CraigJustCraig

Tag: love

  • Romance, Brought to You by Late-Stage Capitalism: Fromm, Freud, and the Marketplace

    Erich Fromm’s The Art of Loving critiques several prevailing—yet deeply flawed—conceptions of love in contemporary Western society, often presenting them in a satirical or critical light by contrasting them with the idea of genuine love.

    He argues that these modern understandings actually represent a “disintegration of love.”

    He writes:

    “No objective observer of our Western life can doubt that love is rare, and that its place is taken by a number of forms of pseudo-love, which are in reality are many forms of the disintegration of love.”

    He says we often treat love like a commodity, focusing only on two things: being loved and being lovable

    This leads men to chase success, power, and wealth, while women cultivate attractiveness. But these are STRATEGIES!!!!!! (I’m going to write about strategies one day)

    Fromm sharply points out how capitalism has influences our character:

    The owner of capital can buy labor and command it.
    The owner of labor must sell it or starve.

    He says this mindset is tied to the idea that finding love is simple—that the hard part is finding the right OBJECT
    He argues our entire culture is built on capitalism, and our idea of love follows it. We emphasize the importance of the OBJECT against the importance of the function. Our culture revolves around mutually favorable exchange.

    Happiness?
    Fromm says it lies in the thrill of looking for the best and buying all that you can afford. In dating, this translates to a neatly packaged “attractive” set of qualities sought after on the personality market. And what makes a person attractive? That depends entirely on the fashion of the time both physically and mentally.

    In the 20s, a drinking, smoking, tough, and sexy woman was attractive.
    Today? The fashion demands domestic coyness.
    At the turn of the 20th century, a man had to be aggressive and ambitious.
    Today? Social and tolerant.

    But either way, the sense of “falling in love” is just people feeling like they’ve found the best object available on the market, given the limitations of their own exchange value.

    We’re out here marketing ourselves. And the OBJECT must be desirable, socially valuable, complete with hidden assets and future potential.

    This was written in 1956. My grandmother was 4. My grandfather was 6. And yet it feels like he could have written this yesterday. We’re still following the same tired pattern of exchange that governs the commodity and labor market—and we’re still calling it love.

    Then Fromm drags another contradiction:
    The idea that love is just a spontaneous feeling or an “irresistible emotion,” especially when it’s mixed with sexual attraction. He says this mindset completely neglects the importance of WILL.

    Love, he insists, is a decision, a judgment, a promise.
    If love were only a feeling, then loving someone forever would be impossible.
    The only forever is an ACT.

    Love is an act of will. A commitment.
    And fundamentally? It does not matter to who.

    Let me bring up another contradiction that caught me:
    Fromm breaks down different kinds of love—Love of God, Mother, Father, Brother, Erotic Love.

    What stopped me in my tracks was his take on Mother Love vs Father Love:

    • Mother Love is unconditional love. Love for the helpless.
    • Father Love is earned. Conditional. Merit-based.

    He even shows this in how religious systems reflect it.
    Matriarchal religion? That’s Mother Love: all-protective, all-enveloping, unconditional. We are all equal before Mother Earth.
    Patriarchal religion? Father Love: making demands, setting rules, establishing laws.

    Then he speaks on Brotherly Love—love among equals. He writes:

    “If I love my brother, I love all my brothers; if I love my child, I love all my children; no, beyond that, I love all children.”

    Each kind of love is different, but by their very nature, they aren’t meant to be limited to one person.

    Erotic love, though? That’s the craving for complete fusion with ONE other person. It’s exclusive—not universal. Why?

    Fromm directly challenges the belief that love is just the byproduct of sexual pleasure. He says just because two people learn to sexually satisfy each other doesn’t mean they love each other. Sexual desire is often mistaken for love. People think they love someone when really, they just want other.

    But fusion isn’t just physical.
    He says love is not the result of good sex—what we’re really seeking is relief from the painful tension and anxiety of separateness.

