Warrior, King, Magician, Green Man, I'm not into all that mythopoetic stuff, but I understand icons and principals. How we distill the essence of what is expected of us by our evolved roles into one for you because you're a woman and one for me because I'm a man, how this damages us when we hold the principals too far apart, or enervates us when we become overzealous in our efforts to make no unnecessary differences, and so make no differences at all. There are differences. We know it. Scientists know it.
Parents know it.
Even the feminists at Ms. have admitted they know it. Our man is dying. While everyone argues either over his impoverished spiritual estate, or the angel placed high upon her pedestal, he collapses to the ground. Out of the dark blue of night, the angel appears in a tearful rage to drive the squabblers away and call attention to his still form. Contrite, they take him to the hospital where the doctors predict his imminent demise.