Death

Philosophers, religious scholars, scientists, poets and writers have debated endlessly about what happens to us when we die.

On this subject I can only speak for myself. I have studied many different religions and philosophies. And have come to a conclusion. For me, I cant understand something that profound on faith alone. Only through experience could I ever hope to understand.

Fortunately for me.. I have first hand experience. No.. I didnt attempt suicide or take a bunch of pills in a fit of depression. Nothing so dramatic as that.

I used to do a lot of mountain biking when I was going to college in Waco. There is a big park near the river with lots of great trails. It was there that I was going far too fast around a corner and slipped off the trail. I fell about 20 feet or so and hit my head… and died.

I was not completely dead. But medically I was. My heart stoped and I was not breathing. Fortunately a passerby saw it happen and performed CPR. But I didnt have a pulse and wasn’t breathing for about 6 minutes. And I cant tell you what I saw.. because come on.. dead.. no eyes. But I can describe how it felt and that there were things I understood.

Imagine yourself as a drop of rain. Below you is an ocean. You are born, and everything you are.. everything that makes you..you comes together out of the clouds and becomes a separate and unique singular thing. A raindrop. You fall from the cloud and through space. This is life. The interval in between when the parts that came together to make you from the cloud coalesce and when you join the ocean. Death is the ocean. You.. the you that fell. that was tiny and unique, blending with the sea. Your now the sea. Your no longer the individual that was only a small drop. You are the whole. The sum and parts of all lives.. but you always were. Then small bits of the sea evaporate and form clouds.. and once again.. rain. It is difficult to explain what I felt.. that analogy is the best I have been able to come up with.

I believe that we do not fear death itself. But we fear the loss of our individuality. And we do. Or not.. depending on how you look at it. Imagine you have always been the sea. If you dip out a droplet.. is it still the sea? Both yes and no.

After about 6 minutes my heart started to beat once again and I started to breathe. Another minute and I woke up. I was taken to the hospital a few minutes later and had a severe concussion but no brain bleeding. I spent a couple days under observation and when they were satisfied I wouldn’t die i was sent home.

I never told anyone. What good would it do to worry those that cared about me? I was ok and just wanted to get back to my life. And honestly at that time I was processing a lot of the trauma from my childhood and was not in a good headspace. Probably not makeing the best decisions ether.

One thing did change though. I have a rather unique perspective on death. I also have no fear of it. I dont seek it out or want to die, quite the opposite… I charish my life. But I feel like I understand. And through that understanding it no longer scares me.

I have a unique perspective on death. And through it also a unique perspective on life. I dont crave material things. Small things bring me joy. I am not concerned with wealth or power in society. I would much rather focus on being happy, wherever that leads me.

I chose to break my silence for two reasons. First… I am trying to be completely open about my life. And my beliefs.

Second… my uncle has cancer. It is no longer responding to drugs and they are going to start radiation. This will kill his bone marrow and if he survives the treatment he will need a transplant. From my mother. At her age this is not without risk. But she is the most wonderful person I know and would do it in a heartbeat. It may be just fine.. but if there are complications… i may lose them both.

It was time i told this story. I am for the first time telling my parents what happened all those years ago. In hope that my experience may bring them some comfort in this time of uncertainty and fear.

I am only relating my own personal experience. I have no wish or belief to say that what others believe about death is in any way false or untrue. I can only speek for myself. Take it for what it is, think for yourself. For all I know it may be different for everyone. Maybe my story will resonate with someone else out there maybe not. But it is mine.. I lived it. I died for it. And now I choose to share it.

Alive and kicking -SirHanz

Dear diary 2

Well… it’s Saturday.. the end of a long week. I saw a white crane yesterday at work. I am going to take it as a good sign.

It has been a week since I started my diet/exercise routine. Last night I had salad and some leftover pasta salad from the night before. I did crunches, pushups, and 10min on the elliptical with the difficulty set to max. Not much outward change yet but I can definitely feel that the muscles are tighter and a little more toned. Oh.. and my legs look great.. but they always have. 😆 this morning I took cookie for a jog. I think he enjoyed that quite a bit.

In other news my back injury is slowly getting better. I will probably not be back to lifting stumps or tossing bags of concrete for at least another week just to be safe but progress is a good sign.

