I first heard about the Southwest Leather Conference (SWLC)  from a fellow player at an educational event some months ago.  I mentioned it to a few people and quickly learned how valuable such an event could be to me.  SWLC  is the “woo woo” event.  That is, it is the kink event that focuses on the spirituality and the magic of the SM lifestyle more so than any other conference.    I signed up early, booked my room, and waited, not knowing what to expect.  It was held on January 23rd through 25th, 2009, just last weekend.  I write about it now looking back on the experience with fresh eyes.
There’s plenty to be said about the conference, about the six classes that I attended, about the Master/slave and Bootblack contests.  I’ll talk about this some other time.  For now, though, I’d like to relate my experience with the Dance of Souls.  Held on Sunday, the last day of the conference, the Dance was the event that I was most looking forward to.  It’s hard for me to describe what the Dance is, but I can say what I knew.

I had signed up to be pierced and hooked, two hooks through my chest or back.  Other participants of the Dance would have bells and other items of significance sewn into their skin.  Others would be witnesses, not having any piercings done.  We would dance for a few hours to drumming, some to seek an ecstatic feeling, some to feel a spiritual connection or journey.  I didn’t know what to expect.  I like needles, I like being pierced, but having hooks in my flesh was a frightening prospect.  I had a hard time thinking about them – I tried to avoid thinking about the large hooks lest I scare myself away from the event.  I wanted to do this Dance to challenge myself, to see if I could do it, and to see where it may take me, to approach it with an open mind and heart and see where it would lead.

The Dance of Souls began at 2:30pm.  Having already checked out of my hotel room and having nowhere else to go, I was one of the first people in line to get hooked.  Any fear of being pierced with a 12 gauge needle through the skin on my chest and having large stainless steel hooks threaded through it had long since dissipated.  It was past the point of no return for me; I was determined and knew there was no better time than now.

“Do you have your intent in mind?” asked my piercer?  Yes, I did.  To find oneness with others, to experience a connection with life around me, with the souls that are otherwise separate and apart.  Being the first person to be pierced by my piercer in a year, it wasn’t as smooth as it could have been.   No complaints from me though!  I focused on being there, not on the needle so much as on the journey before me.  My piercer was an anchor for me, a rock that I put my safety and trust in.  My eyes glazed over with the first poke.  The second hook went in more quickly than the first and with very little discomfort.  It was a series of events that were going to happen, needed no hesitation nor delay, and were done quickly and with little noise from me.

I tried to look down and see what it was that was now stuck in my chest.  I could barely see the hooks, and dared not touch them for fear of what that would feel like.  My breathing was shallow, my body trembling.  Someone noticed and gave me breathing advice, breathing with me to help me relax.  It worked, and with a carabiner and a long length of nylon cord tied to my hooks I began to walk around the nearly empty space, cold and alone.

The space for the Dance was the same as the play space from the night’s before.  Perhaps 3000 square feet total, a free standing short wooden frame stood in the center of the room with prayer flags (from registration) strung around the outer corners.  Eye bolts stood off at regular intervals, providing possible attachment points for my cord and carabiner.  Tables were against the Northern wall to provide a place to put items of spiritual significance.

Music was already filling the space from the dummers (Three Guys and a Bunch of Drums), a loud, beautifully tribal and primitive sound.  Cymbals and blocks rang out occasionally to accent the eight massive drums being thwacked with great force and skill.

Cautiously I attached my carabiner to the structure in the middle of the room.  I leaned back, ever so slowly, just until I could feel the pressure, the pulling of my skin.  I was still shaking, still having issues breathing full, but I was ever so slowly relaxing into it.  The feeling was sharp and hot – I dared not pull back too far.

After feeling that out for a few moments, I moved on to walk around the room.  It occurred to me that, to try and connect with people, I need to stop avoiding peoples’ gaze.  Most of us go about our daily lives with our heads turned away from others, daring not to gaze too deeply into another’s eyes for fear of being impolite, of violating their space with a glance.  When you do make eye contact, a mask springs on to cover ourselves.

