Sometimes I joke that having conscious sexuality as a hobby and passion is a masochistic trait in itself, in that it requires repeatedly diving into heavy emotional and physical processes. Over and over again. Yes, what doesn’t kill us does make us stronger. I see this around me in my work. That resilience is the fruit growing from the explorations. Sometimes I can even be envious of newcomers who feel so much every time. In every tie. In every exercise. In every moment. So many feelings. I think it’s because their perception is galloping around, the salience landscape reshapes, and suddenly, the world appears in another light. I can feel my nervous system – and undoubtedly my subconscious as well – react to all the emotions I am witness to and so up close to: anger, contempt, disgust, surprise, sadness, fear. My system alerts my conscious self that something is happening.
Once, I stayed in a hippie commune over the summer, offering my services as a medical massage therapist. There was a lot of drama and it was a daily emotional rollercoaster. I became friends with another great bodyworker there, and he gave me some great advice when he half jokingly said, “Never take your emotions too seriously; they always come and go.” Indeed, we can listen to our emotions like whispers in the wind, especially if we find ourselves in safer, more emotionally welcoming and therefore vulnerable spaces than we usually do in everyday life.
In addition, something happens on a relational level during these intense interactions. Playing with sadomasochism forges an emotional bond. Nothing strange about that. It’s even what many people seek as they are in such need to feel, and to feel that they belong. And they want to belong. The ties and bonds formed can remain for a long time, almost like unfinished business, and possibly lead to some harm, hiccups and heartache. Some people might even enjoy such emotional masochism, the equivalent of walking down a rainy street and listening to gloomy Nick Cave songs. There’s a certain romanticism to this. Still, a healthier choice is learning how to cut this invisible cord. I attempt to teach the importance of doing so during retreats, but people often do not get it. Maybe this is due to them being overwhelmed with ecstatic feelings, or perhaps they underestimate the pain that can arise later.
The steps of how to make a clean break are relatively simple, centering on the building of a ritual dedicated to forming a relationship in a contained space and understanding the implications of what that means. This ritual is understood as different from everyday life, and that both partners are entering into it.
What does this look like exactly? I ask people to take the following steps.
Become aware of the play space and its borders, what is clearly inside, what is outside. This can be done anywhere, whether it is on tatami mats, by drawing a circle in the sand, or even in a dungeon room.
Next, become aware of who you are inside this space. Allow yourself to feel differently, to perceive yourself in a different way. Perhaps your breathing changes, as arousal may flood your system, or there is a deep sense of tranquillity from the clear polarity. Your shift of focus will determine the salience landscape for you and your partner and give you a chance to repaint it.
Next, become aware of who your partner is inside this space with you. What do they mean to you? What desires and duties awaken inside of you? Consider how this interaction might change your relationship with them in the future.
I personally give at least ten minutes to this exchange though it can easily and pleasantly be extended for much longer. This gets weaved into the preparatory aspect of the session. I like to neatly maintain my space and have things in their right places for practical and symbolic reasons. For example, I enjoy serving my partner tea according to my ritual movements; this allows them to be taken care of by me while submitting to my structure. And it changes how I see them as well. It is important to construct this separate reality for them as it makes it all the easier for them to step out of it later on when it’s time to rejoin their everyday reality. I remember an anecdote about the Japanese bondage master Yukimura and how he told his students that it is much more important to observe how he served tea than how he tied rope. I imagine that he too served tea as part of his introductory ritual.
After the session, a ritual is done in reverse. Remove yourself from your partner. Refrain from continuing touch, and energetically remove yourself from their bubble. Relationally, see them as no longer belonging to you.
As a practitioner or dominant, do not forget about bringing this same level of awareness to yourself as well. I for example enjoy connecting to my basic needs, be they tea, food, sleep, sauna, cuddles, or sex. Be aware however, that sex and cuddles inside the power dynamic is very different to when it occurs outside of it. Be conscious and consensual about your own personal desires.
Finally, some advice for all partners concerned: return in your own way and at your own pace to the everyday world. Take a walk in the sunshine, enjoy the wind, or sit in your favourite coffee shop reading a book.
When these before and after rituals become almost second nature and embodied ways of being, I believe it makes it ever safer to journey deeper into sadomasochistic play. One doesn’t need to go all out here, using esoteric artefacts, smudge the living daylights out of your partner or be overly dramatic. I’m talking about much more subtle gestures, anything that transmits that a clear separation of space and dynamic has occurred.
What to do in instances where the cord was not cut?
Firstly, one can approach it as a good lesson that was learnt. One can also honour the potency of ritual and power dynamics. Next is recognising that the meeting was meaningful and left an imprint. Finally, perhaps honestly sharing about the experience with whom it happened is in order, if they are available for that. Otherwise, sharing with someone else who has insight into one’s emotional landscape is a good idea or, as a last resort, musing about it in private.
My experience shows that when a cord has not been cut, one does best to find the same vulnerability or emotional depths as discovered during the play and then having the opportunity to traverse back out of it slowly. I don’t always see it as necessary to relieve everything and then release what transpired in the original play; instead focusing on releasing what remained afterwards is a more healing move. That is, to release that cord which wasn’t cut.
I should probably note that this is entirely different if the intention is to maintain a full-time master-slave relationship where the goal is to transfer the bond into everyday life. Then again, it is perhaps a more profound sign of submission when the submissive keeps returning, reestablishing the relational chains repeatedly, as a conscious decision.
