Under Milk wood

Richard Burton reading Dylan Thomas.

Perfection. Nothing less.

Rings, Lock and Chains

About two years ago Mocuar decided that she'd like to be ringed.

I was fairly indifferent to the idea at the time but I thought 'Hey, if that's what she wants . . . '

So off she went and duly had it done. Since then I've grown very fond of her rings. They look good and open up some interesting possibilities.

Just the rings:



We bought a little padlock for her to wear on certain occasions:



Then there are her light chains, purely for decoration:



And her larger chains, more functional:




Lovely . . .

Reflection

I popped out to the shops and left Mocuar with an instruction to do herself in any way she liked while I was out.

I found her in this position when I returned:





Mocuar likes looking at herself,sometimes.

I promised Mocuar I'd put her cunt on the net today. More later.

There's More To Love . . .

Than Boy Meets Girl
I can't embed it so you'll just have to click on the link.

This song is just so damn fucking positive, that every time I play it, I bang the volume up and want to bounce around the room (a perilous undertaking for a man of my age)

OK,It's about the LGBT community, (and more power to them) but it applies to all of us.

There is, indeed, More To Love Than Boy Meets Girl.

Boy meets Girl . . . Boy chains Girl to the bed . . . Boy whips Girl . . .

Master Energy

Because I’m in an M/S relationship, with Mocuar as my slave, that makes me ‘a Master’ on a physical/emotional level, and, as such, it’s fairly straightforward.

On a magickal level, it opens up all kinds of things that are . . . challenging. Essentially, there is a greater sense of responsibility. OK, responsibility is an integral part of any M/S setup (as it is with Sub/Dom, for that matter) but if you’re dealing with your own, and someone else’s, magickal self, you have to be careful, but not too cautious, and that’s a difficult balance to strike, sometimes.

I’m particularly aware of this because I have a tendency to be over-cautious. It’s caused problems in the past. I’ve often found myself looking back at times when I can clearly see that I had a good idea of what was needed, but backed away from it, and lost the moment.

Most importantly, I see the magickal Master energy as something I invoke and then process. I am, in some respects, a vehicle for that energy. Whenever that happens, and it comes through and works successfully, I find that it’s accompanied by a strong sense of humility. It’s not “Wow, I’m so fucking cool, I can do this”, more like “I feel really privileged to be able to do this”

One such occasion happened the other night. Mocuar was trying to shift a block she’d discovered in her psyche. It was preventing her from moving forward. After days of heavy talking, which got us nowhere and left us both feeling drained, I suggested that she try and visualise her block, to to give it some form. After a few minutes she told me that it was her grandmother.
Now Mocuar was brought up by her grandmother, a strict, repressive woman who never gave her affection or approval. But was still there, in her head, as an authority, a moral arbiter, still (although she died many years ago) disapproving of Mocuar, especially her sex magick preferences.

I switched into the Master enegy and let go of the caution, told her that she had to reject her grandmother’s authority and replace it with mine. After we’d found a suitable magickal image to bring that about and worked it, she told me she felt completely free, able to, as she put it, “be totally myself”. Since then she’s been happy, relaxed and a hell of a lot less self-critical.

Finally, the Master energy has to be a turn-on in order to bring it through in it’s fullness. I have to get off on the idea. Magickally it’s about transformation, the shifting of the sub or slave’s consciousness, and mine, into another plane. But if I become too pious about it, too caught up in the 'worthiness' of it, I lose the power.

Pan has his place, and it’s an important one.

'The chances of anything coming from Mars . . .'

I must say, I have a soft spot for Jeff Wayne's 'War Of The Worlds'

I remember hearing it for the first time, back in the late '70's, and being rather impressed.




enjoy.

True Spiritual Devotion

I like the ecstatic expression on her face. Receiving it anally, perhaps?


I'd like to credit the source for this pic, but I've had it on my computer for so long, I can't remember where I first saw it. so apologies for that,.

So sayeth Mocuar

A couple of things she's said in the last week during discussions on her slavery.

"I give my fears to life, and then I feel alive'

"I live in the doing, but I float on the concept"

A wise woman.

The title of this blog . . .

. . . comes from something I wrote 12 years ago:

If This Be Your Desire . . .

Now that I know you-
And I do know you-
(And I think,
Perhaps,
You are beginning to know yourself . . .)

Be still,
And listen to me.
Be silent.

Oh, and by the way-
Do not allow your legs to open-

Yet.

These promises are yours
As you are mine:
I promise to use you unflinchingly.
I promise that I will regard every part
of your sweet body,
As no longer yours: but mine
Mine to use accordingly,
Mine to use creatively,
Not sparing either of us
Not allowing us to wander
From our agreed agenda,
The path dictated
By our desires.

I promise to use you often,
To strip you of all shame,
To teach you that your body
(Which belongs to me)
Is beautiful: and deserves to be displayed
In all the ways I will require you to display it.

I promise to bind you,
To bring you pain and pleasure.
And to punish you
When required.