    Without love, physical union never leads to true connection. It remains orgiastic and transitory, leaving two people “as far apart as they were before.” So we keep chasing the high with a new person. A new stranger. Over and over again. Because closeness, like novelty, fades.

    Yo!!! Like… are you feeling that in your chest too?
    I damn near cried.

    Then Fromm goes in on Freud. Freud claimed:

    “Man, having found that genital love offered him his greatest gratification, made it the central point of his life.”

    That idea was revolutionary in the 1890s—but Fromm calls it conformist. It completely misses the mystical essence of love: the root of intense union with another person—the feeling of fusion, of oneness—the “oceanic feeling.”(im definitely going to write about the oceanic feeling or the sea of orgasmic bliss)

    To Freud, love was irrational. And the thinkers of the time?
    They were busy trying to prove capitalism matched the natural state of man:

    • That we are naturally competitive, insatiable, hostile.
    • That we’re driven by limitless desire for sexual conquest.
    • And that only society prevents us from going full feral. ( and they have the nerve to call anyone savage)

    So love, hate, ambition, jealousy?
    Freud chalked them all up to variations of the sexual instinct.

    Sound familiar?
    I’ve been trying to tell y’all—you only think the way you think because you live here, and some old fuck told you to.
    This brings me back to Yurugu (which I will write about one day).

    Freud didn’t see that the key to understanding life is not the body, or hunger, or sex, or possessions—it’s the totality of human existence. That’s a very Eastern thought, one that echoes in the Tao and ATR.

    Fromm ties this all together and says:

    Our character (in capitalism) is shaped by the need to exchange, to barter, to consume.
    Everything—material and spiritual—becomes an object of exchange.

    We are automatons with personality packages who have forgotten how to love. We seek security in the herd—and in not being different: not in thought, not in feeling, not in action. Everyone tries to remain as same as possible while remaining utterly alone—racked by insecurity, anxiety, and guilt.

    Our palliatives? A strict routine of bureaucratized, mechanical work—where you remain unaware of your desires, unaware of transcendence, unaware of unity. You overcome your unconscious despair with the routine of amusement, passive consumption, and the hollow satisfaction of buying new things—then exchanging them for others. You are sedated, compliant, obedient—and you like it. Hoping for a fair bargain.

    This shows up nowhere more clearly than in marriage—a union structured like a corporate team.

    In the Victorian age and in many other cultures: love was not a spontaneous personal experience that might lead to marriage. Marriage was contracted by convention, and love was expected to follow after the paperwork was signed. This is the background of what we call marriage: a contract to exchange objects.

    The ideal partner is well-functioning employee: independent, cooperative, and tolerant, and yet ambitious, and aggressive. Intimacy is but as a refuge from unbearable loneliness. We enhance “collaboration,” by adjusting our behaviors for mutual satisfaction, pooling common interests, and teaming up against a hostile world.

    But this, Fromm argues, is pseudo-love.

    It’s the disintegration of love. True love, he says, is an art—one that requires discipline, concentration, patience, care, responsibility, respect, and knowledge.

    And it is completely incompatible with the consumerist, market-driven, alienated society we live in.

  • Accountability is messy.

    Anyone who tells you it’s simple probably hasn’t lived through the complexity of it. The truth is, two people can live through the same exact moment and walk away with two completely different truths. And , both of them are real.

    harm doesn’t care about intent. It doesn’t wait for your perspective to catch up. And the second you start defending instead of listening, you close the door to the one thing that could have saved everyone: curiosity.

    we builds walls where bridges could’ve been.

    That lack of curiosity escalated everything.

    People’s feelings are real.
    Their pain is real.
    Even if it came from a misunderstanding.
    Even if it came from perception.
    Even if it came from something I didn’t know I did.

    When someone says they’re hurt by you, you have three choices:

    1. Get defensive.
    2. Get dismissive.
    3. Get curious.

    There are only a few possibilities when someone says you hurt them:

    • You did, whether you meant to or not.
    • They misunderstood something you said or did.
    • Something got lost in translation, emotionally or otherwise.
    • Someone influenced how they saw you, fairly or not.

