A woman’s aura is one of the most powerful forces within a home. It carries her emotions, her thoughts, her intentions, and her spiritual vibration. Long before she speaks, her energy is already communicating. A home can feel warm, tense, alive, stagnant, peaceful, or chaotic—and often, the root of that vibration is the state of the woman’s inner world.
This is why the feminine path calls for deep emotional hygiene. Just as she cleans her physical home, she must cleanse her internal one. Breathwork releases anxiety from her chest. Journaling clears mental clutter. Movement releases stagnant energy from her hips and womb. Herbal baths dissolve emotional residue from her aura. When a woman purifies her energy, her entire home begins to shift.
Children feel it first—they relax, open up, feel safer. Partners feel it next—the tension dissolves, communication softens, connection deepens. Even visitors feel it—they enter the space and say, “It feels peaceful in here.” This is the power of a woman in alignment.
A woman does not need to raise her voice or demand control to influence her household. Her power is subtle, but it is magnetic. Her calm steadies the home. Her joy lifts it. Her sorrow dims it. Her healing transforms it. This is not pressure—it is divine authority.
When a woman honors her energy, she teaches everyone around her to honor theirs. She models emotional intelligence, spiritual awareness, and intentional living. She becomes the emotional thermostat, not the emotional sponge. She leads with softness, not with exhaustion. She heals with presence, not perfection.
A woman in her feminine power is the medicine of her household. Her aura becomes the blessing that fills every room, every conversation, and every heart that shares the space with her.
I almost let a teenage girl freeze to death on Thanksgiving Eve because of a stupid sign I hung on my own wall.
NO LOITERING. NO SLEEPING. NO PETS.
I run a 24-hour laundromat in Chicago—where winter doesn’t show mercy, and if you show too much, your business turns into a free hostel. I’ve learned the hard way that if I let one person nap on a folding table, by sunrise I’ve got a whole encampment of them.
Rules keep the doors open.
Or at least, that’s what I told myself.
Last Wednesday, the wind was doing that sideways snow thing, the kind that slaps your face even when you’re indoors. I was in the back, grumbling about mopping floors instead of being home with my wife’s turkey, when the door chimed.
A girl walked in. Seventeen, maybe. Thin as a coat hanger. Hoodie soaked. Sneakers squishing with each step.
And beside her?
A monster.
At least, that’s what I thought.
A massive gray Pitbull mix. Scarred. Shivering. Built like he could bench-press a sedan. The type of dog people avoid by crossing an entire street.
“No dogs,” I barked, tapping the No Pets sign like a judge swinging a gavel.
She winced. “Please… just ten minutes. The shelter’s full. I just need my toes to stop hurting.”
The dog—Tank—pressed his whole body against her leg, as if trying to fuse himself into her for warmth.
“Fifteen minutes,” I muttered. “He makes one sound, I’m calling the cops.”
They retreated to the coldest corner. I retreated to the security monitor, looking for any excuse to kick them out.
Then I watched her pull out a handful of coins—pennies, nickels, a dime that looked like it had survived the Great Chicago Fire. She counted them over and over until she could afford a pack of those terrible orange peanut-butter crackers.
She sat on the floor, opened the pack…
and didn’t take a single bite.
She broke a cracker and held it out to Tank.
“Eat, buddy.”
Tank sniffed it. His ribs showed. He needed food desperately. But he pushed it back toward her.
She insisted. He refused.
And in that moment, on a grainy black-and-white screen, I watched a starving dog protect the only person he loved by refusing to let her go hungry.
My throat tightened.
Then things got worse.
Mike—the drunk regular who occasionally slept behind a dryer—stumbled over, reeking of whiskey.
“Got a dollar, sweetheart?” he slurred.
Tank stood up—not snarling, not attacking. Just planting himself like a shield between the girl and the man.
A living, breathing wall.
Mike reached toward her shoulder.
Tank growled—a low, seismic warning that said, Touch her and you’ll wish you hadn’t.
The girl wrapped her arms around Tank’s neck and begged, “Don’t hurt him, please! He’s just scared!”
That was the moment my rules stopped mattering.
I grabbed the baseball bat, marched over, and pointed it—not at the dog, but at Mike.
“Out. Now.”
He left so fast he forgot his bottle.
I locked the door. Flipped the sign to CLOSED. The girl looked up at me with terrified eyes, bracing for the moment I’d kick her out into the blizzard.
But I just walked to the back, grabbed the Tupperware my wife had packed—thick turkey slices, mashed potatoes, gravy—and set it in front of them.