Sitting around the room on chairs were some of the observers to the Dance, called Tribal Witnesses.  As I walked, I looked.  I would catch peoples eye if possible, and with some would make a brief but meaningful connection.  It took only a moment of this before I started to feel myself well up in tears.  Something grabbed me as I looked into peoples eyes, something took a hold of me and wanted to shake me.  The tears were in joy, but I couldn’t release myself to it, didn’t want to loose myself.

Within a few minutes a Witness invited me to pull with him.  He took the offered cord and carefully allowed it to become taught.  I steadied myself, leaned back and started to pull.  The burning turned to pain, the cord becoming taught. Slowly I released, keeping my breathing steady, pulling back more and more while moving, dancing to the beat of the drums.

The pain, the sensation of the hooks pulling my skin, had many different feelings.  Pain is perhaps the wrong word but it’s an easy one to use.  It’s hard to describe exactly what it feels like to have hooks in your chest pulling your skin away from you.  The most difficult part of it is that it took so many forms.  Pulling at different angles, with asymmetrical force between left and right, pulling with others dynamically, with a post statically, feeling vibrations run through the taut cord, slight jerking; all of these things changed what I was feeling.

It is a vast simplification of the hook pull to say that changing these physical factors created the feeling.  What I was experiencing at any given moment was only partially due to these things.  The physical sensations coming from the hooks flooded my nervous system, but became transmuted by the energy in the room and by the people I was with, by my ability to release and open up to the experience.

I was caught, a trapped animal.  I growled, shouting from deep inside.  As the cord was pulled, lifted, shifted, I lashed out, pawed at the ground, feeling the rage and anger of my imprisonment deep inside.  The Witness growled back, eyes boring into my own, pulling the animal further out of me.  As I pulled even further backwards, something changed.  The animal became tame.  Feelings of pleasure, of happiness flushed through me.  The more I pulled, it seemed, the broader my grin, a feeling of calmness settling over me.  My breathing became slow and deep, any coldness replaced with a warm through my body.  A touch of a smile came upon the Witness, feeding into my feelings.  We were both elated, moving back and forth, pulling, riding this wave of energy, laughing occasionally.

I pulled and danced with many people over the course of three hours.  Each experience was different, the animal within me expressing itself differently with each person.  I attached myself to the cords of others, forming circles of people swaying side to side, back and forth, creating for each of us a different but shared experience.

At the height of the event, the room was filled with seemingly hundreds of naked and half naked bodies pulling and dancing, swaying and shaking, some to the drums, others to a beat that they felt and expressed.

I sat on the ground, steadying myself, and looked around the room.  I remembered my intent and tried to feel the oneness, to open myself up to it. The people around me were all different, all experiencing their own journey.  I stilled my mind, forgetting thought, forgetting intent.  The tears came.  The more I opened up myself, the more calm I felt inside, the more I felt a flood of emotion take over me.  Not knowing what this was, not knowing how I should respond, I stifled it, holding back the tears and wracking sobs lest it be thought I was sad.  Keeping thoughts in my head to hold this back, I continued to dance and pull, continued to pull out this animal and growl and prance.

At one point a Witness beckoned for me, wanting to pull with me.  She asked me to get down on my knees, and doing so, I pulled back as she held on.  Her fierce gaze fought with mine.  During that struggle I was truly a caged animal, a wild creature wanting to show it’s power.  I was no match, though – she tamed me.  I felt her power show its dominance, felt myself being overcome.  I began to cower, to be frightened, but she held on as I released my fear, my power, and let hers take control of us both.  She held me there, sweat pouring off of her and onto me.  I hung there for many moments, feeling her as a commanding yet comforting presence who would protect and love me and demand only full control in return.  When she released me, it took a few minutes to recover myself.

