The Dominatrix
She stands there, against a gloomy, threatening
background, as though evolved from its restless churning
darkness.
Hood and whip, boots and leather bodice, all
in black She appears as She has for centuries, a symbol
of mysterious and alien power to which our collective imaginations
have given the status of symbol and archetype.
But symbol of what, archetype of what particular
complex of thoughts?
Is She not the menace and lure of feminine
power unchecked, with the ability to overwhelm or enrapture
as She sees fit?
Does She not both repel and attract, causing
fear and desire at the same time?
What power can oppose or stop Her, She who
incorporates all force, all energy into herself?
In Her the weaker sex becomes strong, and
this to the point of invincibility.
Fearless, determined, unstoppable, with the
power to inflict pleasure or pain in unlimited quantities,
separately or at once, She demands unconditional surrender.
And yet, what is she, after all, but a figment
of our own dark fantasies? And the mind, like the body,
has no process which is not useful to it in some fashion.
Of what use then, is the Dominatrix?
She is the female for whom we need have no
sympathy, no understanding.
These considerations, which the woman in most
ordinary relationships passively elicits or, in some cases,
actively solicits, play no part in her.
She neither requires nor desires them. She
would reject them with scorn, punishing rather than rewarding
any such sentimentality.
There is nothing of the clinging vine. Unstoppable
as hammer, invulnerable as anvil, She strides down the path
of Her iron will through the universe, shoving aside or
cutting through all opposition, persevering without letup,
enduring without being in any way diminished.
Luxury, wealth status?
She desires these only as added forms of personal
power. Pain and hardship She shrugs off, unscathed.
She takes what She wants and needs nothing.
Like the shark, She consumes, not because
She is hungry but because it is Her nature to devour.
~ Author Unknown ~
