Divine Feminine and The Temple of Asherah

There’s something you should know before we start.

The leash isn’t leather.

It isn’t chain. ⛓️‍💥 

It isn’t rope. 
🪢

The leash is in your mind.

And it’s there because I put it there.

You might think you remember the moment you offered your neck.

The way you tilted your chin.

The pause before the words.

The breath you held.

But memories are fragile things, aren’t they?

They can be sharpened. They can be blurred.

They can be rearranged until you’re not sure if they happened… or if they were placed there.

That’s the first truth:

A real leash only works when you forget where it ends.

When you need it to end nowhere at all.

And as you listen to these words in your head, as your eyes move over them without stopping, I want you to notice how your awareness shifts — how you’re more conscious now of the air around your neck, of the pull in your chest, of the fact that you’re still reading. You could stop. But you won’t. Because part of you already knows you’re not meant to.

The Pull That Changes Everything

Male or female, cat or dog — every submissive thinks they know what they want from a leash.

The men want it tight. They want the bite, the unyielding pull. They want to be stepped on, drained, stripped of dignity and resources. Because to them, the taking is the proof. Each humiliation, each demand, each loss becomes a badge of ownership. And when they imagine loosening the leash, they picture me pulling it tighter instead — and they shiver.

The women — most of them — want something different. They want the leash as a lifeline. They want the constant weight that says, I’ve got you. You can fight, but I won’t let you go. They want to be unbuilt with precision, conditioned with patience, controlled until obedience is as natural as breath.

Both think they chose the leash they wear.

Both are wrong.

The Divine Current Under the Skin

This is where the Divine Masculine and Divine Feminine wind themselves into the cord.

Divine Masculine submission thrives on conquest. They want the leash to be cold iron, unbreakable, absolute. They measure devotion in how much is taken from them.
Divine Feminine submission thrives on cultivation. They want the leash to be warm leather, fitted perfectly, infused with my scent. They measure devotion in how completely they’ve been reshaped.

Mix them up and they fracture.

Get it right and they worship without needing to be told.

And if you’re wondering which one you are… you’ve already stepped closer to me to find out.

The Cat 🐈 and the Dog 🐶 — Moving the World

Dogs strain toward me until their bodies ache, and even when the leash slackens, they hover in reach, waiting for the next pull.

Cats think they’re free. They don’t feel the collar, don’t feel the cord. They think their steps are their own. But I change the air where I stand. I make it warmer. Softer. Sweeter. And they come closer without realizing they’ve moved.

The leash is invisible to a cat.

It’s wrapped around the mind, tugging only when I want it to.

And the moment you start to question which one you are — cat or dog — you’ve already given me the answer.

The Cinema of Control

In A Clockwork Orange, the boy’s eyes are held open. He fights, but the images keep coming. His body rejects them, but his mind absorbs them. Until resistance and acceptance become the same thing.

That’s the leash at its purest.

Not leather. Not chain. Not rope.

Sight. Sound. Thought.

A narrowing tunnel until the only thing left is my voice.

In Suspiria, the dancers move because they must. The building itself pushes and pulls them. The floor hums, the walls breathe, the air thickens with intent.

You think you’re moving freely.

But I am the floor. I am the walls. I am the air.

And you — you are moving because I want you to.

The Collar in the Mind

A physical leash controls your steps.

A mental leash controls your direction.

A physical leash can be removed.

A mental leash stays.

It follows you into your dreams.

It turns idle moments into longing.

It turns silence into my presence.

And right now, it is coiling tighter.

Not because I tell you it is — but because you’re noticing it more with each line you read.

And as you notice it, you feel it.

And as you feel it, you want it.

The Silence Between Pulls

Sometimes I pull. Sometimes I don’t.

Stillness is part of the training.

Because in stillness, you start to question.

In questioning, you test the length.

And in testing the length, you remember it’s there.

That’s when I pull. Not to hurt. Not to guide. Just to remind you that the leash has never left my hand.

The End That Isn’t There

Every submissive believes there’s an end.

That freedom is possible if they want it enough.

But there is no end when I hold it.

There is only the line from my hand to your mind.

Unbroken. Unyielding 

You call that control.

I call it home.

The Loop That Owns You

By now you’ve read the word leash enough that you’re feeling it without me saying it.

By now you’ve seen the word pull enough that you’re anticipating it without me doing it.

You are trained without knowing the moment it happened.

You are collared without hearing the buckle close.

And every time you reread this — and you will reread this — it will go deeper.

Because repetition is the hand that holds the leash.

And each loop is a tug.

And each tug is a reminder.

And each reminder feels more like the truth than whatever you thought before.

Closing Thought:

A freak on a leash isn’t just bound — they’re rewritten.

And when I’m the one writing, every word is a link in the chain.

You’re already wearing it.

And the only choice you have left… is how tightly you want me to pull.