Of faith and collars

My brain seems to be gearing up for this weekends Core Shamanism courses. The Classical Shamans on the reading list may be rolling their eyes, but I am a firm believer that I have yet to find a single educational tool I have not gained something from.Almost 2 years ago, I had my bear paws done. May 21st, 2006. The same day Hunter took on my ink. Two acts of dedication cast into flesh by one artist, Matto at Skin Deep in Sydney.They are simple enough- miniature versions of black bear paws (yes, black bears have 5 claws, I have the pelt of one hanging 3 feet above my head right now to look at daily), positioned in suck as way as if Mama were grabbing the back of my head in case she needed to slam it into a wall for not listening. Thus the comment on the icon. I had originally planned on having life size prints on my back, on each side above my protection against the evil eye ink across my shoulders, but I was informed they had to be visible. At all times. So hands, wrists, neck, or head. And the reality is, I am not trampled beneath Her.So I took my ink. I have sworn to Her by ink. by pelt. by hook. by blood. by tears. by snot. by sweat. I have not sworn to Her by cum because that is not our relationship. I enjoy familial roles, but the reality is that I will not have sex with my mother- or my Mama.When Hunter wore my collar locked at all times, I wore a collar of my own in return- a key dangling on heavy chain. Only fair, as I tend to wear a lot of keys. More astrally than physically. Again, its part of what I DO. When the exchange came, and I took on my few-month tenure as his Boy, a step I needed to take in my core to be able to walk into manhood with pride and guidance, we exchanged lock and key. When that lock had to come off, contract almost up and life transformations being acknowledged, the collar was removed.A month later, I was at Keeper's Crossing, a spirit workers gathering I attend, and in the middle of the woods, flesh morphed to bears flesh, feeling the air as I pissed, Mama talked to me. That is a misnomer. Mama Bear does not talk to me. There is no english. It is more of a clear download of information as she pours herself through my spine and growls her way into my soul. She pushes me open or rips me wide, depending on the need. But she talked in this way, wordless. She said that I was wild one. That I was Hers. That I was already collared, and I seemed to forget this. That my place was road walker, that even if I had a home, I needed to keep one paw on the pulse of the road.A few days later I told one of my partners of my revelations and twists that weekend. Some in my opinion much bigger than the collar one. But when I told him that Mama reminded me I was already collared, and why was I so addicted to that act of collar anyway, that that wasn't mine to have any more... he broke down crying. Why does She hate me? he responded. I was baffled, and in pain. I had shared such depth with him, and this was the response. That it was personal against him. And worse, the underlying idea he asked of why won't you go to bat for me. As if I had a choice.Now, there are choices. Always. But what does begging get me? I can always fight for something, have choices, but there are often reasons for what She asks of me- and honestly, it has all been worth it. But it is hard to explain how many spoons it takes to argue for something in my case. If you don't know the Spoon Theory, its a very useful one concerning energy stores in the human form.It had nothing to do with him. But it was a very illuminating piece around us as a relationship, and it made other things that came to pass less of a surprise.Mama took away my ability to wear a collar. To be collared. But, being the guy I am, I had to test it out anyway.BodyBound weekend, Rose and I were playing and he asked if he could put a "play" posture collar on me. I told him Mama had taken away my collars, but he asked again. I said yes, because it got my cock hard. I'm honest, what can I say.Red and black, heavy and still, and as the buckle clicked, I went away. I went away. Not sub space. Not floating. I as a conscious human being can not be present when a collar is around my neck. When he finally took it off of me, I had no memory of what had come to pass.No collars.In fact, it seems, no jewelery for more than a day at a time. If that. A month and a half ago my last daily jewelery came off- the firs time in 18 years I did not have metal somewhere on my body. No piercings, no necklaces, no rings, no collars. No metal, no leather. Nothing. Nude. For the first time in 18 years. I can wear a watch, a necklace, a belt, body piercings, etc- but if I wear them for more than a day in a row, I start feeling like they are ripping through my flesh and are horrible pain. I wonder sometimes if she will take away my non-work stuff... but so far I am still able to wear my lock for scenes (an 8g lock in my nose) but it drops me into receptive space FAST and if my wards are not solid, I'm easy to have be Ridden.The exception to the collar rule it seems is specifically WORK related. That has happened only once, and it broke me apart and built me back up from the center.But I am finding it fascinating.I am collared. And I am blessed.