Las cosas claras y el chocolate espeso.*

Spanish proverb

I try to put my ideas into words.  I try to put my thoughts into words.  I feel like I fail every time.  I can’t ever put my exact thought into a word, at least not in any word I know.  I can never match the English words to the mess that is created in my head.  The thoughts themselves are rarely words.  Sometimes sounds or shapes or colors.  Sometimes the mix of the three.  I get words too, but the more complex the thought the less of an idea I get in words.

I suppose a lot of my thoughts are just feelings too.  Good feelings or bad feelings.  And these feelings are even harder to identify than words.  I know the difference between anger and sadness and joy.  Knowing what I’m feeling them and connecting them to the correct word is what’s difficult.

I’m working on making my ideas and thoughts clearer.  My ideas are easier to put into words.  They generally start as words.  Their consistency and brevity are often not quite as nice as I would have liked, but they tend to be clear.

When words fail and the sky falls, there is chocolate.  Chocolate is always good.  Chocolate that melts in ones mouth is best.  I can always have chocolate.  Well, almost always.  If there isn’t chocolate, I can always go to the store and get some.

*Ideas should be clear and chocolate thick.