Wanting to take a break from pulling with others, I lashed my cord once more to the frame in the center of the room, this time surrounded by many others doing the same.  It felt so very different.  Having no one to growl with, no one to share energy with, I closed my eyes, stilled my legs, and leaned back, feeling the vibrations of the room through my body, the frame vibrating and carrying vibrations down the cords into me.  Minutes later I felt a flitting feeling on my back, and was surprised to find a Witness touching me very lightly across my back.  Smiling my approval, she continued, and came around to face me.  Her intensity demanded a response, and she helped me bring forth the animal once again.  I looked upon her, and she yelled back at me “You don’t need me!  Just let go!”  I closed my eyes and forgot about her.  I felt the room, the people, the drums, everything all at once, and left it.  The sobs came back.  I released myself to it and felt a lightness through my body.  My head rested on the cords, my body felt slumped, perhaps completely supported by the cord and the hooks.  When I opened my eyes she was gone.  I detached myself from the frame and found a place to sit – I could barely stand.  The sobs came back and I let them.  I opened myself and let the happiness wash through me.  I felt my entire being shake with them.  A few times while sitting there someone would ask if I was okay.  I was wonderful.  I was ecstatic. I was love.

The dance slowly came to an end. After the drumming ceased, we all began to howl, quietly at first but within a moment everyone was howling as loud as they could.  We formed a circle, words were said, and the hooks began to come out.

I had a difficult time walking out of that room, walking once again into the world.  The hotel was getting ready for the next conference, a quilting conference, so the lobby was for the first time this weekend full of non-kinky people. I got my bag from the front desk after waiting in a line filled with people who looked at me as though I was a weirdo, wearing masks and peering narrowly through slits which kept themselves hidden away.  It was awful.  I quickly returned to the SWLC part of the hotel and sat slumped up against a wall feeling warmed by simply being around the people who I had just danced with, who I had shared so much with.  I saw among the group people I pulled with.  We’d glance at each other and stay there, sharing a moment.  We had a connection now, a shared experience that made us feel like we were a part of something greater.

I am very happy I went to SWLC 2009, and hope to attend in 2010 and beyond.  I am still processing the Dance, and suspect I will continue to do so for some time.  My experience may be similar to others, or may be completely different, but it is mine to cherish.  I’d recommend the Dance not as a means to experience what I did but instead as a way to explore yourself, to open yourself up to new things, and let go of preconceived notions of what is pain, beauty, and perhaps even self.

I was late in discovering Shibaricon, having only learned of its’ existence a month earlier.  I delayed in registering for economic reasons, and only 10 days earlier had made the concrete decision to travel.  After making the reservations, booking the tickets and committing myself, I immediately felt an anxiety take over me.  What was this I was going to?  What was I looking for?  What did I hope to take away?  What was I getting myself into?!?  All alone in a city I know nothing of, knowing no one, and going to a conference for kinky rope bondage, would I feel comfortable?

Unable to stay at the conference hotel due to the last minute plans (no conference rate available, and no budget to afford it even so), I was making myself a complete outsider, unable to share in even the bonding associated with staying in the same hotel together.

I showed up on Friday morning early, and attempted to not be phased by my apprehension and the displacement that I felt.  The crowd gathered, waiting for admission as the event opens its doors for the first day.  They looked to be people of my ilk: SCA fans, science fiction and fantasy convention goers, adorned in fetish, kink attire.  Not fetish like a night on the town, nor a night of kink in a dungeon, but more a fetish of busty tops, short skirts, and lots of black.  Many people sported a geek look, a simple shirt decrying their love for being bound or binding others, their desire to beat or be beaten.  My kind of people!