    But in all cases, their pain is still real. And you can’t brain your way into a matter of the heart

    I used to think that my intent should carry more weight. That if I meant well, I couldn’t possibly be the villain in someone’s story. But that’s not how harm works. That’s not how people work.

    When someone is in pain, your job is to stop talking and start listening. Because until their pain is acknowledged, they will not — cannot — hear you.

    Impact is the measure. Not intent.

    leading with curiosity,

    don’t define yourself by my worst moment. But do let it teach you .
    hope others can learn from it, too.

    When someone says you’ve caused harm

    Get curious.
    Ask questions.
    Open your heart.
    Because even if you disagree, even if you feel falsely accused, even if you don’t understand — that curiosity might save everything

    We can’t always fix what’s broken. But we can stop breaking more.
    We can show up differently next time.
    And if we’re lucky, we’ll be given a second chance.

    But sometimes, you only get one.

  • Consent, Connection, and Community Integrity

    Don’t Play With People You Don’t Know

    Many consent violations happen because people jump into play without knowing each other well enough. When you engage someone whose conflict style, boundary recognition, or emotional regulation is unfamiliar, you increase the chance of miscommunication or harm.

    Play should be rooted in mutual observation, trust, and shared values—not just attraction.

    Before Playing, Take Time To:

    • Watch how they interact in community spaces
    • Ask trusted members if they’ve played with or observed them
    • Share low-stakes environments: classes, socials, rope jams
    • Notice how they respond to feedback, stress, and boundaries
    • Observe their reliability, communication, and accountability
    • Have open conversations about values, experience, and expectations

    No Private Play Until Trust Is Earned

    Private scenes reduce visibility and raise risk. Without witnesses, it’s easier for misunderstandings, escalation, or manipulation to occur.

    Build Enough Trust for Private Play by:

    • Playing publicly with them multiple times
    • Observing their behavior during stress or conflict
    • Discussing past consent experiences and their response to repair
    • Letting your community get to know them

    Don’t Play With Anyone Who Can’t Speak Up

    If someone struggles to say “no,” they’re not ready.

    Readiness Looks Like:

    • Expressing preferences, not just agreeing
    • Asking clarifying questions during negotiation
    • Using stop signals confidently
    • Giving real feedback during aftercare

    Vetting Through Actions:

    • Watch how they handle disappointment
    • Observe how they treat others when no one’s watching
    • Listen to how they talk about exes or past scenes
    • Do their words and actions align?

    Sometimes, the responsible choice is saying: “You’re not ready.”

    Accept That Misunderstandings Happen

    Consent incidents aren’t always malicious. They often stem from misinterpretation or mismatched communication.

    What Helps:

    • Discuss the possibility of misunderstanding upfront
    • Talk through emotional readiness, mental state, and trauma history
    • Clarify both desires and boundaries
    • Build a shared plan for if things go wrong

    Build Around Community, Not Isolation

    You earn trust in public.

    To Build Credibility:

    • Attend events regularly, even when not playing
    • Volunteer or support community spaces
    • Show up consistently and respect boundaries
    • Talk about your learning process and ask questions

    Reputation is built through visibility and integrity, not intensity.

    Own Mistakes When They Happen

    Integrity matters more than perfection.

    Accountability Looks Like:

    • Listening without defensiveness
    • Validating impact even if intent was different
    • Making changes based on feedback
    • Following through on repair commitments

    Prioritize Education and Empowerment

    Avoid communities that only talk safety. Choose those who teach it.

    Healthy Communities Provide:

    • Ongoing education and mentorship
    • Leaders open to feedback
    • Visible inclusion of diverse voices
    • Transparent, nuanced accountability

    Safety doesn’t come from bans. It comes from knowledge, conversation, and culture.

    Stay Visible If You Have a Complex History

    If you’re rebuilding trust, do it in public.

    Reintegration Requires:

    • Visible growth and transparency
    • Playing in accountable spaces
    • Letting time and consistent action rebuild trust

    Some people need therapy, assertiveness training, or emotional healing before play. That’s not shameful—that’s responsible.

