If a woman hides her soul, she gives a man no chance. I have seen worlds die. Always in the same way. If a woman hides her soul, she gives a man no chance to love her. She stops being an object of love and becomes an object of desire. A female.
If a woman does not feel her soul, she cannot understand: where to, with whom, and why. And then she inevitably becomes a fetish trader, a slave to social advertising offering standards of female fetish. A successful trade is a good catch.
Even the wildest and darkest men need someone to pray to, although they do not understand it. They want to see the divine in women, then the divine awakens in men. Love makes a man meek, alive, and real. If a man has no one to love, what should he do in this world?!
Why should he live in a world where there is no love? It is very cold to live in it. He wants fire. There is no fire in sex. Fire is not the alchemy of bodies. It is the alchemy of souls. A man himself cannot understand why he does not light up. He is then also not in harmony with his soul.
Women have something to do without fire—the continuation of life. To cope with this task, it is not necessary to feel the soul. Nature does everything itself. It attracts someone and repels someone. And then the man feels that he has done everything, given his seed, but the woman still wants something. She perceives the extinguished man as an ungrateful creature.
After all, to be near him, she hid and betrayed the most valuable thing in her, her soul. She shoved it somewhere far away. Instinctively set up fetish traps. She feels that the man owes her a lot for this sacrifice and that he is an “ungrateful bastard.” And he does not know what is wrong here. In his eyes, there is one silent question: “Who is your soul with?” And she, too, does not know what is wrong here. They do not teach you to hear your soul in college.
There is an expression—a woman is the keeper of the hearth. Keeping the hearth is not like cooking soup or going to shape. Keeping the heart is showing your soul and knowing who it is with. And if a woman’s soul has left this man, accept that the fire has gone out. Otherwise, he will feel like an ungrateful idiot who is guilty without guilt. After all, he knows that something is wrong.
After all, it is men who say, “My soul!” And if the soul is no longer his, what should he do next to this woman? Save her from her childhood fears, preserve her fetish, and provide intimate services? From all my life experience, men never leave. It is always the woman who leaves. More precisely, her soul. You can argue with this; you can agree. Arguing with the soul is the same as arguing with God. After all, it is his fire.
If there is little fire in the world. There is a lot of melancholy in men. They have no one to serve, no one to pray to. What should they do here? Love God in heaven, love each other, love statues, like Pygmalion? Or love no one, accept the role of a male primate, and play monkey games? Or is it even easier to become a dog and run after bitches? Or maybe come up with another game for animals or soulless dolls?
Why is this article more addressed to women? Women own the secret, men the obvious. Women own the hidden, men the manifest. Men rule this world openly, and women rule secretly. The article is an appeal to the secret government.
When there is very little fire, men have a very strong desire to destroy such a world. To burn it, to blow it up, to destroy it. To self-liquidate. This is how worlds perish.
Do men have a chance to act differently in a world where women hide their souls? Of course, they do. Otherwise, worlds would burn like sparklers.
The soul of this planet is always open to the love of a man. Always open.
Here is a translation by Alexander Kuvshinov from Castaneda. “Genaro’s love is this world,” said Don Juan. “He has just embraced this enormous earth, but since he is so small, all he can do is float in it. But the earth knows that he loves it and takes care of him. That is why Genaro’s life is filled to the brim and his feelings, wherever he is, will be saturated.
Genaro wanders the paths of his love, and wherever he is, he feels whole… Only if you love this land with an unbending passion can you free yourself from sadness. The warrior is always cheerful because his love is unchanging and the object of his love, the earth, embraces him and showers him with unimaginable gifts. Sadness belongs only to those who hate the very thing that shelters all its beings.”
How do I comprehend the essence of the feminine game? Maybe the women of this world are right. Maybe they tell men: “Don’t chase my fetish. Don’t hunt my soul. Love this land first. Light your fire from its candle. And then you will get everything.” Who will understand them, these mysterious women… If a woman hides her soul, she gives a man no chance.
