Metal window, emf stopper--> finally had a good sleep, with an unobliterated day. In other news waiting for the world to drop post apagado

 "The feminine cannot, will not surrender

To the wounded masculine...

A man who criticizes her

Belittles

Dishonours

Controls

Manipulates

Abuses

Or attacks her

Her own inner masculine will not allow it

He will rise fiercely to the forefront

To stand guard

To do the job himself

The feminine can and will only surrender

To the divine masculine...

A man who is devoted to her

Elevates

Honours

Cherishes

Supports

And protects her

A man with boundaries

Presence

Direction

Integrity

Accountability

And humility

In this space

She will feel him penetrating her very essence...

Her body

Her mind

Her heart

Her soul

And she will feel safe...

Safe enough to surrender

This is the natural law

This is the dance of healed polarities

This is surrender...

To Love"

Written by Gemma Star

II

My next relationship? Oh, we’re having a weekly sit-down, period. Once a week, no phones, no distractions—just me and you, face-to-face, heart-to-heart. We’re gonna talk about US. How we’ve been feeling, what’s going good, what needs work, what we both need more of, and what we should stop doing. Because too many relationships fail from lack of communication, and I’m not letting that happen again.

We’re going to normalize checking in—emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and even physically. We’re going to ask each other, “How can I love you better this week?” “What did I do that made you feel unheard?” “What can we work on as a team?” Because love isn’t just about the good times—it’s about growth, understanding, accountability, and effort.

I want us to be intentional. I want us to build something that’s unshakable. And you’d be surprised what just one real conversation a week can do for a relationship. It’s not about being perfect—it’s about being present. Together. For real.

Back up part I ( poems from before)

 

09.01.24

The shield man's stop.

It is shut and folded, a moderate inflammation. Empty unguarded walls run, dried-out, dead. Here all the colours bleed; The lost hard expressions within the remnants of not said. Jilted, steady warriors, in an ashen waxy set. He is a fallen man, bearing small meagre things, old things from a drying world, odd things things that even now feel the calling of the hour. A temporaryness. Love abandoned here.

25.02.24

Prayer and morning pages again/ forever final last two weeks with manji?

Manjiism

She had fallen off too quickly, too smashed by the forced fiction; The steady, everyday, non stop,over-pressing momentum of the last 12 weeks.  Everything had become outside. Haphazard, and unsteady in the self. Moving too quickly in the agony of electronics and over arching people please. No wonder it had got lost. The artist's voice?  The  one true rhythm of the self? Those struggles of the reaches with the  false base beneath. This is  9-5 fighting.Inside the hammering present, and the drowning of right just to be. MB

get me back to this: