She chose to become her most vulnerable when she was already clearly not in a position of power.
I, too, feel like it's all I can do sometimes to endear myself to the natives here.
Just nudge, and then lie on my back.
And just be. Vulnerable. Really vulnerable.
Juno, were you afraid that the beast would swallow you? You didn't look it. You must have known...that somehow the scary, drueley monster would not take advantage of you. You knew that he would acquiesce to your position of begging for mercy.
I wish I had your trust. You made it look so simple.
It's beyond terrifying to submit to the will and whim of another.
Maybe you are able to submit because you have not yet felt the blows of disappointment--you haven't yet been attacked by a beast.
We humans are much more complex than you canines: we size each other up, we question motives, we speculate a word's intentions and desired meaning, hell, even a gesture's meaning gets the run-down; we offend and get offended and hide and cower and brag and judge and sneer and fear way more than we need to or should. And. We don't sniff out each other's crotches. At least not right away.
Or maybe that's just me.
It takes us humans a long time to find our position of submission. I suspect it may in fact be the last of all of our other postures.
It was your first.
Which made it kind of beautiful. In a sad sort of way.
It's an alignment, a placement, and ultimately, a paradox.
I have carried the "bitch" label proudly much of my adult life (my mother even bought me a bottle of wine with the name, my brother, a beer mug, and others...I have a shrine of bitch relics). To me it signifies my attempt to not let people walk all over me, belittle me, or tell me what to do. My effort to not fit neatly into the "female" label. I speak for myself, I have opinions, and I am assertive (sometimes too much). I challenge assumptions. I question authority. I don't wear a skirt unless I damn well feel like wearing a skirt. I like to play along in the man-game. Usually. Except when I'm trying to make friends. Then I try to be submissive and nice. But then it's awkward. Because it's not normal for me.
I joined a book club here. This past month, it was my turn to choose the book and to host. All present (but me) claimed that the book seemed "very American, but not in the bad way that is usually meant by 'American'." (though no one explained this other meaning to me, I have my suspicions that it involves Kim K, arrogance, flippancy, and way-too-large houses and hair)... I had not seen that one coming.
This "American" book is Gilead, and it is one of my favorite books in the world. I didn't know that it was so "American" but to me it is a book about grace and honesty and a human's fear of submission to another. It is a book about relationships. It is a book about life. And the love we all long for.
And. The book contains a line that makes me cry every time I read it.
One character is speaking of how he longs to connect to this man who is like a son to him...
"I wish I could put my hand on his brow and calm away all the guilt and regret that is exaggerated or misplaced, or beyond rectification in the terms of this world. Then I could see what I'm actually dealing with." -Marilynne Robinson
Perhaps it would be nice if we could all deal with each other in this most honest, vulnerable way.
If we could all become submissive bitches.