Women are strange creatures.
There are times when they rejoice in pain, and others when even the most beautiful advances are unwelcome.
They flow with the tide of their own emotions, like liquid phases of the moon.
Their diurnal rhythm takes them through an incredible spectrum of emotions, feelings & moods. I wish I could experience but a sliver of that spectrum of whimsy. But as I am only a man I cannot flow in spontaneity like the feminine.
I can only hold my centre, still as an anchor stone, to which the feminine may come home to rest.
I cannot hold her restricted, nor can she sway me from my place. Immovable object meeting unstoppable force, a whirlwind of ecstacy rears up, until at last our furies die down. Weak. Spent. Vulnerable. Entwined.
This polarity of feminine & masculine is what creates this spark, the friction of incompatibility. Without it there would be nothing. Only boredom.
Like unfamiliar wild animals circling each other, sniffing, feeling each other out, probing, we circle each other, curious about what makes the other so different from ourselves.