    Understand Emotional Bonding in BDSM

    Scenes trigger intense hormonal releases. Emotional highs can be mistaken for romantic or relational connection.

    Be Cautious If You Notice:

    • Emotional dependence on one partner
    • Craving scenes to relive a high
    • Confusing skill with intimacy

    Healthier Practices Include:

    • Grounding before and after scenes
    • Talking about emotions, not just sensations
    • Waiting between scenes to reflect clearly

    Avoid Role Confusion and Identity Entanglement

    Your value isn’t your kink role.

    When self-worth is tied to dominance, submission, or scene popularity, feedback becomes harder to process and accountability harder to hold.

    Separate your identity from your role.

    Beware Narrative Hijacking

    Sometimes, consent conversations are co-opted by bystanders, exes, or community drama.

    Watch For:

    • People pushing action based on hearsay
    • Advocacy that centers them, not the harmed person
    • Escalation after the harmed party has stepped away

    You Can Do Everything Right and Still Cause Harm

    Intent doesn’t erase impact. Procedures don’t guarantee safety.

    Real Consent Includes:

    • Acknowledging harm, even if unintentional
    • Being open to repair and feedback
    • Staying humble, always

    Consent Isn’t Real Without Risk Awareness

    Negotiation is not a shield. It’s a roadmap.

    Build Risk Awareness By:

    • Including a “what if things go wrong?” conversation
    • Discussing emotional support and recovery plans
    • Being honest about your capacity

    Consent is not performance. It’s preparation for when things get messy.

    Rushing is The Biggest Risk

    Most harm happens not from cruelty, but from impatience.

    Patience Looks Like:

    • Choosing not to play immediately
    • Delaying escalation until trust deepens
    • Revisiting negotiations after reflection
    • Respecting a “not yet” or “not today”

    The strongest dynamics and deepest intimacy come from one thing: time.

  • How I Learned to Mitigate the Risk of Consent Incidents (The Hard Way)

    This is my story of how I learned the painful, exhausting, and sometimes devastating lessons around mitigating the risk of being involved in a consent incident. Not from the outside looking in, but from the center of the storm.

    This is for tops, bottoms, switches, educators, and anyone who chooses to step into kink, rope, or any play rooted in trust and vulnerability. You need to know that even when your heart is open, your art is honest, and your purpose is righteous, harm can still happen. And when it does, it hits hard.

    Consent culture is evolving. But too often, I watched people jump into scenes without trust, relying on vibes and shared kinks instead of real connection. I used to be one of them. I thought, “We’re all adults, we can make our own decisions. We’re responsible for ourselves.”

    I ignored the murmurs in the background. I saw how white men treated Black women—cold, clinical, dehumanized. I watched Black men reach for liberation through rope but wrap anything unfamiliar in layers of homophobia or queerphobia. I scrolled through images of kink online and rarely saw anyone who looked like me. So I opened myself up. I made space. I became the safe one, the one people came to when they wanted to feel beauty in rope.

    I didn’t have mentors. I didn’t have a blueprint. But I created something anyway—a community that centered Blackness, queerness, pleasure, and power. I saw how the gatekeepers hoarded knowledge, access, opportunity. I saw how Black folks were made to feel like they were too big, too loud, too broken to belong. And I said, “Fuck that.” I made a space where they could be everything.

    At first, we were unstoppable. Ten of us. Then twenty. Then hundreds. We showed up in numbers, in cloaks and rope, wild with freedom. People called us a cult. We laughed.

    Then the rumors came. Orgies. Drugs. Chaos. We ignored them. We were building something real. But I made a mistake. The first time I was accused of a consent violation, it stunned me. They said I touched them in a way we hadn’t agreed to. But I had witnesses who backed me up. It didn’t matter. I was banned anyway.

    We brushed it off. Moved on. Months later, I got an apology. But it didn’t end there. The harassment continued. No matter what I did or said, they followed me. They talked about me. They poisoned my name. And still, we kept going. We made our own spaces. We wrote our own rules—strict ones, because people were out here doing wild, unsafe, and reckless shit. We were trying to protect everyone, including ourselves.

