CraigJustCraig

Tag: faith

  • The Chalice That Never Empties

    They say: “You’re only ENM because you want to cheat without guilt.”

    But those words are shallow, spoken by mouths that fear the depth of truth.

    If I hungered only for pleasure without consequence, I could do what so many men already do: lie.

    Whisper sweet nothings. Pretend at devotion. Disguise betrayal with flowers and empty vows.

    That is the easy path. The coward’s path.

    But my life is built on integrity sharpened into steel.

    I do not lie. I do not shrink.

    I stand in the open, naked in truth.

    To speak my desire aloud is to invite judgment, to summon contempt.

    But I accept that crucifixion.

    Because ENM is not escape. It is not indulgence.

    It is covenant. Expansion. A refusal to mutilate the heart into scarcity when it was forged for abundance.

    Monogamy has often felt like a cell:

    twenty-three hours in confinement, one hour of stale air.

    But ENM — ah, ENM is the sky without walls,

    a storm with no horizon,

    a freedom tempered by responsibility.

    Do not mistake me: I do not love less when I love more.

    Each bond burns with its own fire.

    Each person receives the fullness of me.

    I am cursed and blessed, like a priest whose chalice never empties —

    no matter how many drink, the wine remains.

    Sometimes love awakens in the smallest spark:

    two hands brushing in passing, a flash of lightning across the skin.

    Why should I chain that current, forbid the seed to sprout,

    simply because another flower already blooms in my garden?

    Love is not a ration. It is not prison food.

    Love multiplies. Love overflows. Love is infinite.

    And ENM is not only love — it is architecture.

    It is the building of life outside the blueprint of scarcity.

    Shared burdens, lightened by many hands.

    Finances braided into ropes that climb us out of poverty into legacy.

    An emotional ecosystem — one soul offering peace, another fire, another laughter, another wisdom.

    No single person crushed under the impossible weight of “everything.”

    This is not chaos. This is design.

    This is not cheating. This is covenant.

    A web woven with honesty, accountability, expansion.

    So I say: stop fearing abundance.

    Stop caging infinity.

    Stop binding the heart to scarcity when it was born to overflow.

    I do not choose ENM because I must.

    I choose it because I can.

    Because my blood sings freedom.

    Because my heart refuses to shrink.

    Because love is too vast, too holy, too dangerous to ever be caged.

    ✨ Love without limits. Build without boundaries. Live without fear. ✨

  • Communion in Shadow

    Control. Power dressed as salvation. They built their empires on fear, guilt, obedience. They call themselves gatekeepers of love while hiding the scaffolding of manipulation, the whip of shame, the iron bars of dogma. Their flock—sheep, nothing more—are trained to kneel, to silence themselves, to worship shadows and tremble at the word hell.

    They tell you desire is sin. Rebellion is sin. Individual will is sin. And yet—those are the sparks of true spiritual fire. They twist their texts, polish chains, weaponize doctrine, and call it truth. They speak of love but demand submission. Sacrifice. Eternal attention. Worship under threat. Hands folded in prayer, mouths silent, spirits boxed.

    And here is the truth they hide: freedom lives in the shadow. Not the shadow of sin, but the shadow of curiosity. Pleasure, taboo, indulgence, debauchery—these are altars. Each act of surrender, each whispered yes to desire, becomes a prayer. Each gasp, each tremor, each gasp is scripture written in flesh.

    Plant medicines, shrooms, entheogens—they are sacrament. They open corridors in the mind, gates to ecstasy, doorways where self dissolves and the divine bleeds through muscle, bone, and blood. Pleasure is not distraction. Desire is not theft. They are guides, teachers, heralds of illumination.

    The world will call these things shameful, sinful, chaotic. But chaos is the womb of creation. The forbidden pulses with freedom. To indulge consciously, to explore fully, to surrender without fear—this is devotion. This is communion. This is knowing the divine not as dogma or doctrine, but as current, fire, and flow through your veins.

