that hand

I jump three times and then hit the open air.

Falling into that perfect dive off the high board.
I slice the water, straight down to bottom. Execute the flip…
But I don’t come up.
A strong hand is holding me down, pressing on my head.
I fight. I struggle, past denial. I hold my breath. I stay calm. I think.
And then I push, but that hand wants what it wants. I am stuck.
I move past the panic, past the fear, past the primal instinct to simply breathe.

I think.

The hand that holds me down is my nemesis…

And, somehow, also my comfort.

I move past the thinking. Until I only feel. I feel the burn in my lungs and the suffocating weight of the water.

The strong will to break surface resurrects. I oblige, and give another struggle.

But that hand… That hand keeps me still… Forcing my compliance.
I close my eyes, knowing I cannot win. I command the world to go dark. I relax. I give in.

But now, I want that hand to push me further down. I want that hand to keep me here until I am nothing.

I sink, sink, sink… Below the bottom…

Underneath everything there is.

In this place, there is no need for oxygen, no need for thought, no need for anything.

Except for that hand. I need that hand. Because that hand has become my world, my anchor, my demise, my Savior.

My Master.

The sinking, the letting go, the giving over, the death… It is all the same.

It is all peace.
And the very moment that the water steals my life, is the same moment the hand yanks me to the surface.

That hand doesn’t leave my head. That hand has ultimate control. That hand decides my fate. Forever. Plunging me into the depths or lifting me into the clouds.

That hand.

This life.

It is time.


To live.


*photo found on Pinterest with no credit given*

Busy, busy bee

The other evening, I was cooking dinner, nothing new there. My day had been very busy and long, I had been going non-stop since I woke up – all I wanted to do was SIT DOWN. I certainly did not want to be cooking dinner. Two of the minions were in the kitchen bickering and my Husband was sitting at the bar, doing a lot of nothing.

I was tired, I was hungry and I was grumpy. Frankly, I was pissed off…and getting more pissed off by the second. I was trying to keep it in, trying to find the happy sub place in my mind, but it just wasn’t working. I was fuming! I’d just about had enough! I was at my breaking point, which is the exact moment Sir snuck up behind me. As I was stirring the food, He wrapped His strong arms around me, leaned down to my ear and rumbled “I like to see you cook for me, it makes me feel like the master of the house. It makes me feel like your master.” 


Talk about feeling like an ass, though. I had been so angry and I’m so thankful I was able to keep it in check so that I could hear those words!

Yet another example of how a few seconds, a few words can change an entire mood and perspective. How stepping out of my head and silly feelings is beneficial to everyone.
I finished cooking that meal all by myself, even though Sir offered to help. I poured all my love into that food and served it up with the submission and reverence that my Sir deserves.