    But the rumors grew. No one asked us what was true. They just saw the robes, the ritual, the joy we created—and assumed the worst. We opened our doors to the timid, the confused, the baby kinksters who were still learning. We accepted them because we thought that’s what community does. But some of them weren’t ready. And when things went wrong, they didn’t talk to us. They talked about us.

    We started education programs to stop the cycle of ignorance. That pissed people off. We taught anyway. Our classes were full. Our name was loud. And then I made another mistake. No one was hurt, but it didn’t matter. The rumors changed shape. Now, I was a predator. A monster. The kind of person who makes people shiver.

    They came back. The person from years ago. And now others, nameless and faceless, whispered in shadows. I went from being a safe space to the villain.

    I was never asked. Never spoken to. Just banned. Silenced. Exiled from spaces I helped build, spaces that needed our presence to even survive.

    And then the whispers made it into our home. The people I built this with started doubting. Started drifting. The weight of it all crushed us.

    I wish I had known. Not just as an individual, but as a leader. I wish I had understood the risks of open doors and unguarded hearts. I wish I had seen that being righteous doesn’t mean you’re protected. That building something beautiful doesn’t make you immune.

    Now, I know. Consent isn’t just about negotiation—it’s about capacity. It’s about readiness. It’s about knowing that the loudest harm doesn’t always come from predators—it comes from misunderstanding, emotional immaturity, or silence.

    So I offer this story to those who are building, creating, tying, teaching. Vet. Move slow. Ask the hard questions. Know who you’re in scene with, who you’re building with, who you’re trusting. Trust your gut. Listen to the whispers before they become storms.

    And remember, even if you do everything right, harm can still happen. What matters is how you respond.

    Let this be the start of deeper reflection. Stronger boundaries. Clearer communication. And if you’re like me—if you’ve had to learn through fire—let this also be a reminder: you’re not alone. And your story still matters.

    Rope is powerful. So are you. Act accordingly.

  • Judged by Their Shadows…

    You ever notice how folks size you up through a lens that ain’t yours?

    You could be walking clean, kind at your core, trying to show up with grace—and still, someone finds a reason to flinch, pull away, throw shade. It’s wild. You extend a hand and they recoil like you hid a blade in your palm. They’re not seeing you—they’re reacting to a ghost in their own story. Their shadow.

    Even in circles where trust should hold steady, where truth is currency and connection is sacred—someone will still project their wound onto your skin like it’s your fault they’re bleeding.

    But here’s the hard part: it ain’t really about you.

    People carry weight—generational, personal, ancestral. Trauma distorts the eye. Old wounds warp perception. What they reject in you is often what they’ve denied in themselves. Guilt. Shame. Desire. Power. Vulnerability. Most folks hurl blame when they don’t know how to sit with their own shadow. Instead, they wrap it in judgment, throw it at the nearest light.

    You ever been there? Showing up soft, heart-forward, only to get met with suspicion? You give, and they twist it. You care, and they mock it. And somewhere in the quiet after, you start asking yourself—am I the problem?

    Nah. You’re just reflecting something they’re not ready to name.

    Truth is, people criticize most harshly the very things they secretly struggle with. They’ll use shame, ridicule, guilt, and blame like tools to carve the world into a shape that lets them avoid their own mirror. It’s not malice—it’s survival. A desperate attempt to outrun their own demons

    Still hurts though.

    And if you’ve been wounded before—if misjudgment’s an old song—you might brace for the next blow before it even lands. You start hesitating. Silencing your kindness. Dimming your light so they don’t mistake it for a threat.

    But you can’t shrink your spirit to fit inside someone else’s fear.

    Stay rooted. Stay true. Don’t get dragged into their chaos. Let their shadow be theirs. You don’t need to fix their lens—you only need to keep standing in your own light. Even if no one claps. Even if they never see you clearly.

