“Mother”, poem by Nagase Kiyoko

March is International Women’s Month.  I can’t think of anything better to post here than what I do below. Nagase Kiyoko probably is the best woman I can think of to celebrate this month with.  (In fact, she is also a great woman to celebrate Mother’s Day, this day that is painful for many ACONs).   Politics come and go, but a poet speaks through the centuries.  Certainly Nagase Kiyoko goes deep and rattles my bones like nothing else I have read lately. She opens my heart to what is true and fundamental in being a woman.

Rollo May a 20th century psychotherapist has written about creativity.  In his “Courage to Create”, he writes that creativity is generated by our encounter with opposition.  Certainly Nagase Kiyoko, who wrote poetry at her kitchen table while her children and husband were asleep, and suffered the issues of older Japanese women faced this head on.  Her poetry inspires and she is a prime example of this courage to create.  She is a good grandmother for all of us women poets.  Actually, for all women, poets or not.

Lady Nyo 

 

MOTHER

 

I am always aware of my mother,

Ominous, threatening,

A pain in the depths of my consciousness.

My mother is like a shell,

So easily broken.

Yet the fact that I was born

Bearing my mother’s shadow

Cannot be changed.

She is like a cherished, bitter dream

My nerves cannot forget

Even after I am awake.

She prevents all freedom of movement.

If I move she quickly breaks

And the splinters stab me.

—Nagase Kiyoko  (1906- 1995)

Nagase Kiyoko wrote poetry for 65 years.  She never called herself a ‘professional poet’, but referred to herself as ‘a useless woman’.  She was a farmer, and wrote her poetry at the kitchen table before dawn, while her children and husband were asleep upstairs.  Because of her sensual and cosmic verse, Nagase Kiyoko is considered by many Japanese women poets to be the “Grandmother” of modern poetry.  Just a short reading of her verse goes deeply into the heart of the reader.  She is ageless in her verse.  She died on her 89th birthday.

–

‘”Moon Child’,from “The Nightingale’s Song”, Part II

This summer has been an obstacle to creativity and to normal life in general. Breaking my dominant wrist, I couldn’t type, write or paint. I wanted to learn sumi-e painting and do a few pieces for this new book, “The Nightingale’s Song”. I didn’t achieve any zen-like state of mind through the pain, and the pain was constant. I did learn that I don’t handle it well, and that I have the patience of a two year old. I have felt I have been stripped bare of any fortitude and dignity as I also find I am a whiner. My husband has been tolerant…more than that, all through this phase.
After another visit to the ortho doctor, who expressed about as much ‘hope’ for a total recovery as he would examining a doorknob, and only said to stop wearing the brace…I decided to push it and start using the pain meds liberally. So, I have grabbed some brushes, those little weird notched brushes used in sumi-e painting and have depressed myself even further. I know what the technique is supposed to obtain, and my attempts are far from it. Perhaps time will help.
The above illustration is about how I feel on pain meds….out of body and out of mind.

The below poem, “Moon Child”, a later piece of this series, is one of my favorites. It came in a dream and seemed to open up the shutes. (I think that is a word.)

Lady Nyo

“Moon Child”

Lady Nyo was barren.
Once there was hope of heirs,
Babies to raise, coddle.
But fate provided nothing,
Not even a stillborn to mourn,
Buried under the snow
With the fog of incense rising
To a leaden sky.

Many times Lady Nyo
Passed the temple of Lord Jizo,
Riding in her palm-leaf carriage
Drawn by white oxen adorned with ribbons and bells.
Many times she peeked through curtains
At his simple, stone statue,
Bedecked with babies’ bids, knitted hats,
The offering of a grateful mother, or
A mournful one.

Ah! To be as much a woman
As her lowest servant with a swelling belly!
How she wanted to leave her own offering
Of her child’s garment at his feet!

Lady Nyo decided on a pilgrimage.
She would walk barefoot through the fragrant murasaki grass,
She would wear a humble cotton gown,
She would seek advice from temple priests.

