Each night, before I go to sleep, I open the windows in my bedroom, pless play on the MP3-player connected to the speakers on either side of my bed, and then slide between sheets that are soft and cool against my skin. There are times I will light a candle and fall asleep to the flickering shadows it casts on the walls of my room.
Rituals. We all have them. Morning coffee with the newspaper. Solitary masturbation in the shower before you sleep. Sopranos on Sunday night. The cigarette before you head through across the bridge on your way home from work. They comfort us, these acts, these devotions to every day living. We endeavor to turn them into moments of zen, a place of peace. Sanity amidst the confusion of our lives. They darken the line between what is routine and what is deliberate intent.
Recently, I purchased a tradional Japanese tea set. Cast-iron green metal tea-pot with the symbol for ‘memory’ etched into it, a pale wooden lacquered tray, two small tea cups with leaf holders to sit upon, and a couple hundred dollars in expensive tea: English Morning, Irish Morning, Golden Monkey Oolong, Meadow Mint.
That night I made some tea and sipped it while watching TV. Rituals are best when they are about the simple pleasures in life. Cloves. A glass of port. An hour of good reading. Being on your knees, answering only when spoken to, addressing someone as Master. Practiced ease in giving in to that touch on your throat.
What are the rituals in your life?
—
It starts with a look – a question in your eyes that asks:
Shall we dance?
The touch of my will, like silk steel, gives my answer:
I’ll take the lead.
I try never to have “rituals”. I try to do things a little bit differently each day to maintain a sense of change. The one ritual I have fallen into is my morning viewing of “The Practice”, which annoys me as I detest wasting time watching TV. Yet, every morning I awake and turn on FX to watch the next exciting episode. When I have access to DVR, I record it and watch it at night, but I still wake up and THINK to watch it every single morning.
I’m a Lady Gray tea drinker, myself….but it’s not a ritual.
In fact, the only rituals I have are ones I dislike- the mundane tasks of the day.
You’ve enlightened me, my dear. Some things need to change.
Rituals don’t always just mean “routine”…rituals can hold a very special meaning.
Maybe what you do while getting ready to be with your lover. Maybe the ritual you use to prepare yourself to be in a certain space. The word “ritual” holds in it a time that is set aside for only that action and nothing else. This idea of not doing or thinking or feeling anything but that can be very intoxicating.
I think, outside of religion, which I don’t practice, there is little place for ritual in our day to day lives. This is a pity. The feel of a hand grasping the hair at the back of my neck is almost ritualistic, it sets the tone for what is to come, snaps me to awareness, focuses and centers me. Rituals can impart reverence; something we often lack as life propels us along almost unconsciously, they bring us back to consciousness. I’m rambling, forgive me.
Great topic, D. I may have to try my hand at a post on this as well. Or not. Hard to follow you.
There are those mundane rituals; making the bed, doing the laundry,cooking the food, pulling the weeds out of the garden.
Then there are of course those rituals that I take as special.. turning down the bed for him at night, making sure his favorite coffee cup is always clean (Ray Charles had that one right!) , taking the dog for a walk when he has to leave early for work.
Those are the ones that might be called mundane.. but they make my world more whole. He may not and indeed , does not know of those or of the many other things I do as ritual for him .. as he does not accept that I am his submissive. Yet I keep on doing them… maybe one day~~~ hope springs eternal.
Rituals give form to the formless. Superficial and empty ‘rituals’ are dead, and are best called routines. Rituals are vital, alive and purposeful acts of differentiation. Small but not insignificant acts that channel love, define devotion.
I have my rituals. This one lends cohesion to my day and without it, I am lost. I rise, make coffee and contemplate. It’s my quiet time, my stilltime, the time when I keep my journal or listen to music. It’s non-negotiable; it’s sacred. My bridge from sleep to wakefulness for I like to enter my day with present mind.
Tea Ceremony. Perhaps the high point of ritual, certainly a devotion to perfection and honouring form. To see only superficiality is to see highly stylized restriction, when in fact the rules and gestures liberate.
Same with dance. There’s a complicity, a mutual understanding and respect for form. Once internalized, all is communicated silently so the observer may be unable to detect the lead from the follower. But we know. Dance is submission, submission is dance.