Class photo, age 10.
It is natural for children to love their parents, and I loved my mother even though I knew she didn't love me. I looked for love everywhere, and my everywhere happened to be the pedophile network. I was known as the girl used for the VIP's, and was once introduced to a group of foreign dignitaries, to pick out the most powerful one. It was obvious that the shortest one of the group, to whom everyone deferred, was my man. The game was that they would all flirt with me, but I would choose only one. I was the prize. The leader of this group, I found out in adulthood, was the longstanding prime minister of a large European country. I was ten years old, and I was part of a transaction that occurred between two countries - a weapons deal I believe. Once we were alone, the little man turned into a little boy who wanted to be punished.
This was the game. We were playing roles: me the powerless slave/ruler, he the powerful ruler/slave. To have a bigger-than-life self may be fun, but it isn't real. The groveling smelly bad boy was emotionally true. He was like an infant, shaped by the psychic energy of those around him, condemned to turn everyone into a substitute mother. Feeling all, he took everything personally; only complete subservience bore no insult. The world leader is like a helpless baby, in need of absolute service. If a caretaker is negligent, the baby's life is threatened, and for these dictators, whether operating in such regimes or so-called democracies, anyone who doesn't serve their needs is perceived as a threat to their existence. From this emotional space arises greed and warmongering. Lies and manipulations serve to make themselves believe they are grown up.
Without thinking a single thought, I allowed all my disgust and rage to be expressed, intuiting what would hurt him the most, what would make him shiver in fear of me a bit more. I really did despise him, and enjoyed giving free reign to my feelings. It was as though we were both living in a void, self lost, killed long ago by a slew of humiliations. Without self-esteem lies filled the emptiness: egos raw and rampant, never checked or civilized by a caring adult. Whether he re-experienced the humiliation or repelled it by humiliating others, it always haunted him, and made him a slave to power.
As soon as he had his orgasm, the game was over, and we got to the point: For me to give him that which had been denied him in his youth; he needed me to nurture him, to love him unconditionally. This was the way he was going to get the love he'd never received - in the most ignorant way possible.
My very difficult task was to overcome my disgust. It wasn't sufficient to stroke his skin, I had to be truly gentle, because in his vulnerable little boy state he most certainly would have picked up the slightest insincerity, and I most certainly could have paid with my life. So I took pity on the boy in him and found it in myself to caress him, his head on my lap. He meekly, sweetly looked me in the eye. It made me hopeful that my one wish could be fulfilled. I only needed a small sign, and thought I would recognize it in the tiniest gesture. I only wanted to find out if love existed. Energy flowed through my hands, and with each stroke the man glowed more. When he looked like a well-fed baby, he rose brusquely, and without another look hurried to an adjoining bathroom. I felt like dying. Again it looked as though power is obtained through theft of love, and love is the energy the powerless give to the powerful to obtain love, and that neither the power or the love are real.
With my life at stake for failing to give, my love was of course not real, and of course he knew it. This is why he perceived his actions as just a game, without awareness of his emotional need surrounding sexual pleasure replicating child sexual abuse, by some caretaker he must have loved very much. The emotional maturity level in every person can be easily read by their actions. Dark actions belie the veneer of respectability, the performance of maturity to look like someone capable of love. Pedophiles can do what they do with children because their emotional age is the same or younger than their victims. Their heart is a sepulcher, where their love is embalmed for their abusers.
So it is, that the smartest and most powerful men on earth are in truth scared little boys who spend their life energy building walls of lies around their fragile ego, to hide their vulnerability from others, from the public, from all of us, only to appear strong. Male privilege is a vast blanket of ignorance that lulls men into the belief they have no need to do any trauma work, and it leaves them weaker than ever. Those who are not male (or white, or able-bodied, or natural born citizens, etc.) have resilience that far outweighs privilege. If we understand trauma and its effects, we will be able to see the emotional reality of a person, and not be fooled as in the story of the emperor that hath no clothes.
We will never be able to outpower the powerful, but we can gain understanding where they are ignorant. Our expanded consciousness will reveal power to be what it truly is: the invisible mantle of an insecure and emotionally infantile emperor, who is only very clever about his ignorance.