Lady Nyo and her old nurse set out one morning,
And though her old nurse grumbled and groaned,
Lady Nyo was the vision of piety walking
Through the delicate morning mists –
These frail ghosts of nothingness.

The priest had a long, red nose,
Wore a robe none too clean,
And he scratched at lice
Under the folds of his gown.
He had feathers growing in his ears
And feet like a large bird.

A Tengu!
A trifler of men and women!
But they were staring at his nose,
And missed his feet.

“When the Moon grows full,
Row out in the bay,
Directly under the Moon
And climb up a long ladder.
You will be pulled by the Moon’s tides
To its surface,
And there you will find what you want.”

When the Moon blossomed into a large
Bright lantern in the sky,
They rowed out in the bay,
Two trusted ladies to steady the ladder
And one to spare.
Lady Nyo kicked off her geta,
Tucked her gown into the obi
(exposing her lady-parts),
And ignoring the remarks of her old nurse,
Climbed directly under the Moon.

So powerful
Was the pull of the Moon
That fish and crabs,
Seahorses and seaweed,
Octopi, too
Rose straight up from the waters
Into the night’s air!
Lady Nyo’s hair and sleeves
Were also pulled by the Moon
And her kimono almost came over her head!

With a summersault
She flipped onto the surface
And found her bare feet
Sinking into the yellow-tofu of the Moon.

She heard a gurgling
And gurgling meant babies,
So she searched on spongy ground
Followed by a few seahorses who were curious
And a few fish who weren’t.

Past prominent craters
One could see from the Earth,
Lady Nyo found a baby tucked in the Moon’s soil.

Ah! A fat little boy blowing bubbles,
Sucking on toes,
Bright black eyes like pebbles
Black hair as thick as brocade!

Lady Nyo bent down,
And lifting him
She heard a sucking noise.
He was attached to the Moon
By a longish tail
That thrashed around like a little snake
As she pulled him free.

She placed him at her milk-less breast
But soon he grimaced and started to howl,
So she tucked him in her robe,
Aimed for the ladder,
Somersaulted back into the night,
Where she and her ladies rowed for shore.

The baby, now named Tsuki,
Was put to a wet nurse
His tail mostly disappearing,
Shriveling up like a proper umbilical cord–
Though there remained a little vestigial tail
That wagged with anticipation when placed at the breast,
Or when the full Moon appeared
In the black bowl of night.

The Tengu had flown the coop,
Never to be seen again.
But Lady Nyo no longer envied ladies
With swelling bellies,
For her own arms were full and heavy
With this yellow Moon-child.

Through fragrant fields
Of murasaki grass,
Lady Nyo and Tsuki
Would walk alone,
Where they would lay
Offerings of knitted bibs,
Strings of money, toys
And a feather
At the feet of Lord Jizo,
When the Moon was fullest
In a promising sky.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2012

“Autumn Coming”

Well, it is.  Finally. 

Here in the south, we try to disappear during the months of July – August, try to find cool cover from the high temps. This year was unusual. Oh, we had hot weather enough, but August has come in as a surprise.  This is the month most dreaded, yet  the temps have not really risen above the mid 80’s for a couple of weeks. Morning lows are in the mid 60’s and that is rather unusual.  Perhaps we will have a ‘normal’ winter?

I broke my left wrist July 4th, and I am still recovering.  Typing has been just about impossible, but this morning I awoke with at least the title of a new poem-to-be:  “Hollow Eyes”.  Whether the rest of the words follow the title will remain to be seen. This lagging pain has stopped any poetic creativity for a while now.

I have a dear friend in India, Dr. RK Singh, who has not been feeling  well.  He is a famous poet, with many books and critical articles to his name. In my whinning to him about my own ‘lack o’ poetry’, he said the same thing.  Right now he didn’t feel moved to write poetry, and in the same email, he sent a wonderful, biting poem, that belied his condition.

