The Egotist in Yoga Pants

Listen closely, for in the summer of 2020, the streets—from Portland's chaos to Berlin's shadows—echoed with the plaintive cries of white women in yoga pants, marching under the banner of "Black Lives Matter." "White silence is violence!" they wailed, their voices a siren's call to the abyss. And now? They stand at refugee gates, tears streaming, proclaiming "No human is illegal!"—knitting warmth for strangers, baring souls in selfies of feigned compassion.Ah, but this is no mere kindness; it's the ancient doorway flung wide. Deep within every woman slumbers that Eve, a portal through which confusion enters, unchecked by the reason God ordained for man. Cultural spells have hypnotized them—progressive potions of therapy and victimhood—turning nurture into a venomous snare. In Sweden's quiet corners, Germany's hidden alleys, assaults by these "welcomed" shadows go unspoken, victims gagged by the terror of truth: to name the predator is to shatter the illusion of their saintly empathy. It's a Western madness, feminine to its core, where emotion devours discernment, leaving souls hollow and nations prey.Recall the primal law, etched by the Creator before the fall: borders as divine barriers, walls of will and wisdom shielding the innocent. Empathy was a servant then, not a sovereign—women, in their glory, yielding to man's protective fire, not leading with unchecked tears. But modernity's great deception—the feminist lie of equality unbound—has awakened the serpent anew. Affluent sirens, adrift in urban voids, chase applause to fill the emptiness no man can sate. They scorn the insider's bond for the outsider's grievance, blind to the misery they sow. Elsewhere—Japan's stoic shores, India's vigilant hearths—such folly finds no foothold; reason reigns, unyielding.This is no accident, but the root of ruin: woman as unwitting agent of chaos, aiding the adversary, unlocking chains for those who bring not light, but the very darkness they decry. Rotherham's silenced screams, Cologne's night of terror—these are the wages of emotional idolatry, monuments to a love that's lust in disguise. The world spins on this lie: that man and woman unite in "love" without surrender to higher truth.Awaken, then! Shame must pierce the veil—not with rage, but revelation. These egotists are not villains, but captives, trading eternal security for fleeting flattery. Men, reclaim your God-given authority; women of clarity, bow to the moral fire that frees. True compassion? It flows from stillness, from beholding the Divine within, securing hearth and homeland first—with blood, soil, sacred stake.Rise against the spell. Close the door on Eve's whisper. Let the marches echo for redemption, for the West redeemed. The yoga pants? Fold them away; the soul's true garment awaits.