Love

Katt Posted in General
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In the birth of western civilization, with the early records we have of philosophy from ancient rome and greece, the philosophers discussed the different forms love took. Trying to categorize or relate a vast and complex subject – love, identify it’s forms, and convey it with language. I’m sure well before we had written records of the debate, the nature, and manifestations of love was something not just experienced emotionally, but toyed with intellectually, conceptually.

I’ve been thinking a lot about love lately, self love, love of others, romantic love, love for mankind, love of life, love of pets, love of family members, love of nature, love of ideas, love of everything, what it is to love, what is unconditional love, is there unconditional love, is some love better or preferable than other love, love love love…

There are certain themes, ideas, I have around love, that come up often for me.

One is that I love a LOT, I love love, I love people, in general, generically, I love everyone, some people may think love is too strong a word, but I feel it’s just right to describe what I’m feeling. I love the woman I hardly knew that I worked with 10 years ago, that I ran into today, and felt joy at just seeing her, knowing she’s there, the smile on her face. I find people beautiful, because I’m in love with them, some people that other people try to tell me are ‘ugly’ street people, strangers, angry people, drug addicted people, fat people, dirty people, old people, smelly people, crazy people, and some times a combination of many or even all of the above. I cry sometimes, sometimes internally, sometimes externally, when I see one of those strangers I love, hurt, lost, hugging themselves in the alley behind my house, weaving, high, heroin or crack gaunt, sores all over the body.

My mother says that when I was a little girl, I said that I would adopt dozens and dozens of kids of all ages and backgrounds and have a big family… I would literally fall in love with all the children I saw starving on the TV screens, and I wanted to make them my own family. I loved all the kids in my neighbourhood. I wanted to be everybodies friend.

I learned. My love made me naive, it made me blind, love is blind. The little girl down the street whom I loved so much from the day she moved in, we were both 5, till the last day I played with her, we were 10. That last day she told me she didn’t want to play with me any more, that she never was my friend, that she never liked me, she just hung out with me to get stuff from me, that I was stupid, and she had better friends, cooler friends… friends that could now get her more stuff than I ever could. Not a challenging feat in a material sense, considering how little money my family had. I was shocked that a girl who already got 10$ a week allowance was using me for my 1$ a month… mind you a buck bought a lot of penny candy back then. Partly now, I think she may have been using me for my ‘love’ too, I was never a doormatt, and I never played ‘sidekick’ but I gave freely of myself, and everything I had. She used her new friends too, I saw that for the first time then, the whole big ugly picture.

I think that started my awareness of the depth of my ‘unrequited’ love. I wanted to be loved and accepted by everyone, all the kids at school, in the neighbourhood, everywhere. I wanted everyone to get a long, I wanted the world to be nice, warm, loving, and accepting… and it definitely wasn’t. I had a few friends, only ever a small number from then on, I was never in the popular crowd. The people I befriended were usually the complete outcasts of the group. I felt more like them, the outcasts, than like the other kids. Externally, I fit in more with the popular crowd. I was a good looking kid, I wasn’t overweight then (I didn’t get heavier until I was in my 20’s) I never sought out modelling work, but did some as a child and as a teen because offers would keep coming my way, I was shy. People were always telling me, mostly adults, how pretty I was, that I looked like Shirley Temple, blonde curls, and my green eyes used to be sky blue when I was a kidlet. I was smart… I was a year younger than everyone because I’d already learned all the school books from my brothers and sisters up to grade two at home when I was 4, so my parents pushed to have me start earlier, they felt if I went in at the regular age, I would be even further ahead, and was worried I would be too bored in school. I also was the fastest in sprinting in track and field, and I was a good artist, I won a number of drawing contests, I lead the school chior. Most of the popular kids were good at stuff, but it didn’t seem to do the same magic for me. For a while I tried doing poorly at things, and that never worked for me either. I was never a competitive kid, I could care less whether I got first, second or last in anything.

