2018.0915–0930 Thalia Explains Latexistentialism to Marla (Part 2 of 2)
(c) @26.0613-1450.00 by AtaraxiA under Creative Commons CC BY-SA 4.0 license
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**SUMMARY:** *In this second part, Thalia explores the daily practice of Latexistentialism, revealing how her ritual of wearing latex every day became a discipline of presence and self-awareness. She describes the challenges of maintaining this practice, Hevea’s role as her guide, and how the philosophy extends beyond the catsuit into every aspect of her life. Thalia also introduces the concept of the “Ordeals” as tests of commitment to her path, drawing parallels to her childhood ballet lessons and the Japanese practice of Shinrin Yoku.*
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Dear Marla,
The morning light filters through the curtains of my room in the Hahnestery, casting long, golden stripes across the floor. The air carries the coolness that makes you pull your robe tighter before you’re fully awake. I don’t stay in bed for long. A rhythm to my mornings has emerged, a ritual that grounds me before the day begins.
Most nights, I sleep in a loose-fit latex catsuit. When I awaken, I take a bath, dry off, and put on my “day suit”—a skin-fit, shiny black catsuit with separate top and bottom, nitrile gloves, flat-sole boots, my trademark large gold hoop earrings, and perhaps some gold jewelry and a wide belt. And, oh yes, if I am going on duty as the Hahn’s housekeeper, the red latex butcher’s apron they gave me. This is the first thing I do, even before my morning tea. The material is cool against my skin at first, but it warms quickly, molding to me like a second skin. The sensation has become a reminder: I’m here. I’m present. This is Latexistentialism in practice.
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You might wonder why I go through this every day. Why not just wear the catsuit when I feel like it? Why make it a ritual? The answer is simple: discipline. It’s about showing up for myself, day after day, and affirming, This is who I am. This is what I choose. When asked why he climbed Mt. Everest, Sir Edmund Hillary replied, “Because it is there.” Living in rubber garments is my mountain. It gives my life—and my fetish—purpose. I craft my own meaning from this. I write and direct my own movie.
Hevea is always with me during these moments. She doesn’t speak in words, but I feel her presence like a gentle nudge, a quiet encouragement. She’s the part of me that understands the depth of this practice, knowing it’s more than a fetish or a habit. It’s a way of life.
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Latexistentialism transcends the moments when I’m wearing the catsuit. The lessons linger even when the latex is off. The discipline demands confrontation with my own existence, urging me to be fully present in body, mind, and world.
This isn’t always easy. Some mornings, I wake up tired, my skin sensitive, or simply reluctant to go through the ritual. Yet I do it anyway. That’s the essence of it. Latexistentialism isn’t about ease. It’s about truth.
And truth often comes with challenges.
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I call these challenges the Ordeals.
An Ordeal isn’t a punishment. It’s a test—a test of my commitment to this path. The Ordeals can be small, like wearing the catsuit an extra hour when restless, or larger, like enduring a full day in it when my body is weaery of it. But they’re always there, reminding me this isn’t just philosophy. It’s practice. And like any practice, it demands effort, dedication, and sometimes sacrifice. Growth emerges from these trials.
Hevea guides me through the Ordeals. She whispers, This is your temenum. This is your sacred space. You chose this. In those moments, I recall why I’m doing it. Not for thrill, not for fetish, but for connection. For the way it makes me feel alive, present, and true to myself.
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The Ordeals follow a rhythm. They’re deliberate, pushing me to go deeper, understand more, and be more. Latexistentialism extends beyond the latex itself. The material forces me to confront my limits, fears, and desires.
The latex doesn’t just enclose me—it connects me. It’s a threshold, a boundary, a space where I meet the world. In that space, I’m not just Thalia the elderly woman, the former dancer, the lover of latex. I’m Thalia the being, existing fully in this moment.
My childhood ballet lessons and brief dance career taught me discipline, grace, and the importance of form. Latexistentialism is a dance of its own—a choreography of presence, movement, and meaning.
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This practice ripples into the rest of my life. The discipline of Latexistentialism has taught me to be more present in everything I do. When reading to Sarah in the stable, I’m fully there. When sitting by the fire with James, discussing philosophy or books, I’m engaged. When walking through the Hahnestery’s gardens, I’m experiencing the world around me.
The Japanese practice Shinrin Yoku, or “forest bathing,” involves immersing oneself fully in the forest’s sensory environment. This inspired my own practice. I “bathe” in rubber.
Hevea is with me in all these moments. She’s the part of me that remembers to be present, engaged, and alive. She understands that Latexistentialism is more than philosophy—it’s a way of being in the world. An “attitude”. Almost a “Zen of Rubber”…
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Latexistentialism has changed me, shaped me, and made me who I am today. It’s helped me see the world differently, understand myself differently, and live differently. It’s taught me to find joy in simple things: the feel of latex against my skin, the warmth of the fire on a cold morning, the quiet of the Hahnestery at dawn. These moments matter now—not for thrill or excitement, but for presence, connection, and truth. I’ve learned to “bathe” in them too.
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But it’s not always easy. There are days when the Ordeals feel overwhelming. Days when I question why I’m putting myself through this. James calls it Acedia—a weariness of the soul. Yet I remember the way the latex feels against my skin, how it grounds and centers me, reminding me of who I am. I recall Hevea, my silent companion and guide, and why this matters.
I remember that this practice has changed me—made me more present, engaged, and alive. It’s helped me find a kind of peace and joy I never thought I’d discover.
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There’s a quote I love: “The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are.” That’s what Latexistentialism is for me—a way to become who I truly am. Not the me the world expects, but the me that is.
That me is a woman who wears latex every day. Who finds joy in its feel against her skin. Who finds peace in the way it makes Hevea happy. Who finds herself in the connection to something deeper, something true.
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I know this might sound abstract or strange, Marla. But it’s my truth, and it’s brought me joy and peace I never thought I’d find.
I’ll write more soon. For now, know this isn’t about escape. It’s about presence. It’s about finding a way to be fully, completely, here.
This, above all.
To Thine Own Self Be True.
Then, as the day follows the night,
Thou cannot be false to anyone.
Hamlet