TLDNR

This prompt has me thinking. Men and women are interesting creatures. We enjoy a great deal of unity of thought in many areas. We both feel hunger, thirst, sleepiness, and all the myriad emotions that paint our souls. However, there is definitely a reciprocal element to our makeup. As if we were two sides to the same coin, we never quite see eye to eye, no matter how bonded to each other we are.

My thoughts have centered on two main ideas. The first has to do with the nature of heroism. In all the great stories and all the mythological tales, there is always a lone individual facing down some evil. The hero dons the crest of good and devotes himself utterly to the outworking of that purpose. This idea raises many questions in my heart. While it is incredibly seductive to want such a focused life, a life devoted to a single pursuit and free of other worldly distractions, it would seem contrary to the natural balance of life. Women balance men. Their eyes see the other half of the world and inform us on the complete picture. For just as Mr Lincoln cannot comprehend the world on the other half of the hemisphere, women look from the coin we cannot see. Is it really an act of heroism to devote oneself completely in one endeavor and sacrifice the needed balancing? By choosing the brilliant extremes over the slow wisdom of balance, do we accomplish a great good? The primary example in my head is that of the brilliant painter. They devote themself completely to their craft and produce unparalled pieces of work. But if the cost of their pursuit is to sacrifice their responsibilities towards their family, is it really worth it? Picasso's paintings have been loved for hundreds of years, but the man was unhappy and flippin cut his ear off. The celebrities we all fawn over are subject to the most extreme lives in America. Most of them end up incredibly self destructive and unhappy. However, they have only exceeded in the "heroism" that we all aspire to attain. Although extremes produce the most brilliant flashes of light, they seem to consume the soul and leave nothing left over.

My second thoughts have to do with the complimentary nature of the sexes. Sticking with the prompt, I'm going to focus in on two things in particular. First Ill speak of what I know, and then Ill pontificate on what I wish I understood.

There are two extremes in men and women that fascinate me. One: the sexual drive and desire of men and two: the emotional depths in women. In this picture I see these forces raging on inside of the two characters. The purity of soul that women seem to have fills me with a sense of wonder and admiration. It's as if the beauties of the world are somehow captured in their bodies. Because of this superior form, this noble existence, they seem above the carnal nature of men. However, the world has grown old and mean, harsh and hurtful, and they seem ill suited to such a place. There is somehow a lack of fortitude or ability to endure the harshness of this reality within women. Not to say that there are not myriad examples of all kinds of people enduring all kinds of things. My thoughts are not really directed toward the actual ability of mankind but rather towards the idealized version of humanity. If things were as they should be, these basic generalizations would ring true.

Men are different from women. There is something of a rougher survivability in our bones. We are well acquainted with the world and understand our responsibilities to its function. However there is more. In a world of Darwinist brutality, men have dominated women. When we basely sacrifice the excelling nature of form and are satisfied with function only, the world becomes an ugly place. This ugliness is the demon inside of men. The demon fighting women is their softer nature at odds with a hard world. The difference seems to be that while one is an external tormentor, the other is a fault within the character.

Women seem to be reflections of the beauties in nature. Like the brilliant stars, the faithfulness of the moon, and the supple graciousness of the earth. Men are the sons of the earth, the heroes of dust, and brutal outworkers of desire. We have had enough of the earth itself and have seen enough of this life to forsake it quickly. Its the world within women that holds all our fascinations. However, it is only by again exalting the form to a position equal to function that we will ever be happy.

So the two pursuits stand clear. Women yearn to shore up fortitude and endurance against the world. Men must learn how to elevate their desire for women from lust/function to love/form. Those that can do this are the only real heroes I could ever admire.