I promise to play my part,
To trust you as you trust me:
To lead you
Into that fluid ectsasy,
That secret, midnight chamber of the soul,
That place where you are mine,

And we are whole.



I wasn't with anyone at the time, it was, I suppose an invocation.

Dun Ringill

We went to see Jethro Tull recently, they opened with this:



Old Rockers, a song about fucking in stone circles and watching the Old Gods play.

What Is There Not To Like?

So It Is Written

'That sweet bondage which is freedom's self.'

Shelley - Queen Mab, Canto 9

Tennyson's 'Ulysses'

One of my favorite poems. The older I get, the more I like it.

Good on you, Alfred Lord!

ULYSSES

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Matched with an agèd wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vexed the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honoured of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life. Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this grey spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle—
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and through soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought
with me—
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Whipping Magick

When we first got together, at the end of 2002, Mocuar had very little experience of BDSM and hardly any knowledge of magick. She took to both with an ease and an awareness which really surprised me back then . She said at the time that it felt like coming home, there was, as she put it, a recognition, something she’d always known, without consciously realising it.

Now the thing to bear in mind is that Mocuar is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a pain slut. But she is very brave, one of the most courageous people I’ve ever met. She accepts whipping as part of her slavery and gets off on the idea of submitting to it but she has a fairly low pain threshold most of the time and doesn’t enjoy the experience itself. So I keep it fairly low-key. (By ‘whipping’ I mean a general term covering the use of canes, floggers, paddles etc.)

So it came as a surprise when one day in 2003 she announced that she wanted me to, as she put it, “Whip me for as long as you like, and as hard as you like and don’t stop until you feel like it” . She insisted that it had to happen without safewords or any limitations whatsoever.

It’s a ridiculous thing to say now, but she had to near as dammit talk me into it.

She described it as a leap of faith, something she felt she had to do. Up until this point we’d done a few magickal things (and a lot of sex) but this was the first time she’d consciously combined the two. She,in effect, challenged me to put my money where my mouth was (she still does this, one of the many reasons why being with her is so rewarding). So we proceeded. She placed one of our Goddess statues (Hathor,as it happened) by the bed and ‘tuned in’ to her while being caned.

I have to say that I’ve never wielded a cane so vigorously before or since.

Afterwards she said that at one point she’d had a contact with Hathor. She asked for help and was told “You don’t need my help, but I’ll always be with you”.

Since then, looking back, she sees it as an initiation, her first point of real connection with sex magick. The rest, as they say, is history . . .


This wasn't taken at the time, but I thought that a pic of her with a few marks might be nice . . .

Anniversary

Today is our 6th wedding anniversary. We chose the date to be as near to the spring equinox as we could get.

I remember the day with great affection. Before we set off for the register office, Mocuar had a few ritual cane marks laid on her pert little arse. We liked the thought of the wedding being sanctified in that way.

When it was all over and the guests had gone, we ended up back at our place with Marianne, an old friend of mine, this eventually led to the three of us fucking. Marianne was rather pleased at the idea of having had a bride and groom on their wedding night on her sexual CV. Quite right too.

Like most marriages, we've had our troubled times to work through, but we've done it. And we're still here, still learning. I love her to bits and I really can't imagine life without her.

She's magick. Literally. In every way



Happy anniversary, my love.

It Had To Happen Sooner Or Later

Rituals

We’ve done a few over the years we’ve been together. Mostly for specific purposes rather than regular practice. The odd thing is that the ones which really worked well are the most difficult to remember in detail. We tend to be organic in our rituals, setting a goal and a rough outline, after that we pretty much wing it as we go along.

For example, last December, Mocuar decided to take the plunge and go for full collared magickal slavery. A good friend of ours was there as a witness and afterwards described it as ‘very moving’. Although it was successful and I can remember the basics of what we did, I can’t recall a single word either of us said. Normally I have a pretty good memory, so this is surprising. Perhaps the ritual ‘head’ that we step into exists in a dimension of it’s own . . .

Changes

“All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.” ~Anatole France

Too bloody right.



Mocuar has always had a big thing about the concept of death and rebirth . . .

A moment of beauty

From the wonderful and sadly missed Nick Drake.

here

Relax and enjoy.

Good ol' Susie

Susie Bright has been putting out consistently interesting and thought-provoking writings on things sexual for years.

this, from today's Guardian, is a good example.

I particularly like this paragraph:

If you take a honest look at your sexual history, you'll see it's a panorama of everything about you that's seed-and-egg creative. The risks you took blind, the way your imagination survives in spite of every banal and repressive catechism. The church has tried to shut sex up, the advertising world has tried to buy it out. We are fortunate to be engineered so well that the flame isn't easily extinguished.

Exactly. We often see our sexuality as something existing on some sort of parallel track to the rest of our lives. This is a really crap illusion. It can't be separated from what we are any more than breathing can. I'm not talking about being turned on or thinking about fucking all the time. Even a celibate who is genuinely uninterested in sex and never gives it a second thought has a sexual connection to life. A few years ago I found myself thinking of sensual experiences that normally wouldn't be considered sexual. It's highly subjective, of course, but here are a few of mine: Do your own list - it's an interesting excercise.