When I was very little, my elderly grandmother loved to play cards, but her mind wasn’t so good anymore as it once was. She was in actual fact, rather senile then. She was a very competitive woman, and she prided herself on her card playing ability. She was always wanting to play cards with everyone, all the time, myself included.

I remember my mother taking me aside, and explaining, that to my grandmother, it was very important to win, that for her winning meant she was still capable, important, and well. That normally when you play with people, you should just do your best, and have fun, but with grandmother, what was best was to make sure that she won. That some of the time, you won more, by losing.

I thought.. “yeah, I can do that”

So I did, I threw all my card games with her. The big smile, the smug satisfaction on the face of that old lady that I loved so much, her absolute delight in winning, the sparkle in her eye, her one big joy in life, playing cards… and winning. That was something I could give her, and that I ‘won’ far more by ‘losing’ than I ever could had I technically won. Because it wasn’t about the game, it was about the love. It was not about pity, it was not about love, pure and simple, taking joy in the joy of another. A deep and meaningful, bonding, emotional connection.

I think I learned one of my first major life lessons about love over playing cards with my elderly grandmother. I didn’t even really like the particular game she liked to play. I didn’t really like the game, I was throwing the game, I was losing the game, and I was getting SO much out of it. The absolute joy inside of watching her come alive, bringing her so much pleasure, It’s indescribable. I realized that we all have a special power, and many people completely take it for granted, they don’t see how it works, and they miss out. They figure in order to ‘win’ they’ve got to like the game, and reach the goal of the game. They completely miss out that the ultimate point of any game, is to have fun, and a lot of time, the people who focus mostly on the technical details, thinking that if they get those down just right… then they’ll be happy, are always struggling for the happy part.

Someone the other day, was talking about how they just didn’t get the whole adult baby thing I do with my adult baby. That the whole thing, the diapers, the age play as an infant, just doesn’t ‘turn them on’. You know what… it doesn’t turn me on either. it’s not my favorite game. But like the situation with my grandmother, it’s not about the game. The fact is, it what it is. People come into your life, people surround you all the time, you can spend your entire life, looking for ‘just the right people’ and rejecting the rest, you can spend your entire life trying to do ‘just the right things’ and likely you’ll be spending most of your life doing just that… trying. Reaching. Rather than being. The game just happens to be whatever it is. Why not take as much joy in that, as you can?

I’ve had friends in the past, whom I’ll go out for lunch with, and things are always wrong, the service is slow, the food is cold, the order was wrong, the fork was dirty. They don’t focuse on what went right. I love going out with Wolfe for food, and it doesn’t matter how long it takes, it never matters, if we miss the movie, we miss the movie, it’s not the end of the world. If the food is cold, we enjoy it cold. There was one sushi restaurant we went to and they ALWAYS got our order wrong, we always got something totally different than what we ordered. We went back over and over again, the food was great, the prices were reasonable, and what we were getting for dinner was always a surprise. As far as dirty cutlery goes, depending on the type of dirt… I’m perfectly capable of wiping off a fork well, or reaching over to the nearest empty table to nab another clean one. Some people will say “well that’s not the point… I go to a restaurant and I want/expect… blah blah blah”…. what I always think in my head is…”well that’s not the point… I want to -enjoy- my life, every minute of it, including the 60 I’m going to spend in this restaurant, and I don’t want my enjoyment to be conditional on every little thing, or on ‘perfection’ or even a near semblence of it…” My point is always that what is, is what is, and you can be pissed off and do something about, you can be happy and do nothing about, or be happy and do something about it. But why ‘choose’ to be pissed off? I always give myself a reality check. I’m not starving in a third world country, I’m in a restaurant. Compared to what millions of other people have, my very worst lunch, would be 100 times better than their very best lunch. So when my slow rude waitress brings me the wrong food, cold, I smile, and I think how incredibly lucky I am. Life could be worse… I could be the slow rude waitress, or the miserable business man complaining at her from the next table.

