Crucifixion at Burningman?

Mistress Matisse has a new article out in The Stranger, Control Tower and Kink Calendar, called
Climb Down Off The Cross.

I'm getting psyched for Burningman this year so it caught my attention. Yesterday I ordered some crimson rope from Twisted Monk , for a playawear body harness...see the You Tube video above.





What is our fascination with the crucifixion? I wasn't even raised a catholic and yet several years ago I became enamoured with the meaning/depiction of Jesus hanging on the cross. Although I haven't pursued this as serious study, I wonder if it is simply an expression of despicable religious dogma that put him there. Or was it some great blood sacrifice of atonement for the sins of all humanity? Maybe it was his personal quest of atonement (at*one*ment), publicly modeled for us, Jesus' ultimate practice of becoming one with pain and ascending all suffering?


For me, this is more of an intuitive sense and less linear logic or focused contemplation. I gravitate toward symbolism to explain personal meaning in my life and over time, this whole crucifixion fascination manifested and grew to a gnawing significance.

I secured my own rosary with a crucifix and started wearing a Celtic Cross, the Claddagh (more symbolism emerged and embedded itself as the meaning expanded to
encompass the specific suffering surrounding romantic love and the prevailing issues associated with sexual monogamy and emotional exclusivity).

The concept of suffering became paramount for me. I realized I had been hanging myself on the cross of suffering for too long, in my attempt to avoid pain, this most integral and vital, part of life. Sometimes pain asks me to linger awhile, surrendering to its effect and I either accept it with a deep breath and welcoming embrace, or I resist it, often attempting to either push it away, finding myself stuck to a gooey mess of tar baby, or I grasp it tenaciously, holding and molding it to suit my perverted need to suffer. Something about wallowing in self pity that was so addicting.

I've grown weary of hanging from my cross and martyring myself as a victim. It came to me that I'm ready to be done with this suffering gig. It's still a bit of a bad habit, allowing my pain body to have it's way with me, meeting it in a dark bar where it slips me the date rape drug and then leads me into its unconscious dungeon of suffering, my cross lying in wait, where I wake from my stupor to find myself in the midst of a scene, with this unethical and sadistic master, nails and hammer in hand, ready to have his way with me. The simple awareness of my gaze sends him running. He has no power over me, it's my choice, always was. No thank you, I'll take my BDSM wide awake with conscious consent, thank you very much.