- workshop in english -

ANDY BURU on SURRENDER (EARTH VARIATION)

Surrender is to trust, to let go and to fall — trusting that one will be caught by life, by love, by wonder, by another. Surrendering brings great pleasure when one learns to let go of controlling the body, the emotions, and the ego and devote oneself to something greater. It’s as applicable in lovemaking as well as in life in general. But unfortunately, there is an overvaluation of power in today’s society, and everyone is fighting for it, while surrender is undervalued.

Moreover, surrender touches upon masochism, physically enjoying endorphins rushing through the body and emotionally letting go of shameful limiting beliefs. The most basic idea I learnt from Zen Buddhism is that bliss emerges when we stop fighting and accept life as it is, and then there is no suffering. Before psychology considered masochism a disease, religion thought it to be the cure. And I think there is something to that when it’s conscious and consensual. In my experience, anyone can enjoy or at least find this exploration meaningful when it’s slow enough and well-balanced between safety and bravery.

Surrender traditionally belongs to the feminine aspect of the esoteric erotic polarity, but I’m convinced that it’s essential for everyone of any (and no) gender. Incorporating it into oneself can simply tickle one’s curious approach to life or become a life-long artistic endeavour, critical self-development, or passion for lovemaking. While teaching surrender, I also indirectly teach how to hold space for another’s process of letting go. Participants describe it as intimate, vulnerable and trusting. And it makes them more resilient to the hardships of life.

SKY AND EARTH
As rope bondage is the primary modality for my way of teaching surrender, I offer it in two different variations, earth and sky. The difference is in the technicalities of patterns and positions. The SKY variation always works with an external anchoring point, like a pillar, beam or piece of furniture, and more closely mimics the aesthetics of the late 20th-century Japanese masters. It invites the intensity of gravity and the exploration of physical distance with emotional intimacy, where the rope, as a material, becomes the third lover in this ménage à trois. 

In the EARTH variation, on the other hand, the rope is the cord tying two hearts together, philosophically speaking. There is no use of external anchoring points, and every movement is solely a power play, a reenactment of the eros between two beings, so instead, the aesthetics are more that of tango meets butoh meets aikido. It uses body weight and pressure for intensity and emphasises physical intimacy. Both variations are available to beginners after a short, free online course, but of course, knowing how to tie beforehand will unravel more subtle details and advanced interpretations.

About Andy Buru:

Andy is a teacher of European and Japanese rope bondage, a medical massage therapist, a former organizational coach, a conscious kinkster and a student of theatre and tea. During his twenty years of BDSM, he has been an owned slave, a leather daddy, a hedonist, a purist, a magician, and a princess slut. His work aims to create magical rooms where people can rest, heal and grow. Andy loves that the world is allowed to be complicated because that makes every meeting unique. In between making a living from teaching, Andy spent most of his recent time writing the book ‘Rituals and Paradoxes: The Intimacy of Belonging in Sadomasochism and Esoteric Eroticism’ while studying the way of tea (chado) and flowers (kado) in the Japanese countryside. In the stillness between moments, life happens. Pause, witness. More: https://andyburu.se/home/

Other info that could be valuable:

Participating in these group processes is intimate and vulnerable. It is always a balancing act between freedom and responsibility—or selfishness and self-sacrifice—or safety and bravery. Finding oneself in either extreme can result in paralyzing fear or traumatizing chaos. Dancing on this slackline of mystery is the fundamental skill we practice together.

In a way, we are playing a game of Jenga (see below), where blocks balance in an intricate pattern—some are explicit rules, others are cultural norms, yet some are contradictory commandments.

Shapes and forms differ between cultures and communities. Eastern Europe is very different from Scandinavia, which is again different from Japan, Brazil, New York City, and Berlin, which also differ widely from each other. There is no exact blueprint but a continuously woven social web of interactions. Yet, if enough blocks are compromised, the play will collapse, and people may be hurt.

For many of us, these human dances of life are evident and almost second nature. However, sometimes things, people, and even worlds fall out of balance and must gently (or violently)—but always lovingly— be guided back. Below are seven almost universal freedoms and responsibilities to help you navigate these intimate and vulnerable spaces.

You can attend single or as a couple.