The hiss of car wheels on wet streets.

The smell the earth gives out when it rains after a long, warm dry spell.

Laying in bed at night, in the dark and smoking a cigarette while listening to some soft jazz saxaphone on the radio.

Certain pieces of music - e.g Roxy Music's 'Avalon'



(I picked this because I don't like the original video they did for the song)


My point being that these are not experiences that are a turn-on in any literal physical sense. They are sexual in themselves.

Our sexuality is an integral part of the weave in the fabric of our lives. Not a separate piece of fabric which can be ignored, suppressed or discarded, as the puritans would have us do. Not something to agonise about or place within an 'acceptable' framework.

And definitely not something that should load us with conventional morality-generated guilt when we think about expressing it.

Shakti Force

A quick plug for the very excellent Shakti Force.

This is a dear friend of mine who has the wisdom of an ancient priestess and a totally fantastic arse.

I've known her for years and we've seen each other through a lot of good and bad times. One of the few people I'd trust absolutely and without hesitation.

I probably wouldn't have started this blog if it wasn't for her example and encouragement.


She's well worth reading.

Graham Bond

Bond was a brilliant bluesman. And a thelemic magician. Sadly, he died, in slightly mysterious circumstances, under the wheels of a train in 1974. Info about him here.

His album Holy Magick has long been one of my favorites. Thoroughly recommended.

Back in 1970 I was in London for a few days when I went to a benefit gig for the Chicago Seven. Among those playing was Bond. I vaguely remember him announcing that they were going to perform stuff from the Holy Magick album. Sad to say, I don't remember any of it. This is because when we went in, we met someone carrying a tray full of free cups of fruit juice, so we had one and later found out they'd been spiked with LSD - my first trip. My memories of that night are a confused jumble, but I do remember having a damned good time. At one point I was stumbling around in a haze and almost bumped into Bond and his band on their way out. I could have spoken to him, I didn't. I wasn't familiar with his music back then, or thelemic magick. So I just stumbled on. A few years later, when I found my way into magick, and came across Bond's album, I really regretted not making more of that night. C'est la vie.

I often wonder if my first acid experience coinciding with Bond doing magickal stuff on stage played a part in my later development. I'll never know. But it's a nice thought.

Here's 'Love Is The Law' by him. For all you thelemites out there.

Cunt

Let us praise the word. I’ve always considered it to be so much more apt (and a lot less ugly) than any of the euphemisms or anatomical terms that are used in it’s place. It has an honest unashamed, earthy quality, It is unapologetic. And it carries a strong magickal erotic charge.

Besides, if it’s good enough for Chaucer, it’s good enough for me.

For certeyn, olde dotard, by your leave
You shall have queynte right enough at eve ...
What aileth you to grouche thus and groan?
Is it for ye would have my queynte alone?

From Cantebury Tales - The Wife Of Bath’s Prologue

‘queynte’ is a middle-english version of cunt. Many translations of Chaucer into modern English change it to cunt. It has been suggested that the word ‘quaint’ meant more or less the same thing back then. Quaint, meaning ‘pleasant’ or ‘charming’ eventually took on a life of it’s own. So you can have a quiet smile to yourself next time you hear something described as quaint. And it might not be bad idea if we were to think of ‘cunt’ as pleasant or charming. Which it certainly is.

Most women, in my experience, are not happy with their cunts. A pity, I think. A woman openly and proudly displaying her cunt is one of the great magickal archetypes. Email a photo of your cunt to the person of your choice, ladies, It will lift the spirit.

“If you’ve got it, flaunt it’ as the man said.

Remember you're a Womble

It is absolutely vital that you do not, at any point, forget that you are a Womble.

Mocuar

Allow me to introduce you to Mocuar

We’ve been together for over 7 years now. She’s my wife. she’s also a sacred whore, a sex-priestess, compassionate, earthy, wise and sexy as hell.
She is also my property, a collared slave.

More about us to come.

Read This Book

I stumbled across this last year. The first book on the subject I've read for a long time that changed my thinking.

This man really knows his stuff. His book is refreshingly free from the prissy fluffbunnyness found in many so-called 'sex magic' tomes.

His Site

Here we Go . . .

I was thinking about some sort of opening statement for the blog when I happened upon this:

‘Each phenomenon on earth is an allegory, and each allegory is an open gate through which the soul, if it is ready, can pass into the interior of the world where you and I and day and night are all one. in the course of this life, every human being comes upon that gate, here or there along the way; everyone is sometime assailed by the thought that everything visible is an allegory and that behind the allegory live spirit and eternal life. ‘

Herman Hesse - Iris

So what are my ‘gates’ ?

Music, poetry, drama, sex and magick Each has it’s own power, it’s own connection. They are different and the same. There is no separation. Listening to heavy rock or looking at the pyramids. Reading a Shakespeare sonnet or fucking a freshly-whipped arse.

I intend to post whatever comes to mind, and as Shaw’s Mr Doolittle said “I put it to you and I leave it to you”.