“The dryer in this corner overheats,” I lied. “I need someone to sit here tonight and make sure it doesn’t catch fire. Job comes with dinner.”
She stared at the food like it was a dream she was afraid to touch.
“Sir?” she whispered, voice cracking.
“Eat,” I said. “Both of you.”
Tank waited—actually waited—until she swallowed her first bite before he took one for himself.
The toughest thing in that room wasn’t my bat. It was a half-frozen Pitbull who’d rather starve than let his girl go hungry.
That night changed me.
We spend so much time judging people by what they wear, where they sleep, or what they have in their pockets. We judge dogs by the size of their jaws and the scars on their skin.
But loyalty doesn’t live in appearances.
Compassion doesn’t come with a price tag.
And sometimes the best guardian angel you’ll ever meet arrives covered in frost, with a teenager on one side and a trembling Pitbull on the other.
If I’d followed my own rules, I would’ve shut the door on both.
Instead, I learned this:
Family isn’t always blood.
Protection doesn’t always look gentle.
And the biggest hearts often beat inside the bodies we’ve been trained to fear.
So next time someone walks into your life looking rough, tired, or “dangerous”…
maybe look twice.
You might be staring at the purest form of love you’ll ever see.
A poem by Charlie Chaplin written on his 70th birthday on April 16, 1959:
When I started loving myself I understood that I’m always and at any given opportunity in the right place at the right time. And I understood that all that happens is right – from then on I could be calm. Today I know: It’s called TRUST.
When I started to love myself I understood how much it can offend somebody When I tried to force my desires on this person, even though I knew the time is not right and the person was not ready for it, and even though this person was me. Today I know: It’s called LETTING GO
When I started loving myself I could recognize that emotional pain and grief are just warnings for me to not live against my own truth. Today I know: It’s called AUTHENTICALLY BEING.
When I started loving myself I stopped longing for another life and could see that everything around me was a request to grow. Today I know: It’s called MATURITY.
When I started loving myself I stopped depriving myself of my free time and stopped sketching further magnificent projects for the future. Today I only do what’s fun and joy for me, what I love and what makes my heart laugh, in my own way and in my tempo. Today I know: it’s called HONESTY.
When I started loving myself I escaped from all what wasn’t healthy for me, from dishes, people, things, situations and from everything pulling me down and away from myself. In the beginning I called it “healthy egoism”, but today I know: it’s called SELF-LOVE.
When I started loving myself I stopped wanting to be always right thus I’ve been less wrong. Today I’ve recognized: it’s called HUMBLENESS.
When I started loving myself I refused to live further in the past and worry about my future. Now I live only at this moment where EVERYTHING takes place, like this I live every day and I call it CONSCIOUSNESS.
When I started loving myself I recognized, that my thinking can make me miserable and sick. When I requested for my heart forces, my mind got an important partner. Today I call this connection HEART WISDOM.
We do not need to fear further discussions, conflicts and problems with ourselves and others since even stars sometimes bang on each other and create new worlds. Today I know: THIS IS LIFE!
If I show you my heart Will you know what that means? If I tell you the truth Will you still hold my gaze? If I own all the parts that society shuns Will you shun me too? Would you choose to let me walk this path Without you?
Or will you laugh that wild laugh, Roar from your knees, Dance like the wind Strip like the trees Will you throw out the lies And the fear of ‘too much’ And redefine ‘sisters’ Beside me…
You call it FREEDOM, but biology calls it FAILURE (a man can’t truly love two women and here’s why):
This isn’t about morality. It’s about biology:
The Y chromosome doesn’t lie. The vasopressin gene responsible for pair bonding – is embedded in a man’s DNA. The higher the level of this hormone, the stronger the instinct to attach, protect, and invest in one woman. It’s not a choice. It’s hardwired.
True alphas are monogamous.
Swans. Wolves. Eagles. All dominant males in nature choose one mate and fiercely protect their bond. Why? Because evolution eliminates the weak. Males who spread themselves thin produce weaker offspring and vanish.
Polygamy is a myth invented by the weak.
It’s not “male nature.” It’s a cowardly way to escape intimacy, depth, and emotional growth.
Real bonding rewires the male brain – activating the prefrontal cortex, the center for strategy, long-term planning, and protection.
Monogamous men are more powerful. They have higher testosterone, more dopamine in stable relationships, and greater emotional resilience. The ones jumping from woman to woman? Burnt out hormones, fried nervous systems, and a void they can’t fill.
