Love, mirrored.

He who lives in knowledge – and who has forgone his ivory tower of belief, and gleaned from deliberate steps in philosophy that all he sees is a reflection of his internal world – knows his lover as his closet and dearest reflection. Through her, sees himself.

Never does he get caught pointing the finger, for that finger will be pointed straight back. Through correction of self he elevates his reflection, in love.

He is a reflective soul who knows, that his world is his creation. That ‘the world’ is an illusion. That the agitation he sees is his own, that the reaction he sees is his own, that the love he desires is his own: cultivated and then purified and reflected back to him by his woman.

His woman is beautiful. Because he loves himself.
His woman is powerful. Because he is unafraid of self-correction, and her.
His woman is loyal. Because he is honorable.

Anything the Gentle Man does not wish to see in his woman he must rid of in himself. This is life’s lesson to him in accountability. The Gentle Man is an example. He lives in a world, beyond time, perfecting his technique with repeated strokes in discipline. His craft is his love. His woman is a reflection of his love for his craft. She, too, loves her craft. And through and with each other they move slowly, in a spiral pattern, towards the perfection of their craft and the mastery of other through self.

He knows he. He knows all.
She knows she. She knows all.
Love, mirrored.

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Photogaph by Alex Dram

 

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Ex-lovers.

In days of old, through self-hate and confusion, I found women of beauty, made them mine, and conscripted them into hating me, too. I did not see that I hated myself so they came to me as a mirror, to show me what I lacked internally. What a beautiful service they provided to me, by pushing the knife deep to wake me up, and sending me in the right direction towards my ultimate healing.

 

Instead I called them ex-lovers and thought of them negatively – blaming them for my hatred of myself.

 

Now, as a man of power, my reflection in feminine is before me whispering that I rob her of the full force of my godly love until I can say I love all women, as she is all women – the goddess in full.

 

So I accept her correction and return these ex-lovers from the floor to the shelf where I will once again honour them as all women and thank them for the service they lovingly provided. All as beautiful as the next, they were the loving signs along the way saying β€œgo this way, your woman awaits you.”

 

For this, I thank each of you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

 

I love all.

 

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Photography by Alex Dram

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Goddess pt. II

When, from the morass of obscurity, she makes herself known – and you will know: apple-plump with beauty, soft and radiant – greet her in masculine presence, invite her in and return to business.

If then she remains, when all is let go of, she is yours and you may take her. Take in first, her femininity, absorb it in the crucible of your presence, foster it in the crucible of your strength.

Do not be afraid to meet your end at her hand if she offers to you this most precious of gifts. Therein is a new beginning. Your meeting is a dance of energetic polarity and an alchemy of two lovers to the ultimate benefit of you both.

Love first yourself, then fill her with that love.

With loyalty in your heart, know fruitful abundance in the love of your woman. Nothing else will have your cauldron be so overflowing.

Return, at times, to solitude. Attending to the business that men must at times attend to. Let her always know you will be returning. Forever returning to the beginning with her. Knowing her anew each time. Seeing her afresh each day. See her with your eye and not your mind. For only the eye can understand the depth of the reservoir she drinks her power from. She is the goddess come to kill you.

Die gracefully.

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Photography by Shae Detar

 

Preparations (Ophelia).

You shuffle about your life, wistfully, absently filling once empty spaces with your vision – yet never deliberately, or with the toothpick of intent. As I do, you comment here and there to people who have no ears to receive you, realize the fruitlessness of this endeavor and return to silence. Subtlety with regards to the delivery of truth is not a fineness either of us can attest to.

From afar I can feel you, too… Going about your business as I go about mine, gloriously ignorant to the crossing of roads ahead. I know not what form you’ll take or what gifts you’ll bring, only that I am for you and that there is work to do in preparation.

A daughter. Ophelia. Bright. A spark. More powerful than is good for her in her formative years, although we will be well equipped to make the appropriate preparations for a child of such energy.

