I am walking through a slightly frozen forest. The frost turns the sky to blue, the air to be clean and the sunshine clear. The sun gives everything a clear lining. Though the ground is frozen, you can feel the mud and the soft earth underneath. It’s only a thin layer.
The ice on the pond is the same. Thin and treacherous, you can’t put your weight on it. It looks vulnarable and dangerous. It makes me think of the things that happened in Cologne and other places last month. The just indignation about what men do and did to women. Long before that as well, ages long, for efver it seems. Why do men do that? I sometimes think that men can’t handle the confrontation with the thin ice, the ice that can’t carry them, the ice that is treacherous and frightening. The fear they can’t bear and the reason why they have to be violent, especially to women. Anything to get away from their own vulnarability and treacherousnous. Is this only a special type of men? Or do all men have this inside of them. Am I them, are they me? Under the right circumstances, where the thin ice can’t carry me, will I also submnit to violence? It scares me.
Often sturdy but not a macho
Not a saint and sometimes a sinner; sometimes a martyr
Looking for answers, like many men
A man, alone
Where do we men find counsel and wisdom, through our own parents maybe? I think they don’t know either. We have to go further back, dig deeper. Deeper; under the same thin ice of that same pond lies our primordial father, a hairy naked man with the power and vulnarability of all men. Read “Iron John” by Robert Bly.