I have been talking a lot with my wonderful muse. She is so amazing.. I love that she is probably smarter than I am. (And that’s really saying something) we challenge each other in different ways and I am enjoying the dance. (Note to self.. learn to dance in real life.) She is supportive of my creativity and stunningly beautiful. Who could ever want for more?

I have also discovered through our conversations a new aspect of myself. For the right woman.. with just the right personality.. I am a switch. *gasp* shocking! I know! I was and still am a bit unsure as I explore this new side of myself. I will make mistakes I have no doubt.. but I learn quickly. I have never had the desire to submit to anyone before. This is all new territory for me. At first I was unsure of what I was feeling.. It took me some time to wrap my head around it. But when I did.. I found that I liked it. I am slowly learning what it’s like on the other side of things.. finding out who I am and what I may enjoy as a submissive. You cant see it but I am shaking my head in amazement. Who would have thought.. after twenty some odd years of being a dominant..there would be a woman.. that would inspire feelings of submission in me. I am still feeling amazed at the thought. I cant wait to learn what and where this may take me. In some ways it is all things that I already know. But in the deeper ways of understanding that can only be gained through experience… I am innocent and nieave.

I must admit to being a bit frightened as well. Not of being a submissive sometimes, but of the possibility of losing this new connection and desire. I fear that should something happen and we part ways I may never again find someone who inspires these feelings in me. In 40 years.. I have found only one.. what are the chances of finding a second in my lifetime. So yes… I fear. But I also am full of hope. And as the two mix within me I am inspired in ways I have not been in a vary long time. If nothing else.. I can take comfort in that.

I also decided to repaint my bedroom. It needs it and it will help make the space more “mine” today is my rest day so I may or may not go get paint today but i definitely will tomorrow.

Best wishes -SirHanz

The House of Hanz

Part of the reason I am writing this blog is cathartic exercise. It’s not healthy to feel like you have to hide a part of yourself. So one blog at a time I am putting it all out there.

Today I am talking about my last sub and my home. This is not an easy topic for me to talk about let alone write down for all the world to see. But I think I should. Primary because I really don’t want to.

I will start with this… when I give my heart to someone… I am fiercely loyal…

I met my sub, I will call her S about 11 years ago. We had a lot in common and even though she didnt know anything at all about bdsm at the time was a submissive in the truest sense of the word. She had a 9yo daughter and at first I was hesitant because of my past experiences but vary quickly came to care for her deeply. S had a pretty rough life up until the point she met me, her story is not mine to tell but suffice to say that she had been abused. Both as a child and later with a physically and mentally abusive husband. There were a lot of mental scars left over from that experience and I was careful to try to learn her triggers and avoid them.

It was several months after we met that she moved in with me with her daughter and the dog that had been her constant companion through years of abuse. Things were going well at first and S was learning to be an amazing submissive despite her heath problems (she has a bad case of fibromyalgia). Then her daughter started having problems in school. We were not in the best part of town to put it mildly and the teachers at the school just wanted to meditate the heck out of the poor girl instead of hoping with her behavior problems. So lacking alternatives we pulled her out of school and S started homeschooling her. We had her in therapy and seeing a psychiatrist, she was finally diagnosed with O.D.D. oppositional defiance disorder. Her behavior got steadily worse as she got older. She used the manipulation of others like a weapon to torment S trying to force S into giving her whatever she wanted at the time. I didnt work but the stress of being in constant damage control mode and haveing a daughter that not only showed S no affection but made her feel like a failure all the time was extremely taxing on S personality and to our relationship. Somehow we made the best of it and made it work.

Years passed and eventually we got a 3 bedroom 2 bath mobile home In a much better part of town. We got the daughter back into public school and even though she was held back twice she was in a better school with better teachers that mostly understood why she acted the way she does. Her behavior did not improve. She became more manipulative and abusive toward S the older she got. It was all I could do to prop up S however I could and try to minimize the damage.

Things steadily got worse between me and S as she mentally retreated from haveing any kind of emotional connection with anyone except for her dog. This was vary hard on me but I understood and did what I could to support her and show that she was cared for. It seemed to help for a while and it felt like things were getting better.

