Sarcasm is a Red flag

Complaining is about Me, me, me

It’s not about caring
For anyone
Other than myself.

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luscious, effusive, sensual, sexual

Seduction is a dance, an ancient dance, a timeless dance, a dancing in the moment. That’s what it is.

Men and women dancing together as they always have, entangled for all time in joy and heartbreak and ecstasy and hope.

It is a dance of clarity, of honest communication and the intricacies of sub–communication.

It transcends age, race, everything.
It is intuition as an art form.
It is ease and delight.
It is curiosity.
It is gratitude.
It is a welcomed hint of danger.
It is unrepentant, direct, overt, audacious.
It is subtle and elegant.
It is joyous, charged, electric, rushing, magnetic, subdued, restrained, intimate, respectful.
It is the love of man for woman, the love of woman for man, the love of ourselves, and a love of life.
It is the culmination of all things good: the masculine, feminine, the divine, everything coalesced, abundant, and in perfect form.

Yes, seduction is a dance, a luscious, effusive, sensual, sexual, never ceasing, sacred dance.

Excerpt from: The Alabaster Girl

Self-expression self-censored

fear

“Those jeans are fantastic on you,” I said.

She looked at me and said without smiling, “Not appropriate.”
I gave an easy smile, “It’s just a compliment.”
She remained standing there, looking at me. We stood there mirroring each other.

Why didn’t she walk away? There was plenty of room in the rest of the bar. I wondered what she was thinking. Did she trust me? Did she know that I was being genuine? Did she know if she returned my love, that I would not abuse her?

There’s an important part of life, maybe the fundamental part of it which I regularly remind myself:

You gotta show up.

Whatever you believe, you must apply it, live it. Someone says something that resonates with me?

“I like that,” the words come out of my mouth before I know what happened.

I see an exquisite female, carrying herself with spirit and confidence. “You’re fantastic,” I say it almost unconsciously, caught up in something beyond me, and it manifests itself into the world.
Expressing yourself is important, and also applies when someone has made you feel badly, in personal life, or at work, when you’ve been discounted without proper regard.

The uncomfortable conversations must be had, just as the ones that show your love. How else do you improve? How else do you allow others to improve when they don’t know they’ve done wrong?

A life without these communications is a life of fear, anxiety, and anger. At the worst. At the best?
It’s a life without getting better.
It’s a life without love.

Science doesn’t have feelings

correlation2

Differences between groups of different races or groups of different genders aren’t necessarily caused by race or gender.

That assumption is just that…an assumption.  Whether those differences are about pay rate, or violent crime, or family structure.

Let’s get comprehensive and look beyond these superficial variables.

We live in a multivariate world, and race or gender is only one component.

Science doesn’t stop studying at one variable.
Stop living based on identity.  And start living in science.

 

Facts don’t have feelings

You can’t argue facts with someone who is going off their feelings.
Whatever your desired outcome, whatever reality you envision, depends on your plan. And your plan depends on reasons.
Not because, “I think it will do good.”

But “How does my plan help? What does my plan cost? How does it hurt?”

We’re escorts, she said.

I smiled at them, “I was over there and I saw you over here…and I thought to come over and say hi.”

They were two attractive women sitting together at the end of the bar. One a shorter, one taller.
They said hi.
“So what are you doing here?” I asked.
“We’re waiting on our clients.” the blonde said.
“Clients?”
“We’re escorts,” she said.
I was intrigued. But not interested.
I have little attraction to people whose intent is not genuinely on me

but on my stuff.

I care what other people are feeling, what they think, and I especially love human connection. If there’s something building between us, I want the other’s intent to be on me. Not on my money. Or what I own. Or what I’m wearing. Those values are an immediate turnoff for me.
Intent is really important.

For instance, I looked down at the end of the bar, and there was a guy drinking. And honestly I don’t know whether it was his intent or not, but he looked like he was drinking himself to liberation.

He looked like many, who use alcohol to self-medicate from a disatisfaction with reality. Not the intent of alcohol, which is entertainment. Hopefully, he didn’t hurt anyone that night…a spouse, a friend, or a stranger… becauseof this abuse.

Females are abused on the regular by guys who get drunk. My ex was one of those victims, abused by her boyfriend. Not common, but more common than we’d like. So shouldn’t we protect them?

We do have laws to address the consequences of such actions. There’s a price for assault. And laws to try to prevent alcohol purchases before a certain mature age.

But perhaps the restrictions needed to be stronger. To protect him from himself, and others. A big sin tax? …or limiting supply of alcohol? …or making it illegal, like other drugs?