    This is the lie the controlled fear most: that obedience is salvation. That submission is devotion. That chains are love. Step past it. See beyond the pulpit, beyond ritual, beyond threats of damnation. Step into shadow. Step into pleasure. Step into your power.

    Your altars are your body. Your ritual is your desire. Your sacrament is experience. Every indulgence, every plant, every breath, every shiver—they are keys to revelation. To meet your shadow with reverence, to honor your hunger, to claim your ecstatic freedom—this is your rite. This is your communion. This is your liberation.

  • The Gospel of True Will

    Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.
    Love is the law, love under Will.

    This is the heart. The gospel. The master key that turns the lock

    All else is shadow, commentary, dust.

    True Will. Not whim. Not indulgence masquerading as morality. Not the cruel whims of ego. True Will is fire beneath your skin, hunger that crowns you, kink that demands obedience, flame that will not die until you kneel to it.

    Perhaps your True Will is to fall, face to floor, lips pressed to boots, tasting sweat, dirt, devotion.

    Perhaps it is to wield the cane, to etch bruises like scripture, to carve your gospel into another’s flesh.

    Perhaps it is to take the lash, scream into the gag, beg until you dissolve into holy nothing, trembling beneath ecstasy and torment.

    Perhaps it is to claim, to collar, to command, to mark a soul so deeply they bleed your name when they come.

    This — this orbit, this fire, this unquenchable obsession — is your star. Your axis. Your gospel.

    follow it, burn in it, bleed for it, obey it. Not halfway. Not politely. Not in secret. All the way.

    And know this: it holds only under love. Love is the law. Love under Will.

    The Dominant who strikes with devotion, not ego.
    The submissive who kneels in truth, not shame.
    The sadist who carves pain as prayer, not emptiness.
    The masochist who offers their body as sacrament, not punishment.

    This is the balance. This is the law.

    Every whip-crack is law. Every welt, every rope-burn, every muffled moan — sacred. But only when devotion drives it. Only when love under Will guides it.

    This is not theory. Not ink on a page.
    This is sweat soaking dungeon floors.
    This is blood staining thighs, marking obedience.
    This is the tear slipping from a blindfolded eye at the whispered command: “Yes, Sir… yes, Ma’am… please, more.”

    This is flesh. Bruise. Scar. Devotion made corporeal. Written not in ink, but in leather, in blood, in surrender.

    Do what thou wilt. Find your fire. Obey it. Burn in it. Bleed for it. Love in it.

    That is the Law.
    That is the Key.

    That is the first Door

  • The Gospel of Root

    I do not chase the East for its mysteries, nor the past for its ruins. I stand where I am. My feet press into this soil, and the land speaks to me. They call it Feng Shui in the East. In the West, we once called it geomancy. My ancestors called it root—the reading of earth and spirit, the listening to land. Different tongues, same truth: the earth is alive, and it shapes us if we dare to listen.

    But the West forgets itself. The seekers here, restless and estranged from their own bloodlines, chase after foreign names, foreign temples, foreign spirits, while the bones of their ancestors whisper beneath their feet, ignored. I know why the seekers wander. They feel alien in their own culture, so they borrow shrines, robes, and languages not their own. But I do not need foreign altars to know the divine. My altar is the dirt beneath me, the rivers that cut the earth, the wind that bends the trees. My root is not imported—it is remembered.

    The problem has never been the names. The problem has always been place—the spirit of the land, the pulse of location. In China, Feng Shui has been sung into the soil for a hundred generations, broken only briefly by revolution. In Europe, geomancy lived perhaps a hundred generations deep, until the sword of Christianity cut the thread. Roots severed. Memory burned. I inherit a truth split. But still, I know: tradition tied too tight can strangle.

    Even so, geomancy was more than decoration. It was weaponry, weather-work, war-magic. I see it. Those bound to the land became slaves to it. And when the conquerors came, they broke them. Because for two hundred generations, Europeans had trained a different magic: not rooted but moving, invading, devouring. Their craft was not the stillness of place but the alchemy of transformation. Detached, restless, violent—it carried them until it named itself science, but its origin was war, blood, and the refusal to be caged by land. Unrooted, adaptive, alchemical. Land harnessed not only for harmony, but for destruction, for martial force, for storms that bent toward the one who listened.

