.
.
Yes.
I was thinking about the dream last night. Most would suspect that there was some sort of problem in a marriage where a woman sought the death of her man, actively. Perhaps I have had... a different reaction from women or been with a unique subset of women. Perhaps I do something to women that... Just that I have never had a lover with whom I had any doubt but that she has had murderous intent despite being true to me, and in love or at least deeply in passion with me. I have even reviewed some of the... very short term loves. In the few handful of those last that I can actively bring to mind I noticed signs of such hatred in each.
My guess is women, without thought, see love as their battle field. Love is a many splendored thing, but with the beauty of it is the ugly. What is said about a woman scorned? Hell hath no fury like it. So what of a woman scorned by her own loss in her version of war? When she loses it all, her fury must be like nothing she has ever known. When she is naked and alone in the arms of the master of her heart, a slave to what men would consider unconscionable, hatred must be a part of the thing. Yes, women want to be owned but there are depths of such that must be overwhelming. Love is as much about control as it is about anything else. Sex is merely the coin of the realm, or the tongue of it.
No, my marriage was... as I would have it, in the dream. Some think I am a dolt because I do not respond to obvious or even subtle hints, threats, disrespect. What most don't realize is I am quite aware. Further, I see most such as... unremarkable in any way. Often those things are even minor, no matter how big they might loom in the mind or heart of the participant. Can I bleed like you? Oh child, you don't have the blood in you to bleed like me, nor the life that would allow you to endure any of my minor wounds. Let's... not compare scars, shall we. Said the dragon as he laid his head to rest, too sleepy to bother with the womanling presenting itself for comparison (consumption). Go on home now, I'm tired. Though... your sister would do well to entreat me. I should... like to parlay with her, if you will.
And yet, in my heart, I know no matter how bloody my wounds, how deep the blade bit, how hard I fell, I will never know the depths of a woman's despair. A thing seemingly greatest when she has fallen in love, and for the fact of being in love. I have always known when it was a real love by the depth of her hate.
Good day.
The alpha's general stance toward women is disregard. It is that (in combination with the remainder alpha traits, of course) which ignites both their passion and their hatred.
ReplyDeleteThe deeper down the rabbit hole I go, the more bizarre the truth becomes. And yet it becomes more internally coherent. It is why one of the best reactions to the shit test is utter disregard for it.
To alpha it is a sign of your success when she hates you. To gamma it is a sign of terrifying failure when she hates him. His attempts to rectify lead her to despise him. To the man walking the LTR road, it is a balance on the knife edge between her hatred and her spite. Somewhere in between is her passion and devotion.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteSome days I get a sense of things, but all logic and civility that has been shoved at me makes me wonder if I am some sort of monster. I cannot change how I perceive, what I see, feel. I honestly simply don't study this alpha thing, if I have come to know that... some things resonate. My illness probably keeps me out of the chicken coop, mostly. Well, and I have sought wisdom, which might take some of the natural edge off, if it replaces it with the edge rock hardness of a emotional vorpal weapon. If you are sure and right, it is more terrible than just being sure or even right. There is no room to dodge, no give or sympathy. But there has been grace, upon utter yield, what of it I have to offer.
ReplyDeleteBut a woman yields only for moments. NEVER think she is ever truly yours, or for forever. She isn't her own to give, in any case. Her own will is a free, sometimes very dark, spirit. Aye, but that is an animal part of the beauty inherent in the she-beast. Snagglepusses...
Absolutely a joy to hunt. Keeping her head on the mantle and her pelt ready to warm the feet is a whole other thing. I simply haven't been quite that brave to date. See, whether you know it or not, you have gone where few alpha dare tread (if you did it as Hansel into the sugar house :p ).