But we should be careful. Because when we make laws assuming the intent of individuals, we hurt the others who have no such intentions, because how do wed determine what someone intends to do?

Making laws restricting individuals from purchasing or using certain things must be done very carefully.

Because when we try to protect people, we can easily restrict the freedom of humanity.

I like things to come naturally, she said.

control of future

There was something about her. We were connecting. She smiled, I smiled. It was there, and it sparked.

We enjoyed each other’s company, but we weren’t together. There was a barrier and it was slippery and intangible and it separated our souls.

She shared things, but not herself. She withdrew herself from intimacy. There was penetration and kisses and orgasms. But they felt like acts, things we did to each other, eliciting chemical reactions…while a huge emptiness sat beneath it.

Even when she was looking into my eyes, she wasn’t with me. She was off a short distance away, observing.

Or simply buried too deep in her head. Walled off, vulnerabilities hidden. But I’d seen them on occasion, when she’d lash out at something trivial I did, transferring whatever internal problem onto her environment.

I had showed up with my vulnerabilities, caring too much, getting too close, so maybe she chained her own demons away for my own protection, because she knew how powerful they were.

My initial frustrations faded, replaced by sympathy, and now pity. Because how can there be empathy when I can’t relate to that fear, of someone too anxious to let go, and let the future be?

Things don’t come naturally without our allowing it.

Do you smell the rot?

Less envy

How much of what I do is dependent on what others are doing?

How much of my day is in reaction?

Too much reaction and I’ve given up my self-determination to my environment. I’ve become a dead leaf floating on the river, a plastic bag swirling in the wind.
But we’re not objects. We’re human. We’re independent agents, with wants, and ambitions, and love.

Immigrants aren’t taking your jobs. The idea that they are YOUR jobs is a funny thing to think, anyway.  And kind of entitled.

And white people, or the corporation, isn’t making you a slave. They’re not taking away your abilities. You are.

There are obstacles out there, and there are paths and open pastures. When all you see are problems, you’ll end up stuck behind every obstacle, cursing the world for its cruelty.
But the world doesn’t care.
Who does care?
The people to whom you provide value.
Because our country has become a meritocracy. Of course, it helps to be rich to get to where you want, but at the end of the day,
If you provide value, you get promoted.
If in doubt, please reference all the immigrants who c0me to this country poor, and now make up the highest earning demographic in the US. And, incredibly, they include brown people. (Which reminds me: I have a great curry recipe to share in another post.)
Bottom line:
You have a huge chance in life, being alive today, in the most empowering time for the individual. The gatekeepers are gone. Corporations still control the government, yes, but you still control you.
If I choose to see only the rotting fruit on the tree of life, instead of the bounty of the whole tree, then I’m never going to truly live.

Why did you come out with me? I asked.

eyes

As soon as I saw her walk into the place, I was aroused. Embedded in my mind: Tall, with angled cheek bones, her eyes drew you in. There was energy smoldering there.

I came to find out later, she consumed your energy, like a black hole, sucking you in, a high gravity pool at infinite depth. I found this out later, but now, as I sat with her on my sofa, I was curious.

‘What made you come out with me?’ I asked.

‘It was easy to talk to you,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t weird. I remember my friends looking over at me, like what’s up? Why are you still over there talking to him? We were just flowing.’

‘You knew I liked you, right?’ I said.

‘I figured,’ she smiled.

‘How?’ I asked.

‘Because you complimented me,’ she said.

I smiled. ‘Yes.’

‘But guys can be creepy,’ she said. ‘Creeps hit on me.’ She made a disgusted face and shook her head.

I was surprised. Not at her getting compliments, but that guys were unable to pay a compliment without being creepy. Maybe those guys were just creeps. Or unable to express themselves properly.

Anyway, we enjoyed our time together. She drew me in, with those eyes, and heart, and carelessness. She lived without thought to her well-being, which triggered my “fix-it” sensibility. But the abuses from childhood were too much, and suddenly it was over. We were over, and I wondered how I had ended up on such a trip with her. Where had my mind gone?

But I learned from her, as I do from all the women who enter my world. I listen at the knee of females. I gather their feelings, amd experiences, and ideas… little pieces to fit together. Pieces of the puzzle that I will never complete. The puzzle of the female spirit.

What’s my purpose?

A person who doesn’t know what the universe is, doesn’t know where they are.

A person who doesn’t know their purpose in life doesn’t know who they are or what the universe is.

A person who doesn’t know any one of these things doesn’t know why they are here.

So what to make of people who seek or avoid the praise of those who have no knowledge of where or who they are?

What’s your purpose?

What are you here for?

Photo and quote: Marcus Aurelius