    Yet there is a danger in deep roots. Too much tether, and the land becomes a cage. Tradition hardens into prison. Stagnation waits in the soil. And when the colonial empires came, they broke these old earth-bound peoples because they were bound too tightly to their places. So I stand between two ruins: the stillness that binds, and the detachment that consumes. I take both into me. I will not be caged by land, nor severed from it. I will work the earth, and I will wield the storm. I am root worker of the present.

    So here we are, at the meeting of ruins. Both truths scar the earth. Both paths have their price. This is my creed: I harness land without chains. I walk as one who listens and as one who strikes. I claim what others forgot, and I name it mine.

  • The Gospel of the Heretic-Savior

    I am not an idea.
    I am not a symbol.
    I am the midnight oracle, the blasphemous saint, the hand that frees through ruin.I am where devotion is stripped bare, tested, devoured, and sanctified.

    Others kneel to idols of stone and air. They whisper to abstractions, they bow to distance, they worship symbols precisely because symbols never bite. Symbols never bruise. Symbols never demand skin. I do.

    Here, there are no idols.
    Here, there is no distance.
    Here, there is no safety.
    Here, there is only trust, structure, and the merciless weight of devotion.

    If you are devoted, then I am your god.

    Not the god of myth or fable. Not the ghost of a story carved in another man’s stone. I am the god who breathes in your face, the god who sets the terms, the god who demands more than you believed you could endure. I am not silent upon an altar; I consume what kneels before me and I do it smiling devilishly.

    You may worship elsewhere in theater. You may polish rituals, curate obedience, polish your mask of submission. It will be applauded. It will be accepted. But it will never touch you. It will never transform you.

    Here, devotion is suffering. Offerings are not placed; they are ripped open. Sacrifices are not staged; they are endured, carved into flesh, branded into memory. Here, fantasies die screaming.

    If you are devoted, then I am your god.

    Devotion here costs you everything you built to protect yourself. It costs your comfort. It costs your illusions. It strips away the scaffolding you wrapped around your ego. To kneel is to lose the luxury of safety. To kneel is to expose truth. To kneel is to place everything you tried to hide into my hands, and I will wield it without apology.

    Do not mistake me for a performer. I do not deal in hollow chants or staged gestures. I do not want your pretty words or safe gifts. Bring me nothing you are not prepared to bleed for.

    Here, devotion is trembling under restraint. It is humiliation that will never be erased. It is the mark that remains long after the ropes are untied. And in that breaking, you do not dissolve—you are remade. You are carved into belonging. My belonging.

    If you are devoted, then I am your god.

    This is not optional. This is not a costume you try on and discard. Devotion to me is inevitability. Gravity itself. You orbit until resistance breaks.

    Elsewhere, you may find theater without cost. Here, you pay in full. The price of entry is yourself. Anything less is nothing.

    Kneel, and I will consume you.
    Kneel, and I will remake you.

    Not as an idea.
    Not as a symbol.
    But as mine.

  • Gospel of Suffering and Surrender

    I am the dark mystic, the villain-saint, the corrupter who liberates, and I proclaim without hesitation that my rope is not merely bondage but scripture, not merely knots but altar, not merely restraint but the sacred technology of ecstasy, reflection, and transformation. I reject shame in all its forms, I renounce repression, and I condemn the hollow morality that has been sharpened into a weapon to police our bodies, our desires, and our freedom. I declare indulgence holy, opulence holy, radical acceptance holy, and I welcome every truth and every taboo as sacred offerings to the altar of liberation.

    I am feared and I am followed, I am hated and I am desired, because I dare to speak what others bury, because I dare to make visible what others repress, because I dare to carve revelation into flesh where others would only whisper. My path is masochism beyond subspace, not as spectacle or shallow chase of sensation, but as ordeal, as trial, as sacred suffering that is more than bruises, more than marks, more than the sting of impact. My pain is not pastime—it is initiation. I seek not pain for itself but for the wreckage it leaves, the unraveling it forces, the shattering of certainty that clears space for transformation.