1. Settle the score before you leave

To play, one must be vulnerable. To be vulnerable, one must trust. To trust, one must know that someone will help ‘settle the score’ when hardship happens—that you are not alone. Preferably all the persons involved in whatever happened. Listening, assuming accountability, and saying I’m sorry often go a long way. Sometimes more is needed, but at least by being there, you enable this process. Leaving without settling the score means unfinished business and long-term damage to the social web we are trying to weave.

2. Don’t kiss and tell 

Also, to be vulnerable, one must trust that what I share with you—in words and actions—remains safe with you. You can always talk about your own experiences, what happened to you, and what you felt. But leave everyone else involved anonymous by not mentioning their names and being thoughtful with what details you reveal about them. To gain the trust of others, demonstrate that you don’t kiss and tell when retelling your grandiose adventures of the past, just as you won’t kiss and tell in the future when you speak about the plays of today.

3. Don’t cockblock vulnerability 

Similarly, to be vulnerable, one must trust that vulnerability is met with respect. When uncomfortable with others’ vulnerability, one often tries to make the vulnerable moments disappear by arguing for solutions, diverting attention to silly jokes, playing the devil’s advocate or playing the overprotective saviour. If someone can express their vulnerability in a storm of intense emotions, watch them in awe—you likely have something to learn from them. You enable others’ vulnerability by being vulnerable yourself; you cockblock vulnerability by playing the tough guy who doesn’t give a shit about anything.

4. Welcome all your emotions

When I demonstrate a particular exercise, there will be an emotional, non-verbal dialogue with my assistant. Don’t try to copy our experience. Instead, have your own journey. For me, a group process is perfect when someone is laughing, another is crying, a third is moaning, a fourth is confused, and so on. Know that all parts of you are welcome.

5. No fucking charity

You’ll pair up in exercises, join trios and quadruplets, and do group rituals. Even if you promised someone beforehand, and it doesn’t feel right in the moment, listen to the latter. Don’t do things out of charity. I take pride in trying to provide structures where it’s easy to opt out without creating an awkward situation for anyone.

6. Play inside the play, not outside

During our group processes, we have moments inside and outside of play. And we have rituals, signs, and language to move in and out. Some examples are entering a circle to indicate our willingness to play, placing our arms across the chest for a break, kneeling as a sign of submission, and establishing eye contact before body contact. The exact semantics may change, but you must learn to distinguish and respect when play is happening and not. Inside, you may play with power, be seduced by it, revel in it, or rebel against it. Outside play, avoid being a macho or mothering dominant, as well as a helpless submissive or a assholish trickster.

7. Don’t be a good student

I’m not your Guru Buru. If anything I say doesn’t make sense to you, don’t do it. You can always ask me for an alternative or simply do your own thing.

If this text seems complicated to you, you likely have a lot to learn from sharing intimate and vulnerable experiences in a group. Please notify the organizers if this is the case so I can keep an extra eye on you. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to ask beforehand or during the group process itself. If you have a lot of previous experience or a more senior position in the group, I will have higher expectations of you to act as a role model. If you are new and insecure, you’ll likely have more leeway to learn our culture. If you are deemed unable or unwilling to comply, you will likely be asked to adjust your behaviour or leave the group process entirely. 

[1] Jenga is a kids’ game where players take turns removing one block at a time from a tower constructed of 54 blocks. Each block removed is then placed on top of the tower, creating a progressively more unstable structure. The game ends when the tower falls over.

Consent

Working with the eros as a group process often raises questions about sexuality, nakedness and consent, especially when using modalities from the space in between esoterism and sadomasochism. Most bluntly, people ask me if it’s a swinger’s party or an orgy that they are going to. Or if something that is often considered very private or even sacred to them will be kept safe in the presence of others.

How consent, boundaries and trauma awareness are dealt with differs substantially in different cultures and communities, so I’ll communicate in person how it works in each of the spaces I offer, as it also varies based on the topic and level. If you want an introduction to my somewhat paradoxical landscape of knowing what one wants, check out Chapter 2: While We Fall in my book Rituals and Paradoxes.

If you are looking for that introduction to consent, I recommend getting familiar with the work of Betty Martin and their School of Consent.