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Wednesday, June 20th, 2012
Blogs | The North Pole
Someone Has to be the Sacrifice ~ S Factor, Level 6
I nodded in agreement.
“She’s very rawr! That’s the core of your EC. Keep that,” she said.
“It’s like, you can look but don’t you fucking touch!” I added.
She nodded in agreement, “But maybe, you wanna try giving the person in the chair a chance?”
I looked at her. It resonated with the suggestions Ilov, my Sunday dance instructor had been giving. “And maybe there is something there or maybe not. But we know who’s in charge. That was hot!” she added.
Her comments reminded me of my last class with Ilov. In a few classes I’ve slowed my song choices down to melodies and ballads. Only sometimes though. My classmates, while used to the raging devil in me, note the difference. “There was softness in you today,” one classmate said as I danced to “Last Love Song,” by ZZ Ward. It came out again in my dances to Smoky Taboo and Everywhere I Go, just to name a few.
Last week Ilov said, “I wonder who she’d be like if she was loved properly. If she had been cared for and protected.” I nodded but it resonated deeper than a nod. If an EC is the physical embodiment or outward expression of your sexuality and sensuality, despite my healing journey, at her core….she was not protected.
“I wonder what it would be like for us to see her more. We know you’ll protect her. Your EC will protect her but maybe we want to let that vulnerable part out more,” she said.
Let’s talk about ISIS, one of two EC’s. Remember she’s a dominatrix? She likes spikes, whips, pain and darkness. She’s aggressive, hard core and sadistic. I love that part of me. It’s fun to explore unabashedly.
But I’ve mentioned before that EC’s, inner sirens, or whatever you want to call them, explore the full range of emotions and expressions. Sure, you’re normally a sex kitten licking your paws and perhaps your lover’s neck, but sometimes that sex kitten can be more demure or she can be a ferocious tiger.
The same can be said for ISIS the SIREN. At her core she’s a domme that controls the room but she has other layers. What my teachers are hinting at is the layer she so ferociously protects.
Beneath the domme, there is small, pure energy balled up, full of vulnerability. The best way to describe it is to imagine a tiny baby kitten, innocent, vulnerable and exposed but if you hold up a mirror to that kitten, you get a ferocious, loud, screaming mountain lion trying to burst through the mirror. Or on one side of the mirror is a little child,Â in a white dress with pig tailsÂ and on the other side of the mirror is a domme in a latex cat suit, seven inch heels, whip, chains, medusa-snake hair, spikes, daggers and fire. And she is pouncing, scratching, smacking, hitting and spitting.Â One side of the mirror, the vulnerable side of me can’t even maintain eye contact and on the other side, that part of me could kill you with a glare. Most often, my classmates and teachers are used to seeing the domme with a rare occurrence of that pure, exposed, vulnerable energy making an tiny, itsy-bitsy appearance. It seems, from many of my teachers, knowing there is something there, they are asking me to show more of her. I wonder if I’m willing to take the risk. I wonder if I can let my domme guard down long enough to dance an entire song as the raw, little girl.
It happened once. During the S Factor immersion.
Do you watch Fringe? I’m a huge fan! Olivia, one of the main characters has this power that at first is triggered by trauma but as the show progresses she learns to harness it on her own. Sort of like how I learned to harness the power of my real life siren and how I learned to harness the power of ISIS the domme Siren when I dance. Well, apparently, that exposed, vulnerable little ball of energy that lives right in the gut of ISIS, so far has only been triggered by trauma.
I don’t want to write on the specifics that triggered the little girl to come out.Â She exposed herself during the Sheila Kelley S Factor Immersion where we met for 10 days exploring movement, feminine philosophy and more. We’d been given the assignment of dancing blindfolded. Because of a incident that happened, I wanted to dance to what I deemed, “The Sheena Song,” I didn’t want to dance as Isis or Sly. I didn’t want to be a tease, a flirt or anything to do with sexy. I felt raw. My body felt hurt. My voice felt silenced. I needed something to bring me back to center.
I picked “Devil’s Thunder” by Rachal Cantu. I picked a white dress, the one I wore to Tinu’s funeral. The moment my teacher put the cloth around my eyes, I started creating the story of this dance. In my head, I called it “Someone Has To Be The Sacrifice.”
After my teacher blindfolded me, she led me around the room so that I would lose my barings. As she did this I mentally created the backstory. I had been captured and held prisoner by a religious cult. Tonight they were leading me blindfolded through their underground dungeon tunnels to their sacrificial offering stage. As they chanted and led me through the hallway barefoot, blindfolded and in a white dress, there were others just watching waiting for my blood to spill. Waiting for my pound of flesh. Waiting to devour my essence.
And then the song begin.
Â Oh Lord, have mercy on me,
Please pull me from this heat.
My hands are burning
And I can’t feel my feet.
This wasn’t how my life was to be.
Â I’m going down with the devil’s thunder.
I’m going down.
So throw me some water.
Throw me some water.
You said last time in old Quebec
You’re a child of comfort,
of guilt and regret
It’s no wonder you
feel you’re going down.
How I danced that day in class was something I’d never experienced before. I felt as if I wasn’t dancing as an EC. I danced Sheena’s story. I was searching for a way out. Searching for freedom. Searching for water and air. My movements reflected these emotions. The subtleties were in everything I did. The extensions. The reach. And I just didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to burn anymore. I didn’t want to thirst anymore. I didn’t want to go down with the devil’s thunder. I don’t want to be the sacrifice. The sacrifice is a victim and I will not allow myself to ever be victimized again. This dance was my search for water. For life affirming, life giving, eternal water.
While I’ve never danced to that full extent since that day, as mentioned, there have been glimmers of it in a dance or two. From the feedback of various teachers, it would seem, they want me to show that little girl in the white dress looking for water once again.
I’m willing even though I don’t quite feel ready.