And that is the way, I think, of poets.  This down time has forced me to read poets that I should have read before, or at least read them with more resolve.  Auden, Stevens, Pound, Marianne Moore, etc….and the Big Book of Poetry….”American Poets From The Puritans To the Present”….by H. Waggoner.  I can’t say I like them all, but it’s important reading, and reading something about their lives, I can see that some measure of pain brings forth some of their poetry.

I already know that “Hollow Eyes” will be about the darker side of humanity: about a black man running down the street in an Atlanta neighborhood, shooting at houses; about a ‘religious’ Jew who hates most of humanity and turned to sadism and depravity; about a relative who just hates. These people or events are all within my experience and I struggled to put a ‘face’ on this kind of violence.  The best I can do I think, is to see down into their hollow eyes and  perhaps see why they are so twisted.  Perhaps by seeing into that darkness, I can see through to some light of ‘understanding’.  Remains to be seen.

Lady Nyo

 

Autumn Coming

 

Bullfrogs bellow a different pitch

Autumn’s fast approaching.

And though they soak in a rocky pond

Summer’s heat they can’t escape.

 

Full moon reflects in half-sunk eyes

Perhaps fish mistake the moons of Mars

And in their algaed depth by night

They travel the cosmos past the stars.

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2012

Teela wants a Tattoo….

I was talking to friends recently about tattoos.  I have NEVER wanted one.  Besides, in Turkish belly dancing, it has been long frowned upon…any marking of the body  visible.  Hell, I think any marking of the body period.  (Whip or lash marks included.)

However, I finally have come around to the idea of a small, little tattoo that has some deep significance for me…..placed upon the part of my body that isn’t exactly visible to the casual observer.

My tolerant husband is all for this, but he wanted his initials.  Well, we have been married for 24 years, so it’s not like I have any possible changes in this, baring death…but I just didn’t want his initials.  I wanted a ‘picture’.

I have done some investigation, and most of the women I have talked to are very ‘free’ with advice and showing me (regardless where) their tattoos.  Lovely stuff..most of it.

I am leaning towards a little..maybe 1.5 inch, maybe 2 ” scimitar.  It has significance for me.

In bellydance, we dance with swords on our heads…harder than it looks.  I have a good belly dancing friend that dances with TWO swords on her head.  Difficult to do.

I am thinking of this scimitar (or ‘saif’ in Persian…) to go either on my left back shoulder…or down low on the back of my hips…that spot exposed depending how brave you are in your costume (which usually depends how thin or fat you are feeling that night)

Somewhere right about the fanny cheeks, at the top of the crack…but not toooo low.  You can pull the sides of the costume higher on the hips, and position it to dip on towards your fanny, but usually these plans are disrupted by the costume belt.

It would ‘fit’ me…this scimitar.  I have a little  streak of violence in me…something that I suppress, but sometimes it pops out.  The scimitar has some cultural significance to me, besides the belly dancing, but it’s like I am ‘armed’ at all times…I know this sounds silly, but for some reason…..it appeals to me.

So, I am getting braver about marking my body…(there IS one mark that I desire on my body…but that has been known only to my subconscious..and why.   It has been percolating for many months and is finally coming to the surface.  Scares the hell out of me because it will be very painful…and probably won’t happen.)

So, Teela is open to any suggestions…or most of them, because I know you guys now..at least some of you.  No battleships, roses, hearts or flowers….however, I am considering a very small and light colored spiral or chain around one ankle.

Anyone with tattoos?? Are they really painful…and what parts of the body do you avoid to avoid the pain?

Did I mention I am a wuss?

Teela today.

“Luscious” Part 34……

Well, it seems like it.

Oh, this dvd gets better and better.  Well, I did say it was a beginner’s program…but it’s not.

And I have the authorities to prove it.

If you research this “Luscious” on Amazon.com, you will read the comments section in the selling of this dvd.

