I Know What You Are
The Female sex... These are only a couple of words, but they represent so much more than one half of us. What they reveal is a purely human concept; there are no female atoms or galaxies, unfortunately. And these words do not paint the same picture across the board, a distinction quite necessary to make. To a Praying Mantis, for example the picture is quite grim -at best- where the female often consumes the male during mating. Albeit being a human-only understanding, it is impossible to conscientiously deny how special it is.
The female sex is not just one of two possible sexes. It is not a polarity like positive and negative. It is a collection of human notions. It is a culture. It is an ethos. It is a plethora of intricately interwoven ideas defined by centuries of historic and prehistoric maturity of this sex. The more one thinks of any one of the facets that comprise the female personality, the more the awe that ought to be inspired. Though these facets of her personality can be viewed in sets of the material and of the immaterial, they mesh together in eloquent unison. Beautiful and inseparable, the two sets exhibit strong links by how they express each other. Her external features never cease to advertise clues of her esoteric essence.
A notable facet of the immaterial set is perhaps her emotional intelligence. The female sex is very sensitive to the emotional ambiance. She is cognizant of body language and of that which is not spoken. She feels that which your tongue would not say yet your form clandestinely conveys. She is intellectually just as capable as the other sex but is supplemented with an innate intuition for human expression and reaction. This enables her modes to be more fluid and imaginative. Aided by her sublime acumen, linear approaches to real life dilemmas that otherwise often reach dead ends are now more expansive.
Yet another hallmark of her ethos is this undeniable gentleness to her presence, a gentleness that this world doesn't have enough of. She is subtle in her approach, temperate in her words. She is the rays from the horizon that caress your skin at the crack of dawn. She is that sunbeam that calmly imparts its warmth and light that seep into your dream world. Inevitably, though, an aura of attractive vulnerability is thus formed around her as if emanating from a halo over her head. Just as her amiable ways draw you towards her, you cannot help but feel that they also expose her to unwanted exploits. But do not be fooled, her seeming vulnerability is not the end of it. She has immense internal strength. Like her own personal water well, she has untold reserves of pure inner fortitude available for her calling in times of need. Have we all not seen it? Perhaps this combination of tenderness and resiliency is one of the secrets to her allure. It is not but her favorite habit to mold two supposedly antithetical concepts into her own congruous mix.
Indivisible from her complexion is her motherhood. Whether a mother or not, its traits are fundamental to her nature. And what a vast reservoir of endurance and strength motherhood is. As if not endowed with enough, her reserves are expanded infinitely with this persuasive bond. Like an unstoppable cosmic force, her maternal spirit does not yield until the objects of her affection are safe, sheltered, and cared for. This devotion is not just directed towards her children, there are unmistakable undercurrents of motherhood for her lovers and her family. What a great and divine power this is, indeed worthy of worship as succumbed to by many in our past.
And like her character, her body displays symbols of her motherhood before and without her bearing of children. What are her breasts if not icons for the nurture she provides to her dependents? Though overshadowed in the eyes of many by their role in her sexuality, this dual design does not diminish their grace but multiplies it. Arguably objectively beautiful to the sexually indifferent, these two springs of love stand majestically as testaments to what gifts she is capable of bestowing. They stand as a profound blend of sexual and maternal magnetism that calls hauntingly to the deepest of our instincts. They are but two voluptuously curved cradles for the human elixir of life indispensable to every human child. And there should be absolutely no shame in them; carry them in pride she ought to. Wear these monuments of passion -culminating in the most sensitive of pinnacles- in pride she ought to. Are they not reminiscent of her character? Again she combines two seemingly irreconcilable perceptions, the sexual and the maternal, into one or in this case two beautiful elements.
South of the two affluent fountains is another confounding wonder. Again the sexual and the maternal are juxtaposed into one. This time it is the gate into which life enters incomplete and comes out whole, ready for its turn. It is the door behind which an unfathomable succession of miracles take place to produce what is known as a human being. There could not be a place more sacred. And just as unfathomable is its complete workings as the center of her sexual feats, with hidden treasures baffling their seekers for ages. Individually unique, this blush rose is once more a portrayal of the her ethos: beautiful, complex and life-giving.
On top of her physical splendor, her tantalizing movements possess a certain elegance that complements the smooth arcs of her silhouette. One comprehends this instantly upon seeing her figure sway to progressions of musical innuendos, like a gliding feather in a gentle breeze. Only this feather does not settle without foretelling of visions evocative of another elaborate play that it may partake in. Not only can she adapt to the secret cues whispered to her in the acoustic monologue, but also subdue it to the whims of her vocal chords. And when she does, her voice disinclined to disobey her ethos, carries the breadth of her character along with every sound wave that make up its timbre. This is one of the domains that she excels at: the spread of charm and harmony rather than confrontation and violence. And oh how the world needs not the latter.
Abort her? Mutilate her? Abuse her? Hide her? Harass her? Veil her? Brainwash her? Marginalize her? No! She does not belongs to you. She is her own and no one else's. She's been mistreated, to put it mildly, for centuries by patriarchal societies either blind or afraid of her capacity. So much and for so long this grave offense has been taking place that she herself doubts her incredible potential. Her persona, Her culture, Her ethos deserves nothing but reverence, appreciation, and recognition. It deserves a place in the forefront of our ideologies, and maybe then can we hope for a better fate.