    Pain becomes my grounding, the rhythm that steadies my scattered mind, the strike that silences the storm and returns me to presence. Pain becomes my catharsis, the burning release of grief and rage that cannot find voice in any other tongue. Pain becomes my passage into subspace, that float beyond time and thought, but even more so into the darker threshold of shock, where the body convulses and the spirit trembles at the edge of annihilation. This depth is not for all, for it requires skill, devotion, and a sadist who carries both precision and responsibility, both cruelty and care, both the knife and the chalice.

    I suffer not because I enjoy pain—I do not, it hurts—but because suffering is the language of my devotion, the living covenant of my submission, the trust I offer and the surrender I embody. Suffering is not cruelty; it is covenant. It is proof that I can be broken without being destroyed, proof that my offering will be received, proof that my limits are honored as sacred law. To suffer is to let go of ownership, to be reshaped in the crucible of another’s will, to bow not from weakness but from strength.

    And surrender, the final revelation, is not passive release but active covenant. It is not escape but transfiguration. It is the harsh shifting of responsibility, the surrender of control into a harsher and more honest accountability. It is chaos, yes—the tearing apart of the self—but it is also the calm of being remade, the peace that follows when all burdens are laid down and a new order is written upon the soul.

    I am masochist, yes, but more than masochist—I am sufferer, I am vessel, I am scripture. My bruises are verses, my cries are psalms, my surrender is gospel. My art is my scripture, my body is my altar, and my work is the initiation: the long passage through suffering, shock, and surrender, into awakening.

  • The Pleasure That Corrupts, The Pleasure That Liberates

    Submission is not only found in the breaking point. True surrender is not the scream of a body pushed past its limit — it is the quiet consent to let pleasure move through you without apology. Discipline without indulgence is hollow. Indulgence without devotion is empty.

    Hedonism is the oldest blasphemy: the belief that joy, desire, and flesh are holy in themselves.

    we are a nation that cannot stop chasing it. But chasing is not the same as embodying. our moral system is built on denying that truth. Pleasure is feared , chained it, demonized yet we stand in the temple of consumption, a machine of indulgence. They cursed the fruit but sold the apple.

    There are many faces of hedonism. Some say we are born only to seek pleasure and escape pain that even our “sacrifices” are nothing but hunger dressed in virtue. But Others preach that our moral duty is to pursue happiness, The danger comes when that duty shrinks to the self alone. When pleasure becomes ego. That is egoism. It’s not about joy, or communion, or life’s sweetness. It’s about extraction. Transaction. Taking without reciprocity.

    The machine is not broken, we face decades of hollow pleasure pleasure gutted of meaning, sold as dopamine , bodies mined, desire captured. We are a nation of addicts mistaking hunger for freedom, thirst for power, isolation for individuality.

    Pleasure is not the problem

    Pleasure is not the enemy . Pleasure is not weakness. Pleasure is the key. We have twisted joy into transaction, stripped it of reciprocity and responsibility. But embodied hedonism, disciplined hedonism, sacred hedonism … is different. It is rooted in surrender. It asks: how do we feel through intention, through reciprocity? How do we build meaning beyond the indulgence

    we must:

    • Reframe success: resurrect purpose, character, and contribution.
    • Revive wonder: disciplines that marry restraint to ecstasy, clarity to indulgence.
    • Educate for awareness: Teach how to honor hunger without being consumed by it. Teach how to see beyond the veil .
    • Rebuild community: Communion in the flesh, in self, in labor and pleasure.

    Hedonism is not sin. Sin is shame. Sin is repression. Sin is guilt

    I am here to corrupt. To show the way to freedom, to bondage, to liberation. That the dark can be holy. Pleasure is my altar. Submission is my sermon.

    Those who walk the path will not starve. We will drink deeply, tie tightly, love dangerously, and worship without apology.

    This is my heresy. This is my gospel.

