Man is outward. Woman, inward. Man’s ambition is to extend himself and by doing so, prove that he is in fact a man. Woman need not prove anything, but rather desires that she might feel, herself, a woman. Men revere force and resilience and lastingness. Women, depth and permanence of a different kind — where men erect monuments, women would rather a field where upon life is the monument. Where a man’s complexities are rather exposed, a woman’s are buried and seldom encountered with full disclosure — and both would be glad to keep it that way.

Where man is a tower, woman is a canyon, the limits of each identical to each other, save the distance of polarity. Where there is fit, there must too be contrast and opposition, thought not necessarily strife — there must be difference where there is found complement.

For what thrill is a plain when it is on heights and in depths the human finds their vigor?

When the two at last concede — to share the horizon — there is no seam to be found. They continue on toward their limits, and it is by a mystery done together. By this same mystery the fit will not, by the end, have been lost. Both will have fused into one continuity of form, where, as the man extends the woman deepens, and where the woman deepens, she allows the man to extend again.

It is in each other they see the distance, complement, and furtherance that only gender can effect.

Should we be passive and see the hills and valleys washed away for tundra? I treasure the uneven terrain; humanity finds its colour in the slopes.