He's not your average jerk trying to screw every woman he sees. This man is hungry for female company. He's just the kind of guy who would create a fake Match.com account, take his quarries out to a romantic getaway for two, and then disappear. There are two types of men who do this, those who are looking for a steady stream of new bodies to copulate with, and the ones who seek an understanding of themselves through a pair of feminine eyes. It's the age ole "snake-eyes" vs "doe-eyes" situation he's stuck in.
Early in life he watched the delicate fawn does being devoured by snakes so he settled for a snake, just to keep from having to guard his home and offspring, little realizing he was going to end up in the belly of the beast while believing he was living in his comfort zone.
At the time when he picked the snake for a companion there were hidden payoffs in that decision he had hoped would stay hidden forever. But Time shows no mercy, not to kings, and not to beggars. The whole world knows his deepest darkest secrets, those that he's built several layers of myths around in an effort to guard them. So now he tells blatant lies in an effort to cover the telltale signs of the far from desirable reality of his existence. If only he knew that most of the world is also sweating profusely under several layers of masks and disguises! But when is he ever going to arrive at that realization? The snake has him charmed into believing the worst about himself, while mistakenly believing the lies she tells him of her infinite superiority over him.
So what we have here now is a pathological liar with a closet full of floozy undies and a body or two, the bad boy who deserves a whipping behind the woodshed every other week.
Little does he realize he is the goose that lays the golden eggs, for all this while he's imagined himself a grander gander.
There is a strange kind of poverty in the shadow of the house on a leafy boulevard in the shining city upon a hill. The freshly painted white picket fence, the two beamers, those golden eggs he's laid are just ghostly reminders to him that he has no home, he has no vehicle, and he has no gold. He has been left emaciated in this paradoxical shadow land of death and barren bones he's been banished to. It is the paucity of all things deemed feminine.
He has gone emotionally bankrupt and lost the ownership of himself.
So he has a begging bowl before him, as he wanders through life, begging for alms in femininity, in the scraps of which he hopes to reclaim his identity.
I hope he knows there is a veld beyond wrongdoing and rightdoing where the two halves of your psyche meet and lay down in the grass, and the world is too full to talk about. This is where the yin and the yang within meet and merge and delight in one another and the world is verdant again, and you are rich once more.
As a footnote may I add that this story is truer for women than it is for men. If you can transpose the details to fit the details of a story with a female protagonist in it you'll see how this works for women who have unwittingly ended up banished to barren lands in the shadows of their own homes. I have made a commitment to call my blog "Witchipaedia" so my villain, unfortunately, is always an ugly witch.
- SDG
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