Over all, it isn’t exactly a beginner’s..more like an intermediate/advanced…..but it’s doable.  Friends have written or spoken to me of their difficulty with this dvd…and there are some great ways to break through this stuff.  And it is hard.

However, the SECRET to this program is all in Chapter 10…the tutorial.

Now THAT’S doable.  Broken down by cutie Russian Neon, circle by circle….it is the way to approach this stuff.  Otherwise, we get overwhelmed….because we are watching Professionals….very easy in their movements…and fluid and fast.

IF you watched the dvd long enough, the muscle memory would kick in…..after about a month.  The trick here is to do as Neon demonstrates, and break it down.

Ok, for some of us the movements are pretty elemental… But you know what??? She brings more awareness to our muscle memory.

Breaking it down into small, precise movements builds the core and foundation for the more expanded, rounded and faster same movement.

I am loving this dvd….but it is to be used EVERY day…at least that is the way I am making progress.

And about the dance at the end??? The performance piece.  J.H.Christ!  It is only a compilation of the previous movements, and they are very recognizable.  I flipped to the end dance, and damn if I couldn’t do it, and though I had skipped shimmy and slept through other parts…..

This dvd is doable…and one of the best I have come across.  I have been very lucky in the past almost 5 years to have excellent teachers: Aya, Jenna, Samora, Schadia, and back to Aya.  I haven’t really used videos….

But THIS dvd is absolutely the best I have ever seen.  Of course, it is Turkish/Egyptian….and not at all Tribal.  But I would imagine, although I don’t know yet and won’t find out until late January, but I would imagine that these movements are the building blocks for any Tribal Fusion.

So….don’t despair…..keep hitting the button until you get to Chapter 10.

The pain goes away then.

Teela

I have been challenged….

by some dear and devoted friends. Devoted, because they have known me now for a couple of years, and are worried as to what I do with myself, and what influences I take in.

They know I can be lost for a while, to go on a mental vacation, to wallow in the confusion of other things….

But they also know that I will ‘come to my senses’ and they will need to give me very little aftercare.

I was on a journey, around two years ago. It wasn’t ‘self-discovery’ but it rather morphed into some things that were part of the whole. I stepped into a lot of muck, and didn’t make such choices that would soothe the concerns of my friends. Funny, my husband just watched me roll…he wasn’t concerned because after 24 years, he knows the stuff I am made of. I am very resilient and strong.

Did I mention independent? I have investigated this issue of submission, and realize that it would take a very powerful man to make me submit…and I just haven’t found one more powerful than myself. I do know myself…and this time I won’t forget it.

I am less interested in ‘pleasing the dom’ now than understanding WHY I would WANT to ‘please the dom’.

I have come to appreciate my own power. I tried to ignore it, but it just got in the way of “things”. I had to weigh my value and total worth. I never lost that knowledge, but I damn sure tried to fit into ‘holes’ I wasn’t going into easily.

I am a writer, I am a bellydancer, and you have to ‘place’ yourself carefully, mindfully, in those places that will enhance what you are, and not enter with little concern for your talents.

But most of all, I am a mature and independent woman who knew what she was fundamentally, though along this ‘path’ she also found out other interesting and hidden (unknown) things about herself.

For one, I have always been afraid of pain. I had a car wreck that almost destroyed my back. I was in severe and crippling pain for two years. Then surgery. Fine, pain over.

So, why would I be interested in pain? Been there, done that. Well, I do remember in the ‘heat’ of pain….an interesting event. I ‘floated’ outside the pain…and up to the ceiling, where I watched myself on the bed. I remember wondering why this ‘woman’ was writhing in such pain, where on that ceiling I felt….transported.

Since I have been a bellydancer I can understand what transformation is now. When I dance, I mentally transform myself. I easily can go into a trance. I feel ‘exceptional’…I feel different, unattached to the ground or people around me. I am enhanced. I am in a trance. I feel….transformed.