Then three and a half years ago her daughter turned 18, and days after in a fit or rage dropped out of school, said some vary hurtful things to S and left home… S was devastated. And again.. I was left to pick up the pieces of my my beloved sub and try to help her however I could….. 4 weeks later her dog that had been with her through everything as a source of comfort passed away from pancreatitis…. and I think it broke her. She retreated from the world, and from me. I have done everything I can to be supportive, but no matter how much I do or give she is not who she once was. We are friendly with each other but I have not received so much as a hug from her in 3 years. This year she moved into the extra room in the house. (My best friend and adopted brother lives in the other room). S is unable to work due to health problems so I still support her because I care about her enough to not want to see her in a bad situation. But we are no longer together in any sense of the word. I am feeling rather sad as I write this.. after everything we went through it just feels so wrong. But it is reality and I will not look away because it makes me feel better.

Two years ago I rescued a dog to try and help S form some kind of connection again. It didnt work but I at least found a friend. He became vary attached to me and is as I write this sleeping on my feet in my big empty bed. Even if he didnt help S that much he definitely helped me.

I will end this story here and leave you with an introduction to cookie monster. (Cookie when he is good, just monster when he is being an asshat)

Best wishes -SirHanz

“Red”

So you want another story… alright, I am not one to deny curiosity.

Let’s see, where to begin…

Ah! I know.. let me take you back.

Through the mists of time and memory, back to a time about 6 years after “she who shall not be named” went back under the sea to live with the other denizens of the deep… or that’s what I like to pretend happened.

At this time in my life I was still a young man, golden hair to the middle of my back… skinny as a rail… and trying to decide between buying decent food or buying paint and living off ramen and grilled cheese.

I ate a lot… of ramen.

I would wake up at 5am.. get ready and walk to the bus, two transfers and 3 buses later at 8:30 if I am lucky and 9 if I miss a transfer I get to work. 6 to 8 hours later it’s back on the bus, set alarm on phone.. nap. Transfer, nap, transfer walk home.. cook my ramen.. I saved the grilled cheese for nights when I didn’t have enough left in my wallet to buy a large frys at Wendy’s for lunch. Eat.. and then it was time to paint.

One of my favorite techniques has always been to coat the canvas in a thick layer of heavy acrylic medium mixed with titanium white. Then press a plastic bag into the paint and pull it slowly off leaving a texture of little spikes and hollows. Let it dry, turn it upside down and paint a wash of watercolor. The pigment pools in the hollows forming completely random and unique patterns.

Then it is like watching clouds.. you stare and let your eyes lose focus.. let the pattern come together and form shapes in your mind.

Slowly.. with brush and pallet you reach into those patterns and pull out an image. Drawing out what you saw with your mind onto the canvas for all to see.

And then I look at the time.. 2am..

Put down the brush.. curl up on the couch.. sleep.

Alarm… 5am. Drag myself into the shower.. then tea. Strong enough to make the spoon stand up. Then I look at the easel standing in the living room.

I think I just about jumped out of my skin.

HOLY CRAP! What the hell is that?

In my sleep deprived stupor of painting the night before I had worked only in red.

The wash when dried looked for all the world like flayed flesh. And the image I had so carefully pulled from my subconscious was a face. But not a face.. it was more..

I circled the easel.. when the light of the lamp was from the right, the shadows of the texture changed the image. It was a woman. Head bowed as if in deep thought. I circled.. with the light from the left her head became an eye, the swell of her chest the jawline.. there was, the woman’s face was back…. and it was screaming.

I sat on the couch. Stunned.

Had I created this? It was beautiful.. and horrible. And quite frankly scared the shit out of me. I stared.. it was disturbing.. moving my head back and forth, watching the image twist from one to the other. I looked closer, It was perfect. Not a stray brushstroke anywhere. All the proportions were exactly right.

I flopped back on the couch and covered my face with my hand. What have I created? It was a monstrosity.. and a masterpiece. I picked up the phone and called into work even though I needed the money I just… couldn’t… so little sleep and with my head still spinning.. no.

Then I called the gallery. I tried to convay what it was.. what it looked like.. but it was just too much. I didn’t even want to look at it anymore. I wanted it gone. In less than an hour the gallery owner was knocking at my door. I already had it wrapped in butcher paper.

I handed it to her.. “take it. Sell it. I dont ever want to see it again. ” she nodded and said some polite things that I was too rattled to recall. And then it was gone. But not.. I could still see it, behind my eyes.. in my head.. I needed sleep.