Real strength lies in choosing one. The best one. The most worthy. And building depth over time. Collecting mediocrity is not “alpha” – it’s the move of an emotionally stunted boy afraid to grow up.
A If you can’t build with one woman – the problem isn’t human nature. The problem is you.
Monogamy isn’t a limitation. It’s a test of strength. And if you’re truly a man – you already know that.
When a human being chooses to live in ignorance, arrogance, self-absorption, self-centeredness, selfishness, and self-indulgence… they become emotionally addicted to the identity of pride. They become addicted to the illusion of control, the illusion of superiority, and the illusion of certainty. They attach their worth to stubbornness and rebellion, refusing to soften, refusing to listen, refusing to feel the truth that lives within the heart of their soul.
When someone chooses arrogance over humility, when they choose self-absorption over self-awareness, they disconnect from the true condition of their soul. They choose unloving beliefs. They choose unloving emotions. They choose unloving behaviors. And because of that, they have zero desire to deconstruct their facade. Zero desire to deconstruct their traumas. Zero desire to deconstruct their emotional wounds. Zero desire to deconstruct their sins, their shadows, their false identities that were inherited through their family DNA.
Instead, they worship their addictions. They praise their attachments. They treasure their codependencies as if they are sacred. They idolize the very prison that keeps them suffering.
And so they become emotionally addicted to their rage, their anger, their hatred, their bitterness. They become addicted to their false assumptions. They become addicted to their false narratives. They become addicted to their false stories and false judgments. They become addicted to the identity of their own fears and terrors.
And then, because they refuse to feel, refuse to take accountability, refuse to take ownership, they project all of it onto their reality, onto the people around them, onto the world, onto the ones who actually love them.
And this is why humility is the gateway to God. This is why emotional transparency is the portal to liberation. This is why the willingness to feel is the key to freedom.
Because until a soul becomes willing to dismantle everything false within them, they will remain trapped in the illusion that is destroying them.
And for those who choose truth, who choose humility, who choose emotional honesty, who choose divine accountability, they resurrect. They rise. They rebirth. They reclaim their original soul identity in God.
We God This. Sacred Sovereignty. Divine Liberation. Rise in Truth. Rise in Love. Rise in Humility.
I hold my face in my two hands. No. I am not crying. I hold my face in my two hands to keep my loneliness warm ~ two hands protecting, two hands nourishing, two hands preventing my soul from leaving me in anger.
“When someone predicts what the future will be and you give your attention to that, you are lending your creative power to that outcome. The future is not set in stone. We are creating it right now. Especially ignore those who speak vile words of brokenness or unworthiness or weakness over your life.”
It annoys me to no end how masculines unseen, AND their feminine co-conspirators, demand that someone is no one unless their life matches some weird prophecy some random dude dreamt of in history long ago. My life is not a script. My life does not require their approval in order to BE. My life does not need to conform to their script or ideology. It seems to me they do not worship, and are not a part of, the same Living System the Mother Father Divine Most High have gifted the living, here. No. I will not shift my existence so you can “tolerate” it, actor, actress, script writers. You do not get to write my next “lifetime story” !!!!! In fact, I believe it is the Highest here now. Rewriting yours. It’s the end of your relationship with batteries. It’s the end of you trapping, and feeding upon, Gods family.
With each year I become more grounded, As my soul becomes more free, I’ve grown roots that keep me stable, I’m finally enjoying being me.
Life is now rich with simplicity, I avoid the drama that some may bring, I’m happy in my own company, My heart has learned how to sing.
In each new silver hair I rejoice, Aging is a blessing, some never know, My journey has brought me so far, And hopefully, still, some way to go.
I cherish each precious moment, The laughter shared, the silent peace, In every chapter, I now stand stoic, With wisdom my worries cease.
So here’s to the years that shape and mold, With knowledge gained and stories to tell, I embrace the path that I have walked, In this seasoned body, I’m happy to dwell ..
What people don’t realize is that some people are single in this generation because they are healed, which makes them incompatible with trauma bonds.
Unfortunately, trauma bonds are the template of our culture at this time.
Those who choose peace over trauma will have difficulty in relationships because most people that we meet are emotionally damaged in some way.
Healed people seek healthy bonds. These bonds hold space for authenticity and correction. It’s kind of like an oxymoron.
About 90% of the relationships/marriages that we see are actually trauma bonds. Those involved “need” the other person to make them feel whole because they’re both broken mentally, emotionally and/or spiritually.
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