To avoid confusion, it bears stating that this is not an autobiographical point of view.
At times I, like many other men, have found myself simultaneously drawn to and alienated by women. At times I thought it was like the pull of a black hole, irresistible even though you knew it promised certain destruction. This doesn’t mean that I feel this way about all women or even towards specific women all the time, but there are those moments, you know, those times when you meet someone who’s just trouble and you know it but you still can’t seem to help being drawn like a moth to a flame.
Sometimes the allure of a particular woman can be so mesmerizing, hypnotic somehow, that your mind almost shuts off as you answer the call of her siren song. It’s not even necessarily about sexuality or physical attractiveness – though these have draws all their own – for I’ve felt the pull of a deep fascination come from a pervasive confidence in herself, from a unique perspective and mindset, from an innocence that comes without naïveté, from a wildness and freedom in living life, from childlike delight freely expressed at pleasant surprises, a fiery and intense approach and regard, a languor and dreamlike way of speaking and being, and a myriad of ways of moving—with strong decisive & almost aggressive motions, with grace and poise that makes her seem to almost float as she moves & walks, with lyrical fluidity that almost has you looking for a choreographer, and others.
When such magnetic fascination combines with a wonderful woman, life is good and women are wonderful. But when allure is exuded by a darkened star, bent on consuming all life and light and hope… well, this is when you find yourself in death-while-living, locked in and captive, miserable and wishing you could escape. The siren, as cold and soul-less as the deep ocean that is her home, clutches you in her grasp and drags you under to the crushing darkness and icy depths that may well prove to be the grave of your heart.
I’ve known women who fit this description so well that it seemed almost supernatural, and I’m still not sure how I escaped their grasp. But I’ve also known women who were like radiant and floating creatures sent by some forgotten & unknowable magic, though they have always seemed to slip away like the dream from whence they came.
Most women are somewhere in between (all too many seem to think the soul devouring siren is a good role model) and are far more mundane in nature. I have only known one woman who partook of both extremes – goddess of both death and light – and to have even done so at the same time, upon occasion. I always found it a subtle irony that her name was Janice, for if ever there were a female counterpart of the Roman god with two faces, it would have been she.