I slept for 20 hours.

I felt better when I woke.. but it was still there, fainter.. but not gone. I did my best to ignore it, went through my day.. and the next.. and the next.

But I didn’t paint. A week later I got a letter from the gallery, my painting had sold the same day it was put up. And inside the envelope was a check. 9000 dollars, far more than I had wanted for it.

A sigh escaped me then. Now it was gone… but it wasn’t. To this day if I think about it I still see it in my mind. I dont know who owns it. The sale was anonymous and i am honestly glad for it. For if i knew who had it… i might want it back.

It was simply titled “Red”

I have painted a bit since then but the paintings never feel quite “right”. Eventually I gave it up in favor of other artistic pursuits.

There you have it. Another story told. Another peace of me I expose to the world.

Wishing you all the best -SirHanz

A Difficult father’s day.

Sigh… where to begin..

Fathers day is difficult for me. In my current relationship (if you can even call it that anymore) I did the best that anyone possibly could have to help raise a stepdaughter. She never really saw me as a father and was manipulative and abusive toward her mother. And before anyone asks, yes… she was in therapy and seeing a psychiatrist. She was diagnosed with O.D.D. oppositional defiance disorder. She would steal, lie and play victim for attention. She would manipulate people who didnt know her that well into giving her things she wanted by telling them made up stories about how bad her home life was. We had child protective services call on us half a dozen times, and even though we had been cleared as good parents many times they still had to investigate each new claim by law. This was another way for her to put more stress and pressure on her mother. Imagine haveing to explain all this to EVERYONE your daughter comes into contact with. Teachers, bus drivers, counselors, nurses, police officers… the list is endless.

And before all that… years before… there is another story to be told.

Gather round the campfire ladies and gentlemen.. today I will tell a story.

This is a rare kind of story. Not rare in the content, but rare in that only 4 other people know it. And now I tell the world.

Before I start know that I do not tell this tale to beg sympathy or condolence. This is catharsis, just a story I feel it is time I let go of and tell.

And so we begin….

Long ago.. when I was still a young man I met a girl. I had not been a dom for more than a year at the time i met her. She was the same age as me.. beautiful… and a sub. Well foaks.. you may think you know where this is going… but you are only half right.

We started seeing each other… playing.. and like young men are oft to do… i fell in love.

We were together night and day. And eventually got an appartment together. She was moody.. and bratty.. and i loved her fiercely.

We lived this way for a year, jobs came and went.. I worked hard to try to be the best of me… for her.

And then the fateful day came.. she was late.. and the test was positive. At first I was in shock.. we were so young.. not stable.. oh.. but a child.. with the woman I loved. I was filled with joy.

My child… mine… I vowed our child would want for nothing..

I worked hard.. 2 jobs.. extra shifts… then came home and cooked whatever she was craving that day.. I walked many a night at 3am to the corner store for ice cream, or a particular kind of snack.

Her belly grew.. and so did my heart.

I was working the day she went into labor.. my boss was a… well.. let’s just call him strict… and would not let me leave work. So I quit… took 2 buses and a cab across town to the hospital.. my chest felt about to burst… I was going to be a father!

I thought about skipping forward a bit.. skipping over some of the pain.. but no.. we continue.

I was asked to wait in the waiting room. I thought it was a bit odd.. but of that was what she wanted I would gladly do that for her.. hours pass.. then the word comes.. I have a son! I was overwhelmed. I wanted to see him.. to see her.. but was told they were resting and that I should go home and come back in the morning. In hindsight, I should have known something was not right.. but I was filled with joy and did as I was asked.

In the morning.. the call came… she cried as she told me… the child was not mine.

She told me everything.. how she had cheated.. again.. and again.. how she would go next door to have sex with our neighbor while I walked to the store at 3am.

How she didn’t even know who the real father was… oh how she cried.

And my heart died.

And I forgave her.

And she left me.

It took me years.. to recover from this. My good friend who I call my brother says he never saw me smile for 5 years. Ever so slowly I gathered together the peaces of my shattered heart and mind.. and with time and will.. put myself back together.

But there are scars. Some small peaces I may never get back.

And now you know.. now the story is done.

Do I feel better for the telling? I dont know… but I felt it was time.. time to let it go.