    Because It’s about alignment not applause.

    And one day, you’ll look back and realize: you held steady. You walked through their fog without letting it swallow you. You didn’t twist to fit their projections—you stayed whole.

    That’s real power.

  • A Demon That Never Left

    Teeth bared behind false smiles.

    Of storms that didn’t pass,

    you’re still here.
    Watching me unravel.
    Cracking open—ugly, cruel, divine.

    I didn’t look for you.
    Didn’t believe you existed.
    Why would I?

    A joke the universe plays with a knife pressed to your ribs.

    But there you were— twisted enough to stay.

    You didn’t come to fix me.
    You came to hold me

    down, back, open.
    You liked the way I rot,
    the way I turn into hunger,
    the way my mouth says “thank you”
    when what I mean is “Fuck me.”

    I scream in sleep not from fear, but from the strange delight
    of not knowing

    My memory frays at the edges.
    Maybe that’s a gift.
    Maybe forgetting is a mercy.
    But not you. you don’t let me forget.

    You drag me to the edge.
    You kiss me with a knife between the ribs.
    You hold me with that terrifying tenderness—
    the kind that sees every crack
    and wants to fuck the ruin.

    Your patience isn’t soft.
    It’s deliberate.
    Disgustingly disciplined.
    it doesn’t flinch when I turn monstrous.
    You open your arms and say, “More.”

    you came to feed.

    my silent confessor,

    my grinning devil, brother in madness.

    So many have touched this body,this heart, this fire.
    And each of them knows the truth:

    I am fucking Real.Raw.Ruthless.

    Thank you to the ones who didn’t run.
    To those who watched me choke down my own shadows

    To those who handed me knives,
    lit candles and said, “Burn, baby. Burn”

    No matter what.
    No matter where.
    When the blood dries and the bones turn to dust…
    I’ll still be here.
    Not saved.
    Not healed.
    But yours.

    In ruin.
    In rage.
    In all my fucking glory.

  • All I Ever Wanted Was Community

    All I ever wanted was community.That might sound naïve in hindsight, but it was real. I entered these spaces hungry for connection, for chosen family, for a circle that could hold both my fire and passion. I led with my heart—always have. It’s my greatest strength, and sometimes, the source of my deepest wounds.

    I showed up. I gave. I made space. Not because I was trying to earn approval, but because that’s who I am: someone who believes in people, in healing, in possibility. I believed that if I moved with integrity, compassion, and a willingness to learn, there would be room for me.

    But I was wrong.

    In my search for belonging, I’ve been met with silence, sabotage, and gaslighting. I’ve encountered white-led communities that cloak supremacy in safety, and Black-led spaces that replicate the same harm under the banner of representation.I’ve been hurt not only by systems, but by individuals I trusted—Black women I admired, white organizers I respected, and community “leaders” whose power comes from erasing people like me.

    This is grief.
    Grief for the dream of a home.
    Grief for the hours of unpaid emotional labor I gave to people who never saw me.
    Grief for the version of myself that thought community meant care. I won’t name every betrayal. Some wounds don’t need to be reopened to be honored. But know this: I have been excluded, erased, and defamed. I’ve been blocked from spaces I helped uplift. I’ve had my words twisted, my intentions questioned, and my work ridiculed—not because of any proven harm, but because I refused to entertain the game that was being played. Because I dared to practice power in a way that couldn’t be controlled.

    I’ve been called a cult leader, a predator, a violator—without process, without conversation, without evidence. Just whispers. Just gossip.Just Accusation. That’s how it works: one strategic accusation and the silent complicity that follows.

    I’m done holding the weight of other people’s discomfort with my truth.
    I’m done letting vague whisper networks, and cancel culture masquerade as accountability.I’m done explaining my practice to people who were never interested in understanding it and were never invited in the first place.

    Let me be clear: I have always been open to feedback, to dialogue, to growth. I am not above critique. I am not perfect. But I cannot engage with people who weaponize concern, manipulate narratives, and refuse to name their issues.That’s abuse

    I know what I’ve built. I know the lives I’ve touched. I know who I am:

    So no, I’m not broken.

