Which is better: the masculine or the feminine?

female exec

“If you pay close attention, you will see that the most masculine man has a feminine soul, and the most feminine woman has a masculine soul.”

Masculinity is a trait of strength.  One that leads and solves.

Femininity is a trait of strength.  One that nurtures and creates.

Judging one as better than the other is a lost cause.  Both spirits are necessary.

And a life without either is a life that is devoid of beauty.


The Male Religion

This here’s a tale for all the fellas. So ladies, you can stop reading now.

I’m going to talk about the Male religion. You may not believe in religion. I don’t…except this one. But there’s nothing spiritual about it. It’s fact. But it’s dogmatic, like religion. The dogma is:

Men love women.

All us men do…to some degree or another. Except for gay boys. And that’s fine. I should’ve told you gay boys to stop reading, too, but, anyway…I’m talking about straight guys. We’re not better, we just are who we are. And what we are is lovers of women. Very obvious, I know. But not so obvious to women…and why?Because we don’t act like it.I mean, we act like it when we talk with other guys, “Did you see her?”…Or when we stare at her as if sizing up a chunk of beef. But why don’t we show it to our women?

We’ve become insulated in, and at the same time, alienated from, our manhood.

And in the process, we’ve forgotten about her.

It’s time we realize that our manhood is something to be proud of. It’s something to be shared.  It’s always there, wanting to be expressed, needing to be expressed. Sometimes hidden behind all the other obstacles to our true nature, but it’s there.

The male drive is divinely given, from somewhere beyond our recognition and beyond our control (Just see how hundreds of years of trying to control it turned out with Catholic priests.)

The first step in understanding our relationship to women is accepting we have no control over our desires for women. No more control than anyone that gets hungry when they pass a restaurant that’s cooking up food.

Accept it. We are helpless for women. Mark Manson, in the opening of his book, The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, explains the underlying method to expressing yourself:

Stop trying.

We love women. Stop trying to love women and love them. It’s that simple. The outcome of expressing our love is unavoidable, so stop worrying about it. Stop trying to be anything but your loving self.

Don’t think about it, because it makes no logical sense. There’s her beautiful smile, flashing eyes, round breasts, smooth legs…and all of us are triggered.

But what is our reaction? We might show it in our glance…but most don’t. This does depend on culture. American culture is particularly conservative in showing sexual nature and attraction. The feelings are hidden away…they are made impersonal, directed into porn, and sexual characters and scenarios on tv, in movies, and advertisements. Why?
Because we haven’t surrendered to our nature.
It’s time for us to give up. It’s time to get simple, get back to our masculine source…that masculine edge to express how we feel. Damn the female or male who thinks we shouldn’t.
Our divine birthright, maybe not from a god, but from somewhere…it’s so primal that our denial of it is self-destructive.  And destructive to society, as our energies are directed into behaviors based on anxiety, consumption, and anger… instead of love.

There is shame in our love when there need not be. Shame in wanting to be in the presence of those lyrical voices, to engage those energetic spirits, to bend her waist and to touch her hips.

But what they deserve from us they seldom get. They need our appreciative smile, our genuine compliments, the invitation to come with us and not worry because they see a confident guy who knows what he wants.

The male religion is not one of male dominance or manipulation or dishonesty. It is one of helpless, shameless attraction to females. And expressing this is what makes us whole, it is what gives our lives meaning.

Without recognizing our place, standing across from our females, in coupled connection, we are denying ourselves our birthright. And shamefully, we are denying the females the experience of a man who loves them.

Life: His and Hers

“Health insurance is a scam,” he said. “I refuse to purchase this useless farce.”

He set down the enrollment papers and looked at her.

“What? You are not.” she rolled her eyes.

“Nope,” he said. “Don’t need it. I am strong. Like bull.”

“Bull is right” she snapped, then went on. “Now, I don’t think you need it if you’re healthy and take care of yourself-”

He came to attention, his eyes focused on hers, “YES.” He paused, contemplating her. “You know?.. you are so sexy when you make sense.”

She rolled her eyes again: “BUT… you need health insurance in case there’s an ACCIDENT.”

