Our energy is a kind of oil.

Designed to lubricate our tickly bits responding to a spine. In polite company enabling the works of friendship, family, purpose, and love. Politeness is coached into us from small as a kind of wonderful. Urging us to be polite irrespective of how people around us behave. Thereby doing our bit for society as it stands.

Being polite nurtures our belonging in proper company.

But politeness is also a kind of sand.

Like a beautiful beach sand.

A riverine sand promising a divine flow somewhere down below.

Or a desert sand.

Clinging to our tickly bits. Enmeshing in oil reserved for a divine purpose.

Mixing a familiar texture following us around wherever we go.

Believing ourselves free.

See every one of us is born having two minds. Designed to work in tandem with our natural role of being. Consciously our eyes scan the words. Subconsciously our mind is generating emotion in the body. Reflecting the interpreted meaning of the words. Stimulating an obedient action.

The subconscious associates and automates to spare us doing it all from scatch.

A blueprint for action imprinted by what we've experienced long ago.

The subconscious makes room for emotional significance. Doping the oil of our energy with a particular crystal of sand. Sparkling. Promising. Dusty as it may be. Calibrating our antenna to the energetic stance all around us. Like sunrays on sandy skin our central nervous system is scanning our world for a familiar.

We all have a radar designed to sense harmony.

Yet resonating to crystals of sand embedded in our sacred oil. Like in... our familiar of upbringing implying that masculinity is embarrassing. Usually to blame. Even obsolete. Adding how femininity thrives on independence. Or single motherhood by choice. Narratives absorbed so carefree in childhood. Encrusting our tickly bits from recognizing and walking towards the human need for love and belonging.

Weighty under rays of societal bias. Sensitivity to sun is inevitable.

Until we learn to inspect the familiar vibrations.

Crystals of our sand.

Endearing us to a kind of wave. Vibing on a tropical beach. Kind of scratchy above an untouched flow somewhere down below. Or vulnerable in confusion. Helicoptered by desert wash under a narrative.

Patterns holding from who we truly are.

Our greatest magnet for attraction undifferentiated from the other sex.

Bored by sameness.

So we encounter the critical bit.

See, empathy is hardly a requirement to heed Nature's call. So some children find themselves born lucky enough to grow up in proper, empathic company. Discovering how politeness - dashing home - is a way to thrive.

Like a girl finding herself on sunbaked sand. All independence at first. Standing up without bothering to dust her tickly bits. Dashing to a beach umbrella to a familiar so helpful.

Guiding her way true.

Applying her natural gifts she senses her loved one's sand. Blended into a boy's sacred oil by a family who bought the societal thing. Yet loving his company she sets him at ease by showing her understanding of his encrustment. The crystals that hold a young man in boring formation.

May she become an influencer!

Encouraging the young feminine to apply her natural self for a greater cause. Healing aeons of plating in the masculine. Layered to silence under generations of stoic. Vital to process expectations of danger. A pointed challenge in the morning. Or politicized calls to arms. Introducing him to peace.

She serenades a principle all but unheard of in this age of electronic ideology.

Unheeding to societal drift. Protected by her sacred oil.

She invites vulnerable connection in the masculine with a sense of privacy that is untouchable by any outside force.

Gifted, when not from parents, then a loving aunt, uncle, grandparents, or altruist sage.

Somewhere, from someone, receiving a model of healing. Anointed with an unshakeable gratitude. Celebrating her ability to spark heavy-lift energy in the masculine.

Energy being all we really are.

When you think about it.

So like a kid on sunbaked sand, sometimes the finest hour is making a move. Doing it grand.

Vibrations calling.

Likewise a tribe. Yearning to give us belonging.

Because you dare! Owning your spade. Digging yourselves enough to emerge in finer company. Always remembering to anoint your tickly bits. Who carry you so far.

Toward the dream.

Sensing your sand. Clarifying your oil.

As a team.

Having found the magnificence of interdependence. Sharing a star received from at least one beautiful elder.

Empathizing your intuition.

Celebrating the finest trio all of energy can create.

Love.

Romance.

Erecting the building machine of dreams.

In polite company.