The conference started and there was the usual hustle and bustle of organization being reorganized, of things falling into place, and of things being worked out on the fly.  Only the vendor area was open – so many things to look at!  I had no rope, so had come prepared to buy some.  But what to buy?  Shibari is best done with a natural fiber, a hemp or jute or similar Japanese traditional fiber.  These ropes have “teeth,” the ability to hold knots very well.  But what of their texture?  I began to feel the different ropes, and found a smoothness I hadn’t expected.  I bought two skeins of hemp rope, and proceeded to my first class.

I learned a few things that day, a few knots in practice that helped direct my thoughts to how to conceptualize the wraps and ties you’d use when tying for play.  The speakers varied in their abilities to present, but all had a love of their work that came through, and helped instill a similar appreciation in us the students.

I hadn’t been tied up in a substantial way in many years.  Rope used to be an important release for me, a way to go somewhere else for a time, to feel euphoric by simply constraining my body.  I had forgotten many of these things, had forgotten truly why I used to tie myself up, but had come compelled by a deep need to rediscover these things.  It wasn’t until the first coils of rope went on in a demo class that my body shouted to me “You are in the right place!”  The rope, tied on by a fellow attendee in the class, was tied expertly about my body, tightly cinching up my upper arms and torso, immediately taking me to the place I used to take myself.

After it was over, the class concluded, I gazed upon the ligatures in wonderment, a bundle of excitement from the brief and simple experience.  Why would such a simple act, innocuous and out of any erotic or sexual context, bring about such an immediate and euphoric feeling?  The tight hemp felt wonderful against the skin, the pinching of the rope and the occasional pain from constriction a welcome friend.

Later, I attended the tail end of a rope bondage wedding ceremony, with a suspended woman having coil after coil of plain hemp rope unwrapped off her rotating form, the top expertly drawing the rope away one by one.   Such a beautiful and sensuous experience!  This suspension was a gift to the couple that was getting married (their blog).

The opening ceremonies came next, with Graydancer controlling the stage as the master of ceremonies.  They spoke of family, of community, of a coming together of friends long apart.  I had met a few, but still knew nothing of what they spoke.  What I saw, though, was truly a warm and welcoming community.  Tears were spilt as recognition was given to those who’ve come far and been such an important part of others’ lives.  The formality of respect, tradition and structure that I’ve seen in the leather community was replaced with an informal recognition of everyone as traveling a path together, of the experts and novices alike walking side by side along this path.

And then there was play.  And play it was!  The conference space transformed into a dim dungeon full of such a wonderful diversity of play as I’ve nary been privileged to see.  Not a dungeon of leather-adorned sadists and their beaten and whipped slaves as much as a dungeon of kinksters enjoying all different types of play in all different types of garb.  Plenty of leather abounded, but more rope than anything else, of all colors, lengths and types.  The rooms were sprinkled with suspension frames and dungeon furniture, tables and chairs.  Always you could find a half a dozen or more women of all ages and sizes flying from suspension rigs put on by duteous tops enjoying the act of tying.  Men and women alike took the roles of dominant and submissive, of top and bottom, and the play ran the gamut of kink.  Hitting, spanking, bull whipping.  Latex nun tied up and tortured by sadistic priest.  Men leading women or women leading feminized men around, parading them for all to see their humiliation or rope ties.

Some were quiet, sensuous, and had an intensity that was difficult to avert your eyes from.  Others were social, inviting audience participation, a spectacle of tied skin and humiliation for all to comment upon.   Each player had their own style, their own aesthetic, their own fantasies being built and fulfilled.  Quiet talk abounded while people lounged, watching, talking, and wandering around from room to room to see the goings on and share in the energy of the scenes they would witness.  It seemed that no one judged, no one had expectations of perfection or super model beauty.  They accepted all play as something beautiful between the players.

Some walked around, hoping for someone to tie up, others hoping to be tied.  Polite offers were accepted and refused.  I was privileged to have the offer of my services as a rope bottom accepted by someone whom I had met, and we had a delightful experience together, myself feeling completely comfortable under his confident hands.