Yet upon close observation the future escapes through cracks between the fingers of the present, returning my attention to the hand I’m given. So I file these thoughts away to a cabinet at the back of my mind marked “return to” with my other uncashed cheques and await that prosperous seed to take fruit in your appearing before me complete with curls and chocolate-dark irises.

… I hope you drive fear into the hearts of men greater than I. I hope you come ready to humiliate me with your feminine glory. You will find me unafraid for under the bright light of philosophy I have corrected my fear.

Back to my silence. Back to watching it turn.

I surrender myself to timing.

 

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Artwork by Shae Detar

 

 

The Eye of The Beholder.

What you give your attention to, expands. Drama, love, peace – make a choice. You are the creator.

Similarly, if you hold your eye on the beauty of a woman, you will be witness to her ever expanding beauty.

It is your responsibility to make your world beautiful by holding your eye on only beauty, not the world, or your woman’s, responsibility to be beautiful for you. Correct yourself lest you see only an enemy and be ruled by the ubiquitous despot – the ego.

In each woman; mother, daughter, child; there is the seed of the goddess. She may plant this seed in fertile soil, step into vulnerability (her power) and tend to this garden herself and channel the divine goddess deliberately. Or, you (the God) may foster it in her through channeling your own divine masculine energy.

Therefore, if you see only girls, or are unimpressed by the women in your life, it is you that is the problem, not the women. You are bringing to these people only a little boy, keen to be looked after and tended to like your mother did for you. You are looking for a woman to take care of you to avoid stepping into your own power, and therefore reflected back at you you see only women who are yet to step into theirs.

A man watches intently the woman in all female forms,Β  knowing all he must do is listen, watch her spin around, admire the beauty and that this is all that is required for the seed of divine femininity to sprout into a mighty oak under which you might find shade. Allow her to cool you, be her sun.

This is your path, gentlemen.

Now walk.

 

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Illustration by Robert Fawcett (1903-1967)

(Featured photograph by Vanina Kalovsky)

Sharpening.

Silently, I sit…. Admiring her softness.

I have a stone upon which I sharpen my sword – a woman – whom through serving I build my tolerance for sacrifice and thereby step further into my strength. Service to her and to all women is my daily practice. And I have become fond of repeating the basics until perfect.

I was served by a woman as a child, and I now serve this woman and all women as a man. So turns the cycle of birth, death, and birth.

Woman, I now need nothing from you. Not your romance. Not your sex. I have everything I need internally. And all that is mine, externally, is coming to me. All you must do is be what you are and you will be loved deeply, and unconditionally. You will be listened to, and seen. You will be cherished for all that you are.

So do not clean after me. Do not cook for me. Do not exert yourself for I am not a kept man.

Accept me, consume me, and I will be a God for you that we might perpetuate this eternal dance of energetic polarity into each night and spill it over into each morning.

And when you wake I will be here. Unmoved. Unmovable. The warrior.

Your man.

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Photograph by Andrea Tomas Prato

 

Daisies and Chain Mail.

Come to me dressed up in daisies and chain mail. I will unsuit you.

Walk away from me in irreverence – the door will be held for your exit.

Amused for your presence, and grateful for your absence. Come or go. The enemy in neither.

My greatest strength is knowledge of my greatest weakness which is ignorance. Of you. Of me. Of energy. My next greatest strength is resolve. I unravel you slowly. And as I unravel you I unravel me, your divine reflection, and energy twists us toward perfection.

This is a class act. And like a boxing bag, rounded into shape by the repetitive thud of the hungry, I learn the hard way and am fashioned into shape by mistake after mistake. Yet I endeavor to trip over everything just once. For thereafter lays the realm of the fool.

I work at my art. Beat away at my craft. Perfection is nearing.

So come for me, dressed in whatever you like. And be ready to be undressed. Of everything you’ve been told you must be for me.

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Artwork by Andrea Tomas

Walk from me, with as much or as little love in your heart as you can summon. Love finds its home within my eye. And you may find love, and the long road home, by my side. Home bound, nonetheless. Walk with me.