Women cannot understand men. It is impossible for them to "walk a mile in their moccasins". Think about it. Reality is fractal, meaning: patterns are evident throughout a system like the major branching of a tree can be seen in the minor branching of that species, and is evident in the vein pattern on the leaves. An ovum never sees the light of day, so to speak; it stays up in there until it is either flushed out during menses or meets a sperm and morphs into a zygote. An ovum never leaves home. A sperm on the other hand is on a journey of transformations, starting in the scrotum somewhere it goes and hangs around a "nurse cell" until it grows a tail, not unlike a seminar on tail growing or a cellular ashram. It migrates to wait for the great moment of ejaculation to be sent on its way; probably to die in some futile gesture, shot into a sink or sock, obliviated for no reason at all, just like war or the commute and a 40 hour work week.
In fact, the average male will produce roughly 525 billion sperm cells over a lifetime and shed at least one billion of them per month. Ahealthy adult
male can release between 40 million and 1.2 billionsperm cells in a single ejaculation.In contrast, women are born with an average 2 million egg
follicles, the reproductive structures that give rise to eggs. By puberty, a majority of those follicles close up and only about 450 will ever release mature eggs for fertilization.
This is the cellular model for maleness and femaleness. The "male" in a person moves, changes, is tends toward transcendence. The "female" tends to stay, select, limit itself because the overall script is more meaningful. Another way to look at it is, as Chris Rock says,"Fellas, it's all about HER!" And what men bring to it is not "just them", not just one guy. Look at the picture above, she is definitely the heavy if it is a cell-to-cell confrontation. He is a window into the larger world, maybe a bringer of the larger world. beyond that gross generalization, it gets into genetics...the "what" are they bringing to the table, and the "how" due to gender. It is the difference between the tough rooting of a dandelion plant and the thin stalk that bolts out of it, culminating in the ubiquitous puffball that ends up in the grill of a car, an eyeball, a parking lot, or finds purpose in the crack of a sidewalk.
The female is tough; the male is ephemeral, contrary to popular opinion. In The Magical Child, by Joseph Chilton Pierce, he cites the results of those monkey tests, the ones where they take away a baby monkey's mother and replace it with various things to see what he or she will do (wire mothers, wire with carpet, wire with carpet and a clock inside, wire without carpet but with a clock etc...My own mother may have been wire and carpet with a continuous loop playing "Goodnight Sweet Jesus".) Well, the short of it is, everybody goes crazy. But the women recover their normalcy after a couple of weeks, losing the ability to tend their young or make a nest. The males stay balled up in a fetal position and remain psychotic forever, or until the lab assistant puts them down, whichever comes first. (Are there any good homes who welcome psychotic monkeys?).
Yogi Bhajan, the Sikh founder of 3HO (a yoga group) said that women cannot love men, they become love. Men must love women in order for women to become love. These are just ideas, but they make sense to me, and I see some evidence for it. My wife took me to a therapist a few years ago because I was not listening. She wanted to move to Florida, and I did not; therefore I must not have been listening. Her logic was that she had great reasons for escaping God forsaken Bend Oregon with its golf courses, ski resorts and attendant shallowness in order to move to Ft. Lauderdale with its 110 foot yachts, call girls, bars and heat with its attendant shallowness...but a genuine shallowness. I would have heard the wisdom if my ears had been open, so we got 2 or 3 other professional opinions for 150 dollars plus, per hour.
It turns out I understood her viewpoint completely, but did not like it; case closed. She moved. I did not. Science is not complete until pounded in the crucible of personal melodrama.
Summary. Men: do not expect to receive the love of a woman. If you are getting something that seems like love, it is because she is weaving something like a nest or zygote. If she is a monkey with a wire mother, then don't expect much of a nest or weaving thing. Instead, realize that loving a woman is your own gesture of male "becoming", that it is only love if you do it with 0 thought of rewards in the form of good sex, zygotes, nests, or biscuits. Do it because that's is what we men are, we are LOVERS, dammit (an Alan Alda imitation). We love whatever presents itself, food, sports, neurotic women (a personal fav) and our own profile; a damn handsome profile. We can understand women if we make an effort, they can't understand us no matter how they try, intentions count for something but don't bridge the brain gap. It is logical; by nature maleness is an overview, therefore able to understand the inter-relationship of dissimilar things; femaleness is the up close an personal view, she knows how a situation works, with no clue as to what she is really dealing with. Also one can remember that every man or woman has some portion of the opposite gender in there, so it is not as absolute as I have painted it thus far.
My daughter just told me that men actually seem clueless and women understand men very well. Maybe she is right. Maybe men are like pumped up Camaros and women are more like the Detroit assembly line; men are cranked out as special edition muscle cars with a more streamlined chassis, less room in the cab to create more space for an engine, and a hairy paint job. Women are NOT the standard model with plush upholstery, and more room inside, less power under the hood...they would be the factory itself from which men emerge, engines roaring, pistons thumping, jerking like nitro burning funny cars waiting for the green light, or monster trucks at the tractor pull; slugging through mud and wasting their mangled bodies on tight turns, bursting into flames, no one trotting out of the wreckage; something to talk about.
Maybe that is what we all want to happen to men so they will always be gladiators in the Circus Maximus instead of change agents to challenge the scrawny tyrants and their fleshy thumbs that determine who comes and who goes. I'm sticking to the overview theory of masculinity until I get more evidence.
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