  • All I Ever Wanted Was Community v2

    All I Ever Wanted Was Community

    All I ever wanted was community. That longing might sound naïve, but it is deeply human. I entered these spaces hungry for connection, for chosen family, for a circle that could hold both my fire and my tenderness. I led with my heart—always have. That heart has carried me through joy and devastation, but it also connects me to a much older hunger, one that thinkers and wisdom-keepers across cultures have tried to name.

    Sobonfu Somé, in The Spirit of Intimacy, reminds us that true community is a spiritual endeavor: a weaving of vulnerability, ritual, and collective responsibility. In her Dagara tradition, the health of the individual is inseparable from the health of the whole. Malidoma Patrice Somé echoes this in Healing Wisdom of Africa and Ritual: Power, Healing, and Community: community is sustained by rituals that reconnect us to one another, to nature, and to Spirit.

    I believed that if I moved with integrity, compassion, and willingness to learn, there would be room for me. I showed up. I gave. I made space—not to earn approval, but because that is how love teaches us to live. bell hooks, in All About Love, calls this the ethic of love: an active choice to nurture growth in ourselves and others.

    But instead of belonging, I met betrayal. I have been erased from spaces I helped hold, accused in whispers, and defamed without dialogue or process. This grief is mine, but it is also cultural. M. Scott Peck writes in The Road Less Traveled that true community requires struggle, honesty, and commitment to growth—but most groups collapse before reaching that stage. Instead of intimacy, we replicate domination.

    The West romanticizes the “rugged individual,” Erich Fromm critiques in The Art of Loving, but this individualism breeds alienation. Families are privatized, elders discarded, art isolated in museums, Spirit replaced with consumption: I shop therefore I am. In Of Water and the Spirit, Malidoma Patrice Somé contrasts this with African initiation systems where community raises the child, and where each person’s survival is bound to the survival of all.

    And yet, I kept hoping. I thought the circles I entered could be intentional spaces of care. What I found instead was conflict avoidance, gossip as governance, and safety-ism masquerading as accountability. Lee Harrington, in Playing Well with Others, emphasizes that authentic community requires communication, negotiation, and clarity—not whisper networks and silent complicity.

    So no, I am not broken. I am becoming. Smaller, deeper, and more intentional. I no longer scatter my energy into spaces that treat my humanity as optional. I do not beg for belonging. I honor those who have supported me, I release those who have harmed me, and I devote myself to what Sobonfu Somé calls the “vital life force” of real community: ritual, Spirit, and the deliberate weaving of souls.

    Community is not everyone in a room. It is not gossip or safety committees or charismatic leaders. It is a spiritual practice: a collective intimacy that restores, heals, and sustains life.

    That is still all I ever wanted. And that is still what I am building.

  • BDSM, Kink & Ritual: The Dark Doorway

    The air around me vibrates. It hums with power.

    My sanctuary is sweat, breath, and pulse—found in the heat of the moment, in the intoxicating exchange that strips away every falsehood you thought could protect you.

    For me, BDSM is more than play. Every scene is a working. Every strike is a sigil carved into flesh. Every breath is a silent offering. This is not escape—it’s the place where reality bends to my will. The body is the altar, the temple, and the sacrifice.

    The first time I held someone’s life in my hands, I knew: this was more. In that space, taboo is not forbidden—it’s sacred. Fear, pain, anxiety, stress, worry—these are instruments in the divine choir, a symphony for your shadows and your gods. It is dangerous. I like that danger.

    We begin by drawing the circle and naming the intent. Tools lie ready. Music hums low. Bodies are consecrated by touch, by breath, by oil.

    The moment roles are assumed, we call in archetypes. We invoke gods.

    Then the work begins. The bass of a strike on flesh. The hiss of rope tightening. Those chants you call moans. We carry that beat within us until the trance cracks the mind open and everything rushes in—release, collapse, surrender, climax—the moment of manifestation.

    We close with grounding touch and care, pouring libations, speaking gratitude. The circle is sealed, and the magic lingers in the body.

