It’s a common psychological observation that people who are constantly anxious to prove their masculinity—who are scared to death of being sissy, of being weak, of being unaggressive—those are the very people who have doubts about their own masculinity; who are not really sure of it.
Our human senses are not knives. They’re not hooks. They are the soft ball of the eye, the delicate drum of the ear, the soft skin on the tips of the fingers and on the body. It is through these delicate receptive things that we basically receive our knowledge of the world. And therefore it is through a kind of weakness and softness that it is possible for knowledge to come to us.
We have to come to terms with nature by wooing her rather than fighting her. Not just putting nature at the so-called distance of objectivity, as if she were an enemy to be shot, but something rather to be known by embrace, like a beloved wife. For, you see, what does one really want to know about it? Does one rather want to manage the whole thing? Does one want to be a kind of omnipotent god in control of it all? Or does one rather want to enjoy it? One cannot, after all, enjoy what you are all the time anxious about controlling. One of the nice things about one’s own body is that you don’t have to think about it all the time. If you had—when you woke up in the morning—to think about every detail of your circulation, you would never get to the day. As was well said: the mystery of life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced.