The dating scene is a battlefield. It is a woman’s playground. Whichever lenses you use, women control the dating market. They set the price. They set the conditions. Nevertheless, it is the man who chooses the woman to marry. Yeah, got that right. And so, for a man to choose a life partner, he must have found himself. He needs to have discovered the overman, the superman. He ought to have gone deep, nay, deeper.
Man is a perpetual creator. He is always creating. Building here and there, starting a business, siring children, creating problems, solving the problems, creating happiness, creating sadness. And when creating, he needs a woman to procreate with and who will assist in taking great care of the creation.
Woe unto him who falls in the hands of the wrong partner. His will be a thunderous fall, a mighty fall. That will be a sorrowful day. That day, the world will stop revolving. And if it revolves, it will move from south to north. A weird day it will be. For to such a man shall the offspring be full of sorrow.
The great and wise Zarathustra while offering counsel to man on matters marriage, he posits thus:
“……Do not laugh at such marriages! What child would not have cause to weep over its parents?
Worthy I deemed this man, and ripe for the sense of the earth; but when I saw his wife, the earth seemed to me a house for the senseless. Indeed, I wished that the earth might tremble in convulsions when a saint mates with a goose.
This one went out like a hero in quest of truths, and eventually he conquered a little dressed-up lie. His marriage he calls it.
That one was reserved and chose choosily. But all at once he spoiled his company forever: his marriage he calls it.
That one sought a maid with the virtues of an angel. But all at once he became the maid of a woman; and now he must turn himself into an angel.”
Adapted from Friedman Neutchez’s “Thus Spoke Zarathustra. A Book for None and All”
Indeed, it will be weeping and gnashing of teeth for the offspring should a man “choose choosily” only to conquer a lie. That day, it will not rain. The ancestors will turn in their graves. That day, the sun will wake up late and furious. The sun will go to bed early.
And to be able to choose the right woman, the man must rediscover himself. He must not settle for less. Which lion ventures into the savannah only to return home with a squirrel, or much worse, it is eaten up by the vultures and hyenas? May that day never dawn when the hunter will become the hunted. For if such a day ever breaks, the vultures will make merry of how they conquered the jungle master. The world will have turned upside down.
Of women, I speak less. But nature counseled me that a women is to respect a man. And man has the sovereign duty to love the woman. Hasn’t the Holy Book not counseled us so?
A small secret is revealed: You, the lady, must hold yourself in high regard that princes flow from far and wide to woo you and seek thine hand in marriage. Ooh, the danger of talking about the ideal! The danger of being an idealist!
Words are left, people are villagers!