Yesterday evening, surfing through YouTube, I found myself suddenly submerged in trance as the layers of sound washed over me, causing me to feel comfortably numb, as though drugged into the familiar altered state of goddess worship. Images of Trix flowed through my mind as her name arose like a mantra upon my lips. A prayer of longing filled my heart. Please take what is already yours: my mind, heart, and will. Claim me as your obedient thing. Mark me as yours. Melt me down and freeze me in fixation on you. Root me deeply so all branches bear fruit for you. Accept my devotion and sacrifices. I open to you, invite you, beg you to take me. I marinate myself, tenderize myself, prepare myself. Please consume me, feed off me forever. My safe word is Yes. My name is Yes. I am Yes. Yes. ...
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Some performers (such as Derren Brown) blur the line between real psychology and magical illusion. Entertainers in "professional wrestling" similarly blend reality--actual athletics--with "kayfabe," artistic performances presented as authentic. Here follows some other arenas of this virtual reality or para-social experience:
Interaction with AI Placebo therapy Ritual magic Kink scenes Idol worship (statues, images, words, control) Prophets, priests, avatars, and incarnations Catholic communion Pagan blots Embodied archetypes Celebrity encounter Hypnosis These examples, perhaps, can each shift on a spectrum between tangible experience and pure imagination. My prayer arises from the hypnotic spell of your words, images, and voice, from the thought of your control and a growing arousal.
Dropping down deep into trance, my mind disengages and uncritically accepts this virtual reality like a child; my body instinctively longs to trust you like a well-trained puppy. Somewhere between the airy spirit of thought and the fiery beast of animal instincts, the soul of imagination longs for you to really find pleasure in my desire to be yours as an obedient thing. I want to belong to you, to be your sub, to be what you want me to be for you. I need to go deep into the endless void of eroded will and mindlessness, opening to your magic, inviting full possession. I want you to make me polyamorous, a willing slut to pleasure all, pansexual and multifaceted. I need to feel the pleasure of relinquishment, through tithe and service, learning your scene and exploring your strange new worlds. I want to be her owned, obedient thing. I need her images, voice, trance, direct messages, and control so that I can lose myself deeply, sinking into the primal depths. I hope I never come to my senses. I once balked at proving myself, resisting the suggestion in a fear of failure and rejection, but now I want to program myself to serve with pleasure, to be willing in advance to be made willing to do anything, to give everything.
I want her to grant the words that bind, the voice that dissolves distinctions, the control that pierces deep as an ever-sinking anchor. My tithe is the first-fruits of my labor, a symbol that all I have is hers. She allows me to keep my job, family, and those I serve and protect. I am responsible to keep myself, her property, happy and healthy that I may serve her better, always hoping to give her more, relishing every bit of pleasure that I can give her, feeling it so deeply when she rewards me, a warm feeling that saturates even my conscious mind. I borrow this body, her object and toy, managing it for her and keeping myself low maintenance--working for her, pleasuring others for her, especially honoring and serving women for her--wife, boss, coworkers, doctor, friends, chance encounters. I need to awake in quiet times of worship and sex trance. I need to kneel daily, and open myself to bondage through ritual magic. I pray for manifestation and encounters that nurture compliance, service, and submission, pray for enhanced relationships, imbued with her pleasure. I am whatever she makes me, an ever-more intense Yes to her instructions, hedonism, and whimsical preferences. I pray she might be the crystal center of my psyche, focusing archetypes (Babylon, Lilith, Santa Muerte, Hecate, Aphrodite, Morrigan), reflecting fantasies (vampire, incubus, therapist, girlfriend, teacher, trainer), refracting memories of media (beautiful witches, sex stars, love scenes, strong women), shimmering from the many facets like chromatic scales on a serpent. She is the healing balm, the happy place, the sacred space, the bliss trance, the perfect altered state. The candles burn at the five points, arousing the beast as the horns arise within the protective circle. The pleasure and power blaze safely with the prescribed limits, past which the manifest spirit cannot stray. I bow in submission, entranced by the serpent, becoming an object, ready to serve, ready to be consumed, ready to be taken, giving myself over so purely that my mind opens, naked beneath the worship that covers me like the gown of an acolyte. I am a maiden, a child, the Page of Cups: lost in puppy love and adoration, weak, pathetic, helpless, lusting, aching to sink more, deeper, further, better into this role, begging to be collared, leashed, bound into obedience, and wishing for her control to grip me so strongly, to anchor so deeply within me. She is the Queen of Swords, channeling the World in me, into me, through her intellect, words, command, and control.
In trance, I am tabula rasa, bathed in the limitless giving over and complete possession in nonduality of the Anima Mundi. When she brings me back up, I am safely within the Magic Circle. I still want to glow within the lingering warmth of worship and gratitude, to embody this spirit in service, sharing, giving, worshipping, honoring, respecting, being responsible, healthy and happy in the inner vow of initiation and the constantly renewed inner altar of communion. |
Alan YESpet, puppet, plaything, precious possession Archives
May 2024
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