killowatt[MK] -- he of the loincloth

Credo for A Submissive Man

I am creative, courageous and honourable. I have many strengths.
I have power, intelligence and wit.

I use these qualities to empower, protect and bring happiness to others. I joyfully
surrender them to she who knows and cherishes their value.

There is no greater deed than to give oneself utterly to another.
I offer myself in heart and body to my Mistress, my Lady; so that I may be fulfilled by
meeting her needs, and that she may expose me to the very
core of my being, learn my strengths and weaknesses and teach me to
better know myself.

My self and my strength and my love are hers to call her own, in honour of her beauty,
her wisdom and her strength, which mirrors and enhances my own.

I serve her with honesty, valour and trust. I avoid putting myself first,
but not at the expense of my identity. I seek always to clearly communicate
my needs and my fears to her.

I am her champion, her warrior, the guardian of her honour - as she requires.
I will defend her to the uttermost limits of my strength but, standing before her,
I lay aside all defences.

I offer her my trust and respect, and I have few gifts more precious than those.
When we journey alone together, she recognises my needs and, when she takes me to
places I have never been, protects me from harm.

I ask her to lead me in turning my weaknesses to strengths, so that I may better
serve her. I ask that she protects me from harm, and surrounds me with her warmth
and guidance when I am faced with my darkest self.

I look to her, to have the wisdom to know when to push me to grow, when to teach
me discipline and when to show me her gentleness and mercy.

I trust her to heed my voice and views, to nurture my love and desire for her;
to approach my failings with humour, compassion, and firmness as necessary for
the good of us both; to bring shape and meaning to our lives.

In return, I offer her all that I am; in joyful and complete devotion.

If

by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

The Sons of Martha

by Rudyard Kipling

The Sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited that good part;
But the Sons of Martha favour their Mother of the careful soul and the troubled heart.
And because she lost her temper once, and because she was rude to the Lord her Guest,
Her Sons must wait upon Mary's Sons, world without end, reprieve, or rest.

It is their care in all the ages to take the buffet and cushion the shock.
It is their care that the gear engages; it is their care that the switches lock.
It is their care that the wheels run truly; it is their care to embark and entrain,
Tally, transport, and deliver duly the Sons of Mary by land and main.

They say to mountains, "Be ye removed." They say to the lesser floods, "Be dry."
Under their rods are the rocks reproved -- they are not afraid of that which is high.
Then do the hill-tops shake to the summit -- then is the bed of the deep laid bare,
That the Sons of Mary may overcome it, pleasantly sleeping and unaware.

They finger death at their gloves' end where they piece and repiece the living wires.
He rears against the gates they tend: they feed him hungry behind their fires.
Early at dawn, ere men see clear, they stumble into his terrible stall,
And hale him forth like a haltered steer, and goad and turn him till evenfall.

To these from birth is Belief forbidden; from these till death is Relief afar.
They are concerned with matters hidden -- under the earthline their altars are --
The secret fountains to follow up, waters withdrawn to restore to the mouth,
And gather the floods as in a cup, and pour them again at a city's drouth.

They do not preach that their God will rouse them a little before the nuts work loose.
They do not teach that His Pity allows them to drop their job when they dam'-well choose.
As in the thronged and the lighted ways, so in the dark and the desert they stand,
Wary and watchful all their days that their brethren's days may be long in the land.

Raise ye the stone or cleave the wood to make a path more fair or flat --
Lo, it is black already with blood some Son of Martha spilled for that!
Not as a ladder from earth to Heaven, not as a witness to any creed,
But simple service simply given to his own kind in their common need.

And the Sons of Mary smile and are blessed -- they know the Angels are on their side.
They know in them is the Grace confessed, and for them are the Mercies multiplied.
They sit at the Feet -- they hear the World -- they see how truly the Promise runs.
They have cast their burden upon the Lord, and -- the Lord He lays it on Martha's Sons!

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