The female sex is not just one of two possible sexes. It is not a polarity like positive and negative. It is a collection of human notions. It is a culture. It is an ethos. It is a plethora of intricately interwoven ideas defined by centuries of historic and prehistoric maturity of this sex. The more one thinks of any one of the facets that comprise the female personality, the more the awe that ought to be inspired. Though these facets of her personality can be viewed in sets of the material and of the immaterial, they mesh together in eloquent unison. Beautiful and inseparable, the two sets exhibit strong links by how they express each other. Her external features never cease to advertise clues of her esoteric essence.
A notable facet of the immaterial set is perhaps her emotional intelligence. The female sex is very sensitive to the emotional ambiance. She is cognizant of body language and of that which is not spoken. She feels that which your tongue would not say yet your form clandestinely conveys. She is intellectually just as capable as the other sex but is supplemented with an innate intuition for human expression and reaction. This enables her modes to be more fluid and imaginative. Aided by her sublime acumen, linear approaches to real life dilemmas that otherwise often reach dead ends are now more expansive.
Yet another hallmark of her ethos is this undeniable gentleness to her presence, a gentleness that this world doesn't have enough of. She is subtle in her approach, temperate in her words. She is the rays from the horizon that caress your skin at the crack of dawn. She is that sunbeam that calmly imparts its warmth and light that seep into your dream world. Inevitably, though, an aura of attractive vulnerability is thus formed around her as if emanating from a halo over her head. Just as her amiable ways draw you towards her, you cannot help but feel that they also expose her to unwanted exploits. But do not be fooled, her seeming vulnerability is not the end of it. She has immense internal strength. Like her own personal water well, she has untold reserves of pure inner fortitude available for her calling in times of need. Have we all not seen it? Perhaps this combination of tenderness and resiliency is one of the secrets to her allure. It is not but her favorite habit to mold two supposedly antithetical concepts into her own congruous mix.
Indivisible from her complexion is her motherhood. Whether a mother or not, its traits are fundamental to her nature. And what a vast reservoir of endurance and strength motherhood is. As if not endowed with enough, her reserves are expanded infinitely with this persuasive bond. Like an unstoppable cosmic force, her maternal spirit does not yield until the objects of her affection are safe, sheltered, and cared for. This devotion is not just directed towards her children, there are unmistakable undercurrents of motherhood for her lovers and her family. What a great and divine power this is, indeed worthy of worship as succumbed to by many in our past.
And like her character, her body displays symbols of her motherhood before and without her bearing of children. What are her breasts if not icons for the nurture she provides to her dependents? Though overshadowed in the eyes of many by their role in her sexuality, this dual design does not diminish their grace but multiplies it. Arguably objectively beautiful to the sexually indifferent, these two springs of love stand majestically as testaments to what gifts she is capable of bestowing. They stand as a profound blend of sexual and maternal magnetism that calls hauntingly to the deepest of our instincts. They are but two voluptuously curved cradles for the human elixir of life indispensable to every human child. And there should be absolutely no shame in them; carry them in pride she ought to. Wear these monuments of passion -culminating in the most sensitive of pinnacles- in pride she ought to. Are they not reminiscent of her character? Again she combines two seemingly irreconcilable perceptions, the sexual and the maternal, into one or in this case two beautiful elements.
South of the two affluent fountains is another confounding wonder. Again the sexual and the maternal are juxtaposed into one. This time it is the gate into which life enters incomplete and comes out whole, ready for its turn. It is the door behind which an unfathomable succession of miracles take place to produce what is known as a human being. There could not be a place more sacred. And just as unfathomable is its complete workings as the center of her sexual feats, with hidden treasures baffling their seekers for ages. Individually unique, this blush rose is once more a portrayal of the her ethos: beautiful, complex and life-giving.
On top of her physical splendor, her tantalizing movements possess a certain elegance that complements the smooth arcs of her silhouette. One comprehends this instantly upon seeing her figure sway to progressions of musical innuendos, like a gliding feather in a gentle breeze. Only this feather does not settle without foretelling of visions evocative of another elaborate play that it may partake in. Not only can she adapt to the secret cues whispered to her in the acoustic monologue, but also subdue it to the whims of her vocal chords. And when she does, her voice disinclined to disobey her ethos, carries the breadth of her character along with every sound wave that make up its timbre. This is one of the domains that she excels at: the spread of charm and harmony rather than confrontation and violence. And oh how the world needs not the latter.
Abort her? Mutilate her? Abuse her? Hide her? Harass her? Veil her? Brainwash her? Marginalize her? No! She does not belongs to you. She is her own and no one else's. She's been mistreated, to put it mildly, for centuries by patriarchal societies either blind or afraid of her capacity. So much and for so long this grave offense has been taking place that she herself doubts her incredible potential. Her persona, Her culture, Her ethos deserves nothing but reverence, appreciation, and recognition. It deserves a place in the forefront of our ideologies, and maybe then can we hope for a better fate.
posted by MechanicalCrowds at 7:32 PM
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