This summer, a very nice gentleman introduced me to a singletail. I was very surprised. It opened some things in me I didn’t know existed. I wanted a deeper experience, and I wanted to explore this issue of pain. I met another gentleman, and he has continued to gentle lead me into this particular dance. He is all about the sensation, and as a sadist, isn’t self-centered and extreme. He is all about BOTH of us getting as much out of the situation as possible. He also transforms me in ways I didn’t think was possible. Of course, if you don’t experience different things, how can you know.

After some nasty confusion this fall, I have hit the ground running. I am experiencing some things I never thought possible. I am amazing my husband, and he’s interested in what I am finding. It is opening a lot of new ‘rooms’ in our marriage.

I am also continuing the transformations that I started a while ago. I am pushing my boundaries…and find that I have not many of them. I am flying right now…with self-discovery. I am making my own roads and paths. However, I don’t forget what I am, and that some things are good for me…and some things (and people) are just flat out poison. You have to discern, but you also can’t do it from the sidelines. I usually throw myself in the water…or at least I do now. I know that I can swim, and that danger can have a particular appeal.

However, what doesn’t develop, succor, support and push my fundamental abilities will be dismissed. I don’t have the time to fuck around with dead and pointless issues and people. You have to be smart and sane about it. There are stupid predators out there and you have to step over and around them. They can come in all sizes and smiles.

Pain is the portal, but is only one. It is probably not the most important one, but it is something I am working to understand and develop…and to master.

My writing is continuing to grow and develop…and I hope deepen. It’s alive, from what others tell me. It resonates in their own experiences and their hearts.

The series “Diaries of a Changeling” surprised and confused a lot of my friends. It is transparent…it is me. People have asked, and of course, it is me. I usually write about my experiences, though I embellish them as a writer should.

So, my fine pasty friends….don’t worry about this woman. She is really having a great time of it all…and she is growing.

And she has fine-tuned her sense.

Lady Nyo/Teela/Jane-Elizabeth

Lady Nyo’s death poem:

Shall an old gray wolf
subdue a woman like me?
I shall be born soon.
The wolf head I will cut off
and nail the pelt to the cross.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2008

“Pain and Pleasure”….the beginnings of a particularly juicy discussion.

Well, our friend Phil (smotp) has begun the discussion that was promised by me weeks ago. It finally begins, but first I want to thank Phil for a very generous gift he gave me this morning.

People know I have been ill…since October 1st actually. I have been in and out of hospital and through the mill with many tests. As of now all things point to ulcers…and I have earned every damn one of them fairly.

Phil has offered his ‘relaxation’ methods and today called me from Wales, where he lives, and proceeded to relax me…and then some.

I won’t go into details, (though girlfriends can contact me privately for the skinny on Phil’s methods…) but all I can say is this:

Thank you, Phil…for a generous and lovely time on the phone. Your beautiful voice, calming and soothing, your words to me so restorative, have moved me to a better place. You masterful conducting of this session has truly been effective in my spirits and body.

Thank you, Phil, for something so very generous and humane from you. You have a healing way beyond comforting.

Phil’s blog …smotp’s weblog is listed on the blogroll here.

Lady Nyo

From Phil:

Sensuality and Sensation a discussion of Sexual Pain

How is it that to be bitten sharply out of the blue on a sensitive part of your body hurts like the devil, yet when sharp teeth clench around an aroused and erect nipple that the pain is often exquisite?

To suddenly have one’s clitoris pinched when your attention is on a book or a tv show is to say the least, distracting. To have the same thing done while a warm knowing mouth is driving one towards orgasm is often the trigger to tip one over into an ecstatic release.

The divide between pain and pleasure is a fluid and permeable separation. Why so?

Our skin has receptors all over it sensitive to touch, heat, pressure and many other stimuli all connected to a netwrok of nerves that wind thorugh us to inform the brain of what is happening moment to moment to our bodies. We also have the other senses all of which generate huge amounts of information.

