Honourifics and the Codification of Desire

Last Monday night, I sat across the table from a friend with whom I have chatted for years, at a restaurant by the Hudson River. A late April breeze blew over the water, with just enough chill to warrant ordering soup. I sat over a bowl of beef barley soup, complimented by my friend's chicken noodle. Two handsome, older men meeting face-to-face for the very first time.

After half an hour of cordial conversation, my friend said, "Hugh, may I ask you a question?"

"Of course," I replied. I found my friend's directness refreshing after living for years in the consciously courteous society of Vancouver, British Columbia.

"You are a respected LeatherSIR, but you have never asked me to call you that. Why have you never asked me to address you as 'SIR?'"

This was not the first time that I had fielded this question; I never introduce myself as "SIR Hugh" to anyone in the Leather Community. I responded to my friend with the same answer that I have always used. "SIR is a title of respect, and respect is given, not demanded. If a person decides that I am worthy of respect, that person will use the honourific "SIR.'"

I went on to explain that my spiritual path has been Buddhist, and that upon entering that path I accepted precepts that guide me. "One of those precepts says, 'I vow to abstain from taking things not given.' To demand that someone address me as 'SIR' is a violation of my vow. When someone calls me 'SIR Hugh,' I accept that as a sign of respect. It is a gift."

My friend sat for a moment, thoughtfully looking down at his chicken noodle soup. He then raised his eyes and looked directly at me. We sat almost motionless, silent. After a long pause, my friend said, "SIR, thank you for explaining that, SIR."

I sat overwhelmed, and, continued to gaze into the eyes of this man, now transfixed before Me. "Thank you, boy! I am honoured by boy's gift." I smiled. For those versed in Zen lore, the transmission of respect to the SIR was not founded in words. Rather, the transmission was a flower held aloft by a boy, received by the SIR. (The seeming reversal of roles in this seminal story is intentional.)

Over the last few decades, many in the Leather and Fetish community have made an attempt to codify the roles of SIR, boy, Master, slave, dominant, submissive. Numerous classes and workshops have been presented, defining these roles of desire together with the standardization of these roles. Such attempts are contrary to my experience in Leather, and even run contrary to their institutional definitions.

A boy cannot be defined. For some, a boy is a temporary role that is assumed during fetish play. For others, a boy is an apprentice, a student learning the ropes, that follows a pedagogy leading eventually to the bestowal of the laureat, SIR. For a rare few, a boy is a life long identification, an integral part of the person's identity aligned with sexuality. For many people, definitions are simply not possible; their hearts dictate fulfillment both as dominant and submissive individuals. At best, the word "boy" is an approximation of desire, a suggestion of a primal drive.

I am a SIR. My self-identification acknowledges dominant traits that extend outside the confines of sexual expression, traits that find their fulfillment beside a man with complimentary submissive traits. And, even here, definitions fail; the words "dominant" and "submissive" are only approximations.

In the movie "Enter the Dragon," Bruce Lee paraphrases a sutra commonly used in Zen (Chan) training. "It is like the finger pointing at the moon." The intent of his words is simple: do not mistake the finger pointing at the moom for the radiance of the moon itself. In a similar fashion, definitions are often mistaken for the actual objects being defined. As a result, the true nature of those objects is lost in semantics.

I owned a slave for years who could intuit what I wanted. the slave knew what I wanted, and ministered to my desires. At times, the slave would provide protection. If the slave knew I was tired at a public event, the slave ensured that I had the space necessary to relax while continuing to be present. One friend in the community remarked at an event that the slave was part-watch German Shepherd. I laughed. When Master and slave, or SIR and boy, are in tune, the terms "dominance" and "submission" fade.

Essentially, desire has no definition, and the expression of desire varies from person to person. The manifestation of desire is personal, and the fulfillment of that desire falls outside institutional recognition and imposed rituals. While definitions have their place in discussing what we do as Leather and Fetish folk, definitions have pragmatic boundaries. I am a SIR, not because I seemingly mirror the definition of "SIR." I am a SIR because it is at the core of my primal self.

Which one is the correct MASTER?

For the last four months, I have sat on my meditation cushion in the morning, and contemplated the following case (koan) given to me by my Zen Teacher:

Master Song Am Eon used to call himself every day, "Master!" and would answer, "Yes?" 

"You should keep clear!" "Yes!!" 

"Never be deceived by others, any day, any time!" "Yes! Yes!"

The paradoxical questions that follow the case have answers that require hours of meditation. The first question, "What is the meaning of Master?" appeared almost instantly to me when asked. The answer to the second question, however, continues to elude me. "Song Am used to call himself and answer himself. Which one is the correct master?"

For the last six years, I have been without a boy or a slave. Although I can easily define what is the meaning of "MASTER," I cannot answer with certainty, "Am I still a "MASTER" without a slave?" If I am still a MASTER, what characteristics identify me as one worthy of owning another person?

I believe there is a characteristic that both MASTER and slave share: discipline. To command another, a MASTER must be able to command HIMSELF, to show a mastery over HIS body. The performance of self-discipline is one of the defining features of every MASTER for whom I have respect. For this reason, I feel I am a still a MASTER because my self-discipline is recognized by those who wish to have this trait groomed within themselves.

In essence, a slave recognizes a MASTER by the model that HE has set. An honourific that is given, not asked for, "MASTER!"

Tomorrow morning, I return to my zafu and hold the question in my mind, "Which is the correct master?" And while sitting, I will call myself "MASTER," and I will answer, "Yes! Yes!"

Notes from Bologna (Part One)

Watching my spouse learn Italian in Bologna this week reminds me of my experience immersing myself in Italian many years ago as a young man. Learning a new language requires that a person deconstructs oneself and then, consciously, puts oneself back together again in new way.

Words are simply movements of the lungs, throat, tongue, and mouth that collaboratively make sounds associated with language. Our parents taught us through example how to make these sounds. The sounds specific to speaking a language are not instinctive, not like walking or standing. Instead, our ability to manipulate sound to produce language was learned when we were children. Over the years, our learned patterns of movement that we call words became the foundation of our world and formed our identity.

Immersing in a new language forces us into childhood once again. Our words, those inherited movement patterns, no longer serve us. We can no longer rely on our learned method of making sound. To speak a new language, we must retrain our mouth and our tongue to move differently in conjunction with the lungs, throat and vocal cords. In Italian, for example, the tongue becomes quite active against the upper palette and front teeth, and the throat becomes more relaxed. Essentially, we become young children again learning to vocalize.

Dance, sports, exercise are all languages. Like speech, they all require collaborative movement patterns. To be successful in any of these languages, the body must be retrained slowly and carefully. As a former ballet dancer, I trained daily to produce movement fluidly and efficiently. It is not a form that can be picked at randomly. Like a second language, ballet requires constant training of the body.

I chose to be a personal trainer, not to help people lose weight quickly or to muscle up for the next beach season. I want people to retrain their bodies, to find a new language of movement that is beneficial to staying strong and healthy beyond age fifty, sixty, seventy, or even eighty years of age. This language may not be based on the learned movement patterns of childhood. It may require a slow catechism of physical forms to train the body. For this reason, I encourage my clients to set goals in the short term, but to think in the long term.

Exercise is language.

Location:Bologna,Italia