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Weak women and Running Men


I am a man. I have been programmed with confidence and the desire to compete. It was not until I reached the end of my time of competition (around 40 years old) that I was able to look more closely at how I was programmed.
The term “mid-life crisis” has been over used in our generation, but it is a very important time for men. It is the moment at which your delusion that you are superior to everyone else disappears. It is that moment of truth when you realize that even if you do still think you are more capable than others, you now know that your body is not. The actual crisis is not that we can no longer compete with the youth. It is a crisis of how misguided and programmed we were during our youth. For some who cannot think logically it is just a sense of loss and hopelessness. For those of us who can it is a time of embarrassment and anger. The marketing of our youth worked on us. We ran the never ending race until our legs could no longer keep up. It was only then, standing on the sideline, watching the younger men run past me with the stern faces of determination of a finish line that never comes, that began to understand the concepts of strength and weakness.
These are not terms of potential. These are terms of programming. A man’s fear of weakness drives him to do things that no rational human would do at any point in their life. A man’s belief in strength and the glory of power have been engrained in his being to where he is no longer a human, but just a warrior. I am not strong, nor weak. I am just a fool who believed in these fairytales until I was 40.
As I sat on the sidelines watching the race, I noticed I was surrounded by women. These were not women who just fell out of the race as I did. They were women who had been programmed that they were to sit and cheer at the sideline of the male race. They too believed that the men running the race were destined for some finish line that was just around the corner. These were the weak women. These were women who were programmed to think that they are “sexual beings”, “mothers”, and “nurses” and nothing more. Their acceptance of weakness made them simply tools to the running men. Occasionally a man would fall down and his weak woman would nurse him back to health. Other times a man would stop the race just long enough to mount his weak woman for sexual purposes. You could always tell how completely a woman bought into the idea of being the weak sex by how much time they spent on making themselves look like the whore they believed their men liked to look at. It is true that these women would be mounted more by the running men, but the minds of the men were always on the race. The sex was just to fill a need.
As I sat and watched the insanity go on, I noticed that every once in a while a weak woman would pop out a child. They would program them with the same concept of strength and weakness. Their daughters would take the own place on the sideline of the race and wait for a single man to choose them as their cheerleader. The boys would be pushed out into the race as early as possible. In fact the other mothers would praise the mothers who got their boys out into the race especially early in life.
There were a few women racing with the men. These were the ones who considered themselves rebels. They refused to be one of the weak women, and jumped into the race with the men to prove that they were just as strong. Indeed they did run the race of insanity just as well as the men. To think that they were revolutionaries or even rebellious though was laughable.
It was not until I turned around and walked away from the race that I was introduced to the real strength of my society. There were women, men and children all enjoying the park. They knew the race was being run but they did not want to participate. I spoke to some of them. It turns out that most of the men had been running the race when they either came upon enough money to quit and make their own life, or they simply choose to be poor and free. Here in the park were strong women who were truly equal to their spouses. There were kids being raised as humans and not animals born to race. Yes there was sex in the park, but it was different from the quick mounting of the runners onto the cheerleaders. This was mutual, caring, sensual, touch based sex. It was as different from the runner/cheerleader sex as beautiful is from ugly.
Now I am a bit older and I am among those in the park. Every time I am in the city, in an office, or passing by a row of cubicles, I realize how horrible my years of racing were. Every time I pass a woman who’s only goal in life is to please a man, I realize how horrible it must be to be programmed for weakness. The hardest part about life is the knowledge that I cannot undo the programming that these individuals have been subject to, or to even change a single life. I cannot compete against hours and hours of television influence every day. I find myself spending more time in the park with humans and less time in the cities with the runners and cheerleaders.

ItiA

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  1. Zanna
    June 7, 2010 at 1:49 pm

    Nice entry. Sounds like you’re starting to recognize real happiness, not just pleasure and the oftentimes miserable pursuit of it. 🙂

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