More than 2 million bits of information about our body and our environment at any one time bombard our brain. In practice we are able to notice between 5 and 9 things at the same time (if we were to process everyhting our senses recorded during the moment of our birth it would take our entire lifetime)

Vast amounts of data pass our conciousness by as they are filtered out to enable us to function. So sensation has to compete for our attention.

Sensuality can be thought of as the appreciation of sensation in a strongly sexual way. As we are stimulated by different senses that impact on our erotic arousal we climb that hill towards the fall into orgasm.

With the touch of a caress, probing fingers and the heat of a mouth on us, our senses are engaged. After a time our filters will become active and have a screening effect on these feelings. As our nerves cannot differentiate between strong stimuli anything that can add to the electrical signals may push us closer to orgasm. The slap of a hand on the rump in over the knee spanking or the biting lick of a singletail, overload already stressed nerves and the result is an explosion of erotic tension in the brain, our pleasure is enhanced.

Pain applied to arousal is clearly something that could benefit all of us to some degree.

However, more particular are those individuals where their minds have ‘rewired’ their reaction to pain. Either through training or psychological variation the simple impact of pain registers with the brain as pleasure. There are in fact different regions of the brain which deal with pain and pleasure but they can be cross wired. These are the Pain Sluts where to be hurt is to get sexual pleasure with none of the preliminary arousal. In fact quite rare. Many convince themselves that they are Pain Sluts when in reality they simply crave the extra release that the application of a harsh stimulus to their jaded arousal delivers.
Much of the process of BDSM practice is ritualistic, designed through anticipation to prepare the recipient to a sufficiently aroused state where the appilication of the crop, cane or electric wand will tip them over to orgasm. Such a practice is psychological reinforcement linking orgasm to the application of pain. This provides an incentive to a partner to submit to the painful activity that may be the goal of the sadistic Dominator.

As in all things moderation is a useful rule of thumb, it is probably good to stop before you start to bleed!

Pain.

This isn’t the entry I promised a couple of weeks ago about Pain and Pleasure.  This is about straight pain, unleavened by anything nice.

People have written to me privately and expressed concern and what the hell is going on with you stuff.

We still don’t know definitively but after 3 days of tests on an outpatient basis, it looks like a combination of ulcers and something called ‘acute pancreatic disease’.

The funny doctor has a full surgery schedule, and so full he hasn’t called with the final answer. I am sitting here gulping Maalox and heavy pain meds.

If this sounds like whining….it is.  I don’t like pain….and that makes me wonder why I would even go towards something like a singletail or this pain/pleasure issue.  There is nothing sexual about your guts being ripped up and being on a liquid diet.

And about those ulcers?  I have been imagining little holes in my stomach, with little post-it notes with initials on them….and a BIG post-it note on my diseased pancreas.

So, don’t fuck with me or you initials will be on one of those post-it notes….

That’s the other thing about being sick.  Your sense of humour flies out the window.  You are crabby like an old woman.  You get up and don’t brush your hair.  You look for signs of jaundice. You decide NOT to brush your teeth today. You see the array of needle marks on your hands and arms where the hospital vampires kept sticking you and couldn’t find a fucking vein for the life of them.  I bit my tongue a couple of times with offering the advice of them all going back to sticking oranges.  You see what pain does? It makes you miserable and also makes you determined to make eveyone else around you miserable.  Mostly family and friends.  You just want to take a blanket (or two) out into the woods and be left to die.  But modern medicine won’t let you, and besides it would embarrass the family and the forest service.  There are repercussions with doing something ‘insane’ like this, so I promise I won’t, just stay in my now-uncomfortable bed and make everyone miserable that comes closer.

And worse….the weather has changed and it finally really feels like fall and it’s apple pie time, and coming close to turkey time, and nuts, and cider and brisk winds and pumpkins!  Here’s a recipe for pumpkin:

Cut and mildly scrap a pumpkin into chunks

drizzle with olive oil, cinnamon, salt and pepper,

Maybe a little maple syrup.

