May 132012
 

“Can I ask you something? Why don’t people trust their instincts? They sense something’s wrong. Someone’s walking too close behind them,  yet they don’t cross the street. You knew something was wrong . You even knew what it was, but you came back into the house. Did I force you? Did I grab you and drag you in? I just offered you a drink.

You’d never think the fear of offending could be stronger than the fear of pain – but you know what? It is. They always come willingly. And then they’re here. They know it’s over like you do, and still somehow think they have a chance.” “Maybe if I say the right thing – if I’m polite – or I cry and beg – maybe I’ll survive.”

“And then the moment comes when they realize … no, all hope is gone. And when that happens – when I see the hope draining from their face like it is from yours right now — well, I feel myself getting hard just watching it. But you know, we’re not that different, you and I. We both have urges. Satisfying mine just requires more towels.”

Martin Vanger,  The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo

Listen to it. No second guesses. Don’t question what it is, or where it’s coming from. Don’t even ask why it’s speaking to you. You have time to analyze all of those things later. Once your instincts have spoken, respond.

Don’t look around for things that might be out of place, because you might not find anything.  Don’t stick around “just to make sure.”  At that point, you’re just attempting to lull yourself into a false sense of security. That includes turning to the other party for any kind of assurance. They are the person your instincts are alerting you about in the first place.

What are you afraid of, exactly?

A missed opportunity? –  There will be others.

Word of your anxious behavior slipping  through social circles? –  There is no blame in listening to your instincts, never heard of it happening.

Never be invited to parties or group functions? –  Unlikely.

Does the desire to be accepted over-ride the notion that you may not be able to trust the person in front of you? Do you think that offending someone is worth the chance that someone might not be who you think they are? Why take the chance? Why gamble?  If you irk someone, so what? You’re safe. You’re also more in-tune with your instincts.

You are not expected to harbinger whether or not another person is safe for all others. No one expects you to be able to take your decision to the masses to defend it. You only need to listen.

Your instincts are your own.

Use them.

 

Wicked Wednesday... be inspired & share...

May 112012
 

A Rope & Go is when you are performing a suspension or tie in a semi-public/public place.

In other words, you pre-tie as much as possible, go to the scene, strip, tie, suspend, take pictures, get down, and GO. Hence, a Rope & Go.

A friend and I developed this term last weekend while I was standing naked under a train trestle. He was in the process of rigging me for a suspension. I was holding up my hair, swatting away the bugs that were feasting on me during the muggy, May evening. .I was also the lookout. We could hear what sounded like a backyard party through some thick brush, probably 50 yards from us, if that. Voices were loud, boozy. We realized that it was Cinco de Mayo. No wonder. The local university graduation was today as well. We really picked a great day for this. Nothing was stopping us now though, not even the people walking their dogs, just a few yards away, in complete sight… if only they turned their heads. We tested the beams and up I went. It was his first suspension. He was proud. I was proud for him. I knew we should get the hell out of there. Jesus, there was an entire row of cars parked facing in our direction, and I was naked, hanging from a bunch of rope.

Still, I couldn’t help but to dangle there for just a bit. It’s easy to Rope. It’s harder to Go.

RopeGo

By the way, this has been added to Curvaceous Dee’s Scavenger Hunt. It’s my first one, listed under the location of “Bridge.” It won me the Bronze Award. :D

Scavenger-Hunt-Bronze

May 022012
 

He doesn’t know that he writes to me. He has no idea that his words run through me like an electric shock. They throw me off kilter.

He doesn’t know that he writes about me. Sometimes she’s so similar that I’m embarrassed of her mouthy remarks. I never blame him for punishing her, but something makes me want to scream to him, “I know better!”

He doesn’t know that I read his words with my face really close to the screen. I stop to catch my breath. I shake my head, unsure why he’d think I’d do that, who he’d talked to, and how he knew.

Then I realize, he doesn’t know me at all.