He grew distant. She was no longer recognizing the appreciation he was giving.  “Leave me,” he said simply.

She had a look of confusion. He explained: “Leave me there. At the accident. No hospital, none of that technology that only extends our life into dementia and incontinence. What a terrible place to be, so confused that I’m unable to wipe my drawers after I shit myself!”

She shook her head, “The technology is there to save your young, dumb life. And you can’t refuse care if you’re hurt. They’re obligated to give you care-”

“WHAT KIND OF AUTHORITARIANISM ARE WE LIVING IN TODAY?” he burst out, making her flinch and then look at him, tired and disgusted.

He saw her reaction but rambled on, “A man just can’t be left alone to die? Why are we forcing unwanted medical procedures on our citizens?!”

She sighed, “We live in a society now. So you need to leave the cave and join us in this century.”

“I’ll tell you what all this health care is, at its core…” he leaned in like he had a secret gem he was revealing. She opened her mouth to cut in, but instead of her voice out came his:

“Health care is a system of manipulation…by the owners,” he proclamation.

“You’re a weirdo,” she responded, and started checking her fingernails.

“No, it’s true,” he was adamant. “All the industrialists, you know, the BIG ones. Multinational, international, the powers that be…It’s an elite club. And they want only one thing.” He paused.

She allowed herself to be drawn in: “And what’s that?”

He answered, “To make sure they stay on top, of course.”

She shook her head and took out her phone. She raised it above her head, checking angles on a selfie. He ignored this and went on, “…even those in government. They want to make us think we need them, so they force us to have insurance.”

She had settled upon the optimum angle for her selfie, and conjured up a seductive smile. He continued,  “…across every continent. The leaders in each major sector, they are all synchronized,” and this is where he brought his hands together and interlaced his fingers to put a finer point to it:

“They’re organized into a net, no, a web, that goes across everything, from government to business…They both know it’s far better to squeeze as much capital out of the workers, basically, to keep them busy working….then health care is there to provide them the healthy worker to keep everything going. Bring them in to work, clock in, releasing ownership over their lives. You know… to the overlords. And then they clock out, obediently, because the checks they get are like a bribe, a little treat, like a mouse running in a laboratory maze.”

She finally gave him her full attention and snapped, “Are you serious now?” It was a stern reprisal, like for a dog that peed on a rug…a rug that really tied the room together.

He was brimming with righteousness at the injustices of modern society, and then his face softened, “I don’t want to live past my prime. So, as a preemptive message to you, before I get too old to make my desires clear:” he paused, and then, “I’m dying with my boots on.”

“Your boots…?” she said with genuine wonder at what he meant. She asked, “Who ARE you?”

“What, you’re not impressed by my act?” he said with raised eyebrow. “I’m an entertainer,” he stressed the word, entertainer. A giggle escaped her lips.

“See, I do this because I know you enjoy it,” he smiled and reached out to pull her close to him.

She smiled and let him. “I do like it,” she said quietly.

He brought her face close to his and very slowly kissed her, then let his lips hover just out of reach of hers, so that they felt the heat of their breath on each other’s faces.

He said softly, “Actually… I love doing it. It doesn’t matter who it is I’m with.”

She pulled back, and then leaned in to push him forcefully with both hands. Her eyes were indignant but her mouth twisted into a smile.

“You’re a dick,” she said, and got up and walked away.

“What…?” he called after her. “You’d said you wanted honesty!”

I was radically honest, and she ignored me


(35 seconds to read)

“Those jeans fit you almost perfectly,” I told her.

She looked at me and said nothing, but turned back around to wait in line for the cashier. I stood behind her awkwardly, then asked brightly, “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” she murmured without turning around.

Well, ok then, I thought to myself, I can’t do anything else. So I stood in line behind her and waited for the cashier.

It can be embarrassing putting your heart out there. But it’s not about how you’re going to be perceived or accepted or respected. It’s about being true and doing good. And those two things together are never wrong. It’s about her, too, and her feelings.  And him as well, because everyone deserves to be complimented if you think they are deserving of one.

It’s a cascade that starts with your initiation and then moves to their feelings: Just be genuine and go from there, because whatever happens is ok if you’re putting positive vibes out there.