Bake in a fast oven….375…for about 40 minutes until it’s tender..with a little water in the bottom of the pan. Put a piece of butter on each piece before done..

AND I CAN’T EAT THIS!  I can’t eat turkey, apples, (can have the cider) I can’t have the artisan breads I make in the fall, can’t have the stuffing, can’t have the pecan pies, or pumpkin pies…..and I make the best crust around.

You see why I am so…bilious?  I can drink lactose free milk, in moderation, I can spoon broth into my mouth like an old woman, I can have jello with no fruit chunks, I can have cranberry juice and water–

Nothing solid.

So, join with me into a great “OM” into the sky and send good thoughts that the doctor will put down his golf clubs today and call me with the final answer.

I want to eat like a human, instead of sipping broth like a hummingbird.

Lady Nyo whose temper has not improved one bit this morning.

THE RITES OF SPAIN

1.

Sharp azure skies
Rusty brown earth,
Black of women’s shawls,
Goat dung flung by boys
At passing soldiers,
The Inquisition churns onward
Like the great mandela
Crushing bodies under its wheel
Burning witches in great pyres
Ignited by ignorance
Of the blessed padres.

Time of terror
overtime superstition.
Of hidden manuscripts
under floor boards,
and investigations
Seeded by the envy of neighbors.
Goya colors flung on
the dark of night,
Red of Blood
Death of White
Green of decay
Dull blacks of corruption
Shiny blues of greed
Exchanging favors,
Cardinals to Cardinals
Madrid to Rome.

These are the colors
Of the Inquisition.
Holy Terror of God in
Man’s hands.

Dark  shawls drawn
Over frightened faces,
only the
Whites of the eyes
gleam out like hooded lanterns,
faces cast downward
when the Cardinals pass.
No one wants to be noticed,
There is Death in the
Very air.

Breathe in the
Moisture of the drowned
Catch the blood
Flayed from bodies
Hear the sharp screams from
Those tortured,
And the
Sharper silence to follow.

Gossip is gone
From the lips
Of the women.
They huddle
Together,
Though no safety
In numbers.

The disdainful eye
Of the Church’s
Informers,
Circling the
Spanish masses,
Like herding goats
From a horse,
Whip held easy
In the hand,
Ready to strike,
And strikes when not.

How many died
That could give
Birth
To Enlightment?
How many aborted
By this
Scourge of Mankind?

Compassion forgotten
Humility distorted
Lies the particular
Coin of the day.

The Inquisition
Rolled onward,
Tearing up
Soil watered by
Clotted blood.
Black tentacles
Of Power
Ripping
The heart
Of Spain
Asunder.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008

“The Diaries”…continuing… these are ‘flashers’, 200 word stories…

WARNING: THESE are NOT Flashers….a whole lot of fish here (mackerals)

These flashers ‘tell’ an ongoing story about a woman caught in Paris when the Germans invaded France in the summer of 1940. She is involved in a sadomasochist relationship with “MN” who is a Frenchman.

Lady Nyo

DIARY OF A CHANGELING #4

Diary: June 21, 1940

MN is back. I was at S.’s and he just appeared! It’s been a week and of course I had questions, but S. warned me. Don’t ask him anything.

MN seemed tired, his face thinner, paler. But looking at him, my own gut clenching, there is little difference. Still that same full mouth, that smile which touched on a cynicism with all life, those eyes so expressive, or maybe I am so much in thrall with his power I can’t see the truth: he is just a man.

No, he is more. He is much more, now. And he knows it. There was almost an invisible thread that connected us across the room. All propriety with S. there, but when she answered the phone across the room, MN turned to me, his hand across his mouth, hiding his smile. Only his eyes danced over his hand, and it was enough for me to feel this flush of lust.

S. announced a Lieutenant Wolauf was to visit.

MN left too soon. Only a kiss on the cheek and a whispered “a demain, a demain” and he was gone.