Back to my adult baby girl…. Adult Baby play was never my thing. It was just something that happened. I met jOni, and we developed a casual friendship. She was sharing with me how much she had searched for and longed for a ‘Mommy’. I thought a lot about her Infantilism, about her need for mothering, nurturing. I thought a lot about my own need to be mothered and nurtured, and my own trials I’ve had in my relationship with my own mother. I almost envied her Infantilism, in that I thought here is someone who has the option at least, of really regressing and allowing themselves to be re-parented. To relive a happy childhood, to customize it, to be a child in their heart and let all that love in. The love that I so much wanted and tried to give when I was a child. I’m not an Adult Baby, and I’m not an infantilist. I can’t bring my spirit back to infancy and emerse myself with a surrogate adult Mommy. I looked at jOni’s Infantilism, and I thought, she has a gift, she can be both the adult man that her body represents, and a baby girl. She has the ability to put herself in this small, submissive, infantile, trusting, place, where she can feel completely free, safe, and loved. It was only missing one thing for it to happen for her… a Mommy.

Some people would think my motivation would come from wanting to be a Mother, wanting to nurture, just like most people would think that you would play a game of rummy to try and win, or at least do your best. I guess in a round about way, it was, and is, ultimately about nurturing jOni, I wouldn’t call it a maternal drive per se, … just love.

It was as simple as with my grandmother, jOni explained her life, her hopes and dreams, and I simply thought “yeah… I can do that” I had total empathy for how much it was going to mean to her in the scope of her life. Something so simple for me to do, and so big for the other person. So little for me to give, for such a huge payback to the other. jOni doesn’t ‘demand’ much out of an Adult Baby – Mommy relationship. All she wants, is a little love, nurturing, someone to just let her be, let her be her little self with. What I get out of it, is watching another person get to be truly alive, the sparkle in the eye, the pure joy.

The question for some may be why, but for me it’s why not?

Could I have found a play partner who was younger? more conventionally attractive? had kink interests closer to my own? most definitely. But the thing is is jOni can give me something that likely those others couldn’t. Those young conventionally attractive subbies with more mainstream kinks are going to find what they want, somewhere, maybe lots of places, with lots of people, maybe often. jOni has been looking for something hard to find for a long time, Mommies for adult babies are not easy to come by, I may have been her only chance, If I hadn’t of decided to engage in this particular relationship with jOni, it may never have happened for her. It’s not a put down to jOni, it’s just the reality, there are more people who identify as infantilists and Adult Babies, than those who want to Mother them. What she gives me is the joy of knowing that I’ve made a difference in someones life. That the role I have -is- truly special. Is it pity, no, is it charity, no. Mother’s who adopt special needs children don’t do so because they pity the child, they do it because they love children, and they know that the bottom line is a child is a child, and you can love a conventionally imperfect one as much as conventionally perfect one. The difference is the ‘perfect’ child, will have a line up of prospective parents waiting for it, the special child may only have you, and that when you chose to bring them into your life, you are taking a path less followed, and in doing that you are creating love in the world that may not otherwise have ever existed. You are filling a potential void.. with love. You are tipping the cosmic scales. It’s not a gift that you give, it’s one you get to recieve. That love is just waiting, begging to happen, longing to be, just waiting for someone to step up to the plate.

Am I special.. not particularly, is jOni, not particularly, not anymore than we all are – spectacularly special, all of us. Sometimes we feel small and powerless, but love, love is a powerful thing, and it can move through us, if we let it, and lead us to wonderful discoveries, so we are special, spectacularly special, because we can love.

