Tuesday, March 24, 2026
The ways of love place no restrictions and contain no forcing. They allow others to have what they desire and allow you what you desire.
Love bars nothing, restricts nothing, and puts no boundaries, yet binds. I don’t know how that works. The ways of love teach you that nothing is really yours. Nothing is yours to take credit for. Nothing is yours to cast blame upon, and there is nothing to cast shame upon. The ways of love are incredibly forgiving, cushioned, and always put softness ahead of force, providing a space for the impact of what can seem like an affront—the dominant male figure.
The ways of love absorb the ephemeral nature of conflict. As the blade of the inflammatory arises, the effeminate envelops, surrounds, warmly embraces, and dissolves the alpha complex that is mistaken for power. The ways of love cast warmth upon the blunt, reopening the hardheaded nature of the closed-minded. Possessiveness and force are revealed, and the only way is yielding to love’s ways and means. The effeminate is hidden by the blunt and acute ignorance of the masculine, but not for long.
The two are bound. They are wedded. They are welded inextricably by an invisible space so infinite, so bright, so hot, so strong—few see or know of that soldering joint.
To rejoice is to rejoin, or to see the joist that connects what seems conflicted. The ways of love draw you to the wedding feast, bride and groom linked. No force can pull these bonds, so strong that death hasn’t a prayer.
A one-sided view is a temporary misunderstanding; softness waiting to envelop; rejoicing waiting to be sung; freedom waiting to be discovered in an invisible soldering joint, unbreakable.
The ways of love are bound—together—and you are bound to the ways of love.