Two cold words to warm me.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008

Diary of a Changeling

Diary: June 24th, 1940 (#5)

The division of France is done, and no one is happy except the Germans and Marshal Petain. S. is puffing her stinky Gauloises, nervous. I can’t stand to be around her.

Petrol is scarce, but MN took me in S’s car out to the countryside. He has use of a farmhouse and this was new for us.

The house is old, with beamed ceilings and a stone sink in the kitchen. We ate bread,. stinky cheese and a bottle of wine.

Upstairs in the bedroom, MN said we shouldn’t ‘waste’ the beams and tied me with ropes he brought.

Perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps I am ‘getting tougher’ but he gave me more lashes than usual. I didn’t want to stop, but he was still careful.

This pain gets my attention fast, radiating outward and inward at the same time. MN stuck his hand in my crack and rubbed, cooing in my ear, whispering French nothings, soothing my tears with his breath.

We made love for the first time, MN slowly touching my body from my feet to my neck with his tongue and hands.

Why am I doing this? Because I must.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008

Diary of a Changeling

Diary, June 28, 1940 (#6)

I was at S.’s today, telling her about our night over in the countryside.

How MN filled the woodstove with wood stacked in the kitchen, how the stove puffed and groaned and how good the three eggs I found in the old hen house tasted. Hens were around so the eggs were fresh.

S. laughed, she seemed at ease. She said I am good for MN. He needs a diversion in his life. He needs a woman to fry him eggs in the morning.

MN has never told me about his past. I thought it would come in time. There is such little chance now, with him scarce and not even S. knowing where he is from day to day.

S. and I were having our usual talk when the maid informed her the German, Lieutenant Wolflauf was downstairs.

This German is very cordial, quiet, but commanding. He kissed my hand, which I thought outrageous considering his army has just invaded Paris.

I sat and said little. S. was her usual self, elegant and unflappable, but a bit nervous.

I kept staring at his shiny black boots. They seemed more than boots. They were like mirrors that saw the future.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008

Pain and Pleasure/ Sadism and Masochism….

There has been a lot of discussion on email…not on this blog, but through email about these issues above. I have decided to open the blog up for these issues we have been discussing privately.

I have only a little experience here, but have developed some interest over the summer. At first I thought it just an issue of bondage, or in particular shibari, but then it became something else. It was a path to some sort of self-discovery, but I didn’t have the wherewithall to continue it in an orderly and analytic fashion. I was detracted at the time with other issues, most importantly getting “Seasoning of Lust” together for publication.

I am not what I would consider a true pain slut….but there were issues I wanted to explore. I am in the the hands of an expert in these things now. He is a man I trust and this didn’t develop fast. I had some false starts and stops before I considered him. He was there all the time, but I wasn’t thinking of him in this way. We were friends and we were always discussing history and politics and other issues, I just forgot that he was known to be ‘good’ in this particular issue. I think I was blocking this knowledge out of my own fear.  This issue is dark and deep and where do you go to safely explore it?

You have to trust someone deeply before you do this stuff. You have to pick wisely, and it takes a while to come to a point where you ‘hear’ each other. It doesn’t happen overnight.  Jump in too fast and you will get hurt.

Others though, are way ahead of me on this issue, and they will be posting their experience and their own paths in these questionable issues.

I say questionable, because something like this is always open to question by our society. However, there are many people that are drawn to this route for different reasons, and I am most interested in what women have to say about these things.

We will raise many questions here..and attempt to answer them, to each her own experience. Perhaps I will do the same form…a questionnaire, but I have to figure out the questions first. However, I encourage people reading this blog to write your own experiences and opinions and send them to me….you don’t have to wait for any questionnaire. It works fine both ways.

So, this will be another case where this blog is broadened in scope, and I hope that we learn more about the inner tickings of pain and pleasure and how they relate.

Coming soon.

Lady Nyo