The next night, Graydancer was again the presenter, this time for a delightfully funny cabaret featuring the talents of so many individuals in the community.  Ranging from a humorous suspension competition to kinky stand up comedy, the audience enjoyed every minute of it.

The classes varied in usefulness, but with seven rooms teaching simultaneously, the variety of class topics meant you could choose exactly what you wanted to learn and take away from the conference.  With four one and one-half hour classes, breaks, and the play space hours, I had little time to do much else in Chicago, and little desire to step away from a space that was becoming increasingly comfortable and welcoming.  I got little sleep, not wanting to leave the play space too early and not wanting to miss the 9:30am class.   I can sleep when I get home!

Looking back at the experience, I learned many things, took many notes, and have much to practice to make the knowledge a part of my skill set.  I met many people, most of whom I would be oh so pleased to meet again.  Some of the presenters for me became people I deeply admire and respect, people who showed such a passion for the work that I wanted to be close to them just to experience that passion.

I hope that I was able to give back in a small way to those that met me, that I was able to help make their experience as rewarding as mine was.  I look forward to other events, hope to see old faces and new, and hope that when next I return I will be more experienced and have more to contribute.

Perhaps somethings’ sustainability is a measurement of whether or not your children and childrens’ children and their children alike can engage in the same activity that you are (drive a biodiesel van, for example). But how far into the future do we take this? 50,000 years? 100 thousand? Why stop there? For something to be sustainable, I assume it must be something that can be repeated indefinitely. Not by everyone, but perhaps only by the same number of people who are currently doing the activity.

One problem with this perspective is that nothing can be repeated indefinitely. The earth will not exist forever. There will come a point, either due to entropy or our sun going supernova (the latter the more likely of possibilities), that the earth will cease to be. With this assumed, nothing need be sustained indefinitely; only as long as the earth is a home to life.

In fact, it’s the life I think that’s the crux of the matter. Our life, yes, but the life of other creatures as well. Discussions of sustainability with friends usually leads to the assumed eventuality of extra-terrestrial resource extraction, that the human race at one point will be able to economically travel to other parts of the solar system and beyond in search of metals, minerals, and other useful things to bring back for human use. This is assumed to be an amoral action, as metals floating in space (on mooons of other planets, on asteroids, on other planets) have no intrinsic value. Perhaps this is because no life is sustained yet by the metals, or would be harmed by our extraction.

People talk about the intrinsic value of inanimate objects. I argue we shouldn’t use up the petroleum, shouldn’t mine the metals under forests. But they don’t have value in and of themselves. Things don’t have value unless life relies upon or is affected by them. Life is the thing we should care about.

With this, the question becomes not whether something is sustainable but instead whether it can be done without requiring that life is taken or that suffering occurs as a result of the activity, now and into the future indefinitely. It doesn’t matter if we use oil, natural gas, coal, or any other classically unsustainable energy source, so long as it doesn’t take life or cause suffering. The purchase of a hybrid car, of passive solar heating, of a photo voltaic (PV) array, is not a sustainable action. But it is one that hopes to and attempts to avoid the loss of life and the causation of suffering to life in the future. While more coal and more precious metals may have been used to produce the PV cells than would have been used over 10 years of coal-provided energy at the same Wattage, it is the technology, the attempt to create a better world, that is important, that makes the decision laudable.

I believe that if we continue to head in the same direction, there will be a catastrophe of human suffering that we’ve not seen before. Already such a catastrophe is happening to other life forms, who are going extinct at a rate 1,000 times faster than would occur naturally. It is only through the hope of the human mind, of reason and compassion, that we can survive this, and possibly prevent the catastrophe that so many of us forecast on our horizon. What we should strive towards is not sustainability, but a way of life that will avoid catastrophe, that will prevent massive die off or suffering of life that has the ability to suffer, for now and the future. If we feel we can do this through careful mining of the planet, by wantonly extracting resources from space, than so be it.