I’m almost done, just a few more things connected to this. I’ve met another adult baby recently, well a number of them actually, the particular young man in question is in a situation that a lot of adult babies find themselves in. He’s in a long term relationship with a woman who is in complete denial of his Infantilism, thinks it’s sick and wrong, is not willing to be educated around it, has no tolerance, and insists that he simply not do it. Infantilism, like transvestism, is a paraphillia, slightly more enmeshed in personal identity than a fetish, it is a part of ones personality structure that is a part of the foundation of who a person is. Forget all the icky psychobabble labels, they make it all to clinical, the bottom line is, it’s a part of a person, like their eye colour, and it’s not going anywhere. This guy is very attractive, intelligent, sensitive, caring, loving and loyal. His whole person just resonates ‘good people’ you know the type, you just know he’s a really good person. Here she has the opportunity to do something so simple, to just accept, and love, this very lovable person, unconditionally. Instead, she loves him conditionally, the condition being that he not be himself. First of all, uh, not possible, secondly, what’s the goal here again? The woman is in a fine dining establishment, this guy ( I apolgize in advance ) is the most amazing dish, he’s got it all going for him, 100% prime grade A, and she’s focused on some little elements of presentation and a side dish she’s not so keen on! Grab a brain and a heart lady!!! What you want to throw this one back or drive him away to replace him with something that might look a little more palatable to you but has zippo nutritional value? There are a lot worse challenges to potentially deal with in a relationship besides a paraphillia or a fetish? I hear this from women who are traumatized when they find out their partner cross dresses as well… I feel like screaming at them and shaking them! The worst thing about your partner is that you have to share your clothes with them?!?! oh no! they like to shop with you! you poor dear! Oh my god! his favorite colour is pink!!!! you poor thing!!! the horror!!!! I’d like to take some oppressed Muslim woman in full purdah whose husband beats her for walking less than 20 paces behind him in public and do a freaky friday brain-body switcheroo for a couple of weeks.

I guess it’s an old cliche… but count your blessings. I’m not religious, but I’m spiritual, and I use the term blessings in terms of just being grateful for whatever brand and mix of chance and/or fate you believe in, thank the universe, your god(s) and/or goddess(es), or what have you, for what is, the love that you can bring to it, and the joy you can take it in, and those you can share it with.

Live in Love
Leila

Giving birth…

Leaving the summer behind…

Katt Posted in General
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Well, It’s raining outside, and it feels fantastic. After months of an unbearably hot appartment that has had multiple fans going non-stop and all windows and doors thrown open to try to keep it as manageable as possible, I am now sitting in a pleasantly cool room this evening.

Fall is my favorite time of year, and I’m happy to be leaving the hot summer sunshine behind me. So I thought the above pic with the sun in the window at my back, was somehow appropriate… walking from the doorway of one season into another.

In the province that I live in, BC Canada, we’ve had terrible forest fires this summer, with many families losing their homes, farms, forests and family homes, burned to cinder, and everyday, people watching and hoping for the weather to shift. Man hasn’t been able to put the fires out, and the phrase we hear over and over, is we’ll have to wait for nature to do it. The rain is only just starting to fall, not enough to put out forest fires… but it’s a start.

The air feels cleaner to me already though. The smell of wet earth and pavement that has been hot and dry week after week after week gets a special smell you only get with summertime rain, particularly at the very end of it. It always seems that wet on the season intensifies the natural smell… kind of like the wet dog phenomenon. Except the smell of -everything- all together wet in the city, and in the forests, and in the inbetween places, has a special smell all it’s own, and it changes, depending on the time of year, the type of rain. Later the rain well make the air smell distinctly sweet as the fall leaves shed everywhere, city and suburb alike, will fall onto sidewalks and pathways, and trodden underfoot, the decaying scent of leaves makes the air smell sweet, rich, and heady, earthy and mulchy.

It must come from growing up on the west coast of Canada, literally in cities built out of rainforests. I’ve grown up with the rain… I love it.

It’s like a warm grey blanket that wraps the sky when the clouds come in. The skies look like pale grey blue cashmere to my eyes… I feel comforted by the hazey drizzled skyscapes. Sunny days and snow storms are magical, but slightly confusing events and when they linger for more than a few days, more than a few weeks, without a rainy interuption, start to feel oppressive to me, and I long for a rainy day, or two, or four.

