So few truly understand that loving the other... is mastering the divine polarity within yourself firstly. When the masculine container and the feminine current are integrated and held in stasis inside your own architecture, loving another ceases to be a frantic bid for validation—it is simply reflected as sovereign Agape. If I love YOU, isn’t it about showing you that? Isn’t it about how I act in love of and for you? Is it not about actually being aware of you and showing it in large and small acts that are about you—seen as you truly are? How many people are in relationships where they say "I love you"—and it’s only ever said, never shown? That is the ego talking: I love you. I as in ME, the ego voice. It becomes entirely about the person doing the loving, not the other being witnessed openly in love and awe of them. It’s a very slippery mechanism, but the ego constantly exerts itself for its own comfort and validation. Look at the modern ritual of it all—the exhausting, consensus "flamingo dances" we’ve all witnessed in modern courting. People march, twist, flash wealth, and posture with curated perfection to signal fitness and secure a mate. But when you look beneath the feathers, what are wealth-signaling and the endless dating theater if not the purest expressions of egoic coveting and slippery-slope anxiety? It’s the human animal saying, “Look at my display, look at my plumage—validate me so I don’t have to feel my own isolation.” Then look at the flip side: "You’re not loving me how I want to be loved." That’s a heavy box to open—it seems to fly in the face of what was written above. But we’ve been conditioned as a society to treat relationships like a scoreboard, turning them into a slow, miserable crawl to the grave bound by the idea that you must stay with someone simply because you once said the words and the score needs to be evened out. When we look at the modern romanticized paradigm, we trace it back to 18th-century Europe—literally only ten generations ago. That is a blink of an eye in human history. Yet we have institutionalized it with literal government contracts that tell us we are legally bound to one another. Oh, how the ego loves a cage; there is a strange mix of security and dread woven all at once into those artificial tethers.

What do you we see going on here magickally? The Swan, 1915, by Hilma Af Klint