    I am becoming.
    smaller, deeper, and far more exclusive. I will no longer open my work to strangers. I will no longer make space for those who treat my humanity as optional. My energy as given, and it should be given to all that desire it.

    If you’ve harmed me, you know what you did.
    If you’ve supported me, I thank you deeply.
    If you’re confused by the whispers—ask questions, or move along.

    I’m no longer here to beg for belonging.

  • Bondage as Strength

    You already know this isn’t about beauty anymore.

    it’s not about seduction. or sex. It’s not even about rope.
    This is about something old dying so something honest can be born.
    The ordeal. The test.
    The threshold that burns people clean.

    This is the part where pain stops being a threat, and starts becoming a teacher.
    Where the rope becomes a mirror.
    Where the body becomes a question only the spirit can answer.

    You’ve seen it happen.
    The shaking. The trance. The surrender. The screaming that turns into silence.
    You’ve seen people come undone and somehow walk away more whole .

    And you’ve felt it —how the rope holds up a mirror to your limits, your own wounds, your own shadow.

    You know this path well.
    This is Ordeal. And you’re here to guide others into it and be guided in return deliberately.
    Every culture has known it. Initiation, Scarification, pilgrimage, sweat lodges, crucifixion rites, isolation rituals, vision quests, self-flagellation.
    Pain was never the goal—it was the doorway. It was the language of the divine

    Pain is not the problem.
    Pain is information. Pain is presence. Pain is the moment the soul stops lying to itself.
    Modern medicine has numbs us to it. now pain only requires anesthesia and theroy. But Pain is the alchemy that renovates soul—transmuting indifference when pain intervenes

    Don’t confuse ordeal work with edge play. Or Therapy
    Edge play flirts with limits. While Ordeal work _steps past them_
    We are not leading people to their edge—you’re taking them over it, and bringing them back changed

    Everyone has parts of themselves they’ve disowned, shamed, denied.
    Rope makes it impossible to hide from that. When you bind the body, you unbind the truth.
    When people start shaking or sobbing mid-scene—it’s not always about the rope.

    Sometimes its a opened memory. Sometimes its fear. Sometimes its rage. Sometimes its desire so deep you finally notice you standing there all along.
    All of that is valid. All of that belongs.
    That’s Radical Acceptance, the goal isn’t to avoid anything but to walk into it with your eyes wide open. sit beside the demon and ask what it needs. and listen. what you exile is not gone whether you welcome it or not

    You are a anchor it making space for the silence, making room for the unseen, Because it’s never been about the rope and what it is doing. but what the rope is waking up

  • Rope as a Modality for Spiritual Release

    I only have two arms to hold you. So let this ropes be an extension of will, let me wrap myself around you and keep you held. As I hold this rope in my hand, let me lock eyes with you as it passes from my will to yours, let it brings us into a shared space, outside worry. Let us dwell in each others’ presence. Let this line create a barrier between the outside and our inside. Let us bond between the lines, let us read between the lines of our intent, let us find the truths buried in each others’ eyes. The eyes are the window to the soul. So, let those windows open wide as I wrap around you, wrap my will around you, and bring out the secrets within you. Open wide and expose those secrets to me between the parting lips and the sweetest moans. Struggle for me, and know that I will keep you safe in these troubled times. In pain and desperation, I offer up safety to be the true you . Cry and show me your tears. Laugh and sing the songs of your heart. Let these chains that hold down give you a chance to hold nothing back. Open your soul and let me peer in. In this I contract to you, in this space before the Ancestors, that I shall give you safety while you struggle before me, that in giving up your freedom, I give you in return the freedom to fly.

    In this class, we will explore **physical and mental pathways to Spiritual Release. At the heart of this paradox is liberation through restraint. The intentional act of weaving sigils into flesh. We initiate an alchemical process that expands our capacity for pleasure by dissolving shame, resistance, and friction. We use rope as a somatic key, unlocking doors long hidden within the nervous system. The neurochemical symphony will collide with our will. We walk the edge between worlds. We return to the old ways. To bind and to loose. To hold and to release.