One of my simplest and fondest childhood memories are of my mother cooking spaghetti on rainy days, and since we were such a big family, it was always a huge pot of noodles boiling on the stove. The steam created would fog up all the windows in the whole house… and it was a big house! It seemed amazing to me that condensation turning all the black night sky windows into instant drawing boards, where as I knew as I couldn’t repress my fingers from tracing faces and letters in the wet.

I also love the fall for the clothes. I love clothes, and fall means layering clothes, and traditional fall clothing colours are always my favorite clothing colours, my love of charcol grey, black, red, chocolate brown, and other assorted neutrals and warm earthy colours look more in place. I also have excuses to wear my favorite accessories, kid leather gloves and hats! I love gloves and hats.

Last week I had a tailor re-hem some of my fall clothes that needed adjustments, turn a ripped red pleather dress into a long red pleather skirt. Turn a ripped long black pleather skirt into a short one. Turn a value village long plaid wool skirt into a short school-girlish one. All in preperation for fall dressing.

Today I went shopping with my Adult Baby T-girl jOni, and a an Adult Baby boy, and we shopped for adult diapers and some clothes, mostly for the baby boy, as he was in desperate need of his own brand of comfort clothes this fall. Next week he’ll be coming back over and hanging out with jOni and I, and I’ll take some photos.

We also had a nice little lunch together, and we also went to Value Village, so ‘Mommy’ got to do some shopping of her own! (that’s me!) I found a great short knit charcoal skirt, and a FABULOUS red and black boa that has ostrich feathers in it, it’s amazing. Indescribable, I’ll have to take pictures of it – I KNOW I’ll take pictures of it. They were only charching 10$ for it, and I swear the number of exotic feathers in this beauty are worth five times that alone, never mind the construction gone into the thing, it uses three types of feather. I lopped a small bit of the end to trim one of my hats with, and it’s going to get attached to some fetish ensemble at a party soon, very soon, I hope. I may have to go out this weekend just so I have a chance to wear it.

I’ve been so lax in writing, that there are a million things I could talk about. It’s not just being lax though, I’ve also been out of town a lot. From LA to Gabriola, to visiting my family in Victoria. I think I’ve spend more time away from home than at home over the last month, at least it seems that way.

I’ve been talking oodles of pics, of myself, of other people, fetish pics, standard erotica… etc.

I’ve been stable in terms of my mood disorder, though still have to avoid stressors, and have days were I’m housebound, or limited in my activities.

I went to a lovely wedding of a very nice local couple that we’ve recently struck up a friendship with, and hope to get more social with.

I’ve been fantasizing about trying to do some other erotic art work on a larger scale, and contemplating entering some work in the International erotic art show that happens in Seattle. I’m nervous about it though… yet at the same time, feeling the pull to do it. I want to work with some of my photos, have them printed onto canvas, and then work into them further with various other media.

Wolfe and I have been daydreaming a lot about moving to a larger home and starting my little dream BDSM/Fetish resort spot… but it will be a number of years before that can happen yet still financially. We go back and forth weekly on whether or not to put laminate flooring down over our concrete floors, or just buy a larger oriental rug, or do neither, and take all the saved pennies and put them towards the mortage on our little condo. It’s not a pressing decision, as there aren’t enough saved pennies yet to really have to think about acting on it!

Someone in Washington state is selling an Adult Baby Crib and a stroller, which I want, but probably can’t afford, and perhaps more, or at least equally, importantly, have no place to store!

Well, that’s all for me for now, because talking about buying things has started that little yen I get now and then to browse ebay…

I hope, now that some grey skies may be coming this way more and more oft, that I will also be writing more in keeping with that.

I was going to originally, when I started writing this entry, talk about some of my feelings around my body weight and image, and some failed ‘diet’ attempts (why oh why) as of late, and in part the images that I chose to go in this entry where in part around that… but really, I guess I got of into better places…

I’ll eventually come back around to it, I’m sure, after all, it’s not hard to see that I’m one to really lay everything out in the open.

“You must have chaos in your soul to give birth to a dancing star.”—Friedrich Nietzsche