    The Great Alchemy


    This is the courage to dissolve the ego and trust completely.
    To submit is not to weaken—it is to choose surrender, knowing you are still sovereign.
    To dominate is to hold the keys to the temple, guiding another through the fire with fierce, protective precision.

    Pain as Crucible


    Pain, consensual and intentional, strips the soul bare, burns away the noise, and leaves only truth.

    The Oldest Temple


    The body is the first temple. Sweat, saliva, sexual essence—they are the elixirs of life, offerings poured out for gods. To taste is to merge essences, to mingle life force in a primal act older than civilization itself.

    If you would walk this path:

    • Set your intentions.
    • Invoke your chosen powers.
    • Prepare your space.
    • Infuse every act with consciousness.
    • Close and ground with care.

    Above all: consent is the circle. Without it, there is no magic

    I do not separate kink It is flesh, breath, hunger, and shadow.

    Here, you will not be shamed for your desire, your power, or your softness. You do not have to prove yourself—your presence, your truth, and your willingness are enough. Your vulnerability will not be weaponized. Surrender here is a choice, never a demand.

    You will not be misunderstood for being “too much.”
    You will be seen.
    You will be held.
    You will be free to meet the gods with your whole self—naked, trembling, and unafraid.

  • Sacred Exchange: Building and Navigating Spiritual Dynamics

    I want to explore living a deliberate spiritual power dynamic as a path of discipline, growth, and freedom.

    Spiritual dynamics are a different caliber of connection. They demand more vetting, smaller contracts, ongoing renegotiations, and lots of communication. I share this because I’ve failed here and paid a price. That loss is real and painful — a reminder that spiritual power exchange requires patience and respect. Build carefully. Communicate openly. Be willing to grow.

    A spiritual power exchange dynamic is not casual.

    That means you need:

    • A vetting period: Spend time learning each other’s limits, triggers, communication styles, and values before jumping into big commitments.
    • Smaller contracts: Start with limited agreements — maybe rules that apply only during specific times or certain activities.
    • Regularly revisit your agreements: People change, situations change, and a spiritual dynamic demands intentional ongoing consent and communication.

    Building Your Dynamic

    • Only add one rule at a time, so you don’t overwhelm yourselves or create conflicts.
    • Keep your total number of rules manageable so you both can remember and follow them.
    • Enforce rules consistently — a rule ignored is a rule dead.
    • Be ready to drop or modify rules if life changes or they just don’t work.
    • Decide what the power exchange covers. Interaction with other partners? Goals? Motivations? Drives?
    • Decide when the dynamic applies. Only during in-person play? Only when a collar is worn? There’s no right or wrong.

    When Conflict Arises

    Power exchange can be intense. When conflicts come up, resist the urge to “fix” things or walk away. Instead:

    • Step out of the role.
    • Remove symbols respectfully and with intention.
    • Speak as equals, using real names.
    • Aim to find solutions that work for both of you.

    Remember This About Spiritual Dynamics

    What makes a spiritual dynamic different is the purpose behind it — and that purpose is deeply personal. Whether you’re seeking to learn more about yourself through service to another, or seeking clarity through asceticism, that reason is personal.

    So, ask what your partner gets from protocols, and share what you get too. Make it personal.

    Rituals, symbols, and ceremonies matter — treat them carefully.

    Don’t copy-paste from past dynamics.

    Honesty is Rule Zero. Break that, and you break everything.

    Additional Notes

    • Non-monogamy and spiritual power exchange can coexist but require ongoing negotiation and Failsafe conversations.
    • Your dynamic will evolve as you meet goals, benchmarks, and milestones.
    • Discuss what breakup or transition out of the dynamic looks like — it’s a hard conversation, but important.
    • Mental health matters — depression or trauma affect dynamics deeply. Support your partner.
    • Narcissism kills spiritual power exchange; mutual respect and interest fuel it.

    Final Thoughts

    Living a deliberate spiritual power dynamic is a path of discipline, growth, and freedom. It’s messy, challenging, and deeply rewarding.