    Through integration of the conscious and unconscious mind, we will explore the art and science of intentionally causing change to occur in alignment with Will. to create a an as-yet-to-be-realized desire.

    We will journey beyond the edge and move through spirit walking, astral journeying, projection, psychic shapeshifting, rootwork, and divine surrender.

  • Having Is Evidence of Wanting You Love that Pile of Shit

    Tell the truth Recently, I had a conversation with a family member—someone I love, but who has this looping tale they tell, over and over again: _“People never respect me. No one honors my boundaries. I’m always being taken advantage of.”_

    And of course, I listened. I nodded. I offered empathy. But eventually, I thought of Existential Kink By Carolyn Elliot , I couldn’t resist slipping into my kink and I gently asked:

    “What if part of you actually _likes_ it?”

    Their face changed, Their whole body stiffened, eyes flashing.
    And then came the chant,

    “I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I _hate_ it.”

    They went into a kind of trance like egoic possession.

    And there it was: _evidence._

    Because the idea that we could _secretly enjoy_ our suffering is so taboo, so offensive, so _kinky_, that most people’s egos can’t handle it. We’ve been so programmed to believe we’re only allowed to desire good things—light, love, abundance, healing—that we’ve cut ourselves off from the darker, equally potent eroticism of failure, frustration, humiliation, rejection.

    But BAAAABBBBYYYYY, let’s be real:
    That red-hot flush of shame you feel when you’re rejected?
    That stuck, paralyzed feeling when you can’t create or move or rise?
    That humiliating little drama you keep reliving in love or money or body?

    That’s not _just_ pain. That’s arousal.
    That’s your psychic masochist doing her damn job.

    “Fear is excitement without the breath,” Fritz Perls said.

    and pain is _pleasure without approval_?

    I felt it with my family member. Their loop—the one they claimed to hate—was _lit up_ with psychic charge. The pain was electric. Addictive. And they weren’t ready to feel the truth beneath it:

    “I actually love this freaky shit, unconsciously of course.
    I get off on being disrespected.
    I love standing in this pile of shit because my pile of shit._
    And I’ve unconsciously do this again and again.”

    That admission? That’s the key part.
    When we consciously embrace our unconscious kink, the pattern loses its compulsion. The taboo loses some luster. The shame becomes a choice. And we regain out power.

    This is about looking deep enough into your own psyche to _own_ the pleasure that’s been running the show behind the scenes.

    Because as long as you insist you hate it—without ever allowing for the erotic charge of it—you’ll stay stuck with it.

    But once you say:

    _“Okay, fine. I do enjoy being stuck.
    I do enjoy being broke.
    I do enjoy feeling unseen.
    I do enjoy the cycle of almost getting there, but not quite.”_

    Then you can ask:
    “What part of me wants this? And what does it _need_ to feel satisfied?”

    that’s where the magic happens.

    Because the game here isn’t to _abolish_ the kink.
    It’s to make the kink conscious.

    Let’s be clear: _none of us invented this shit alone._

    They belong to the collective shadow. To our lineages. To the traumas of civilization. To the twisted divine that clearly gets off on the entire opera of human pain.

    We’re not separate from that. We _are_ that. your kinky little Godself, playing out a drama so dense its got your l thighs clench and your loving it.

    Your stagnation, your heartbreak, your sabotage?

    It’s not random. It’s not a punishment. you are fucking jacking off

    And once you let yourself _feel_ the secret pleasure in that, really _receive_ it—without shame, without guilt. you can get better toy baby we got you

    Having is evidence of wanting. I’m not blaming

    But in a deeply magical, wildly empowering, power-bottom-of-the-soul kind of way.

    We don’t get what we consciously want.
    We get what we unconscious craves.

    So stop denying your desire for drama.
    Get _off_ on it.
    And then—once you’ve truly savored it. Find something new

    Because that’s how the real magic happens, slut.