Iron John

The phone rings, in my Cave.
Is this a Mamoth that I must kill?

It’s my Canadian filmmaker friend.

The news is grim; he still has no Star, and believes that his budget has been cut some more.
He is lost.
Lost at sea.
Without a Star.
...

Halfway 'round the World, in Paris, in another realm altogether, Sebastien is on IM.
I tell him about Robert Bly.

There’s no-one in France like Robert Bly, Sebastien reads English so he will be saved.

I tell him that Bly has charted Masculine Mythology; something which, for the most part, has been delicately excised from a young’s man’s education in a Society suddenly obsessed with Female Orgasmic Rights. Men have few useful philosophical life-rafts, in a place where women raise them, and fathers disappear at sea.

Fathers – derided for their pleasure, infantilized for their passions.

I know that, once a child, I grew up seeing the World through the eyes and needs of my Mother – this wasn’t much help, and I had to spend much of my adult life unlearning and reprogramming what amounted to counter-intuitive coping mechanisms.

A woman’s compass is useless to a man.

In our bones, we are hunters, gatherers, warriors.

We rest on fraternity for our survival.
Loyalty is our temple.

We do not know what awaits us when we return to the Cave.
If we die fighting to feed our young, their DNA will carry our Souls into a distant future, through which Nature, the Matrix, carves out a Time Traveler, selectively – a Specimen of Perfection, chiseled through the pain of time, through the crushing of defeat. The Survival of the fittest is man’s only destiny.
A female human has successfully mated with Sebastian. Many moons ago, she captured his seed, and cocooned his young, into our DNA chain.
Her work done, she has left the Cave -- Withdrew her love -- a bee, retracting its stinger.
Sebastian has no compass. He is lost at sea. He needs his warrior soul.
Who failed to teach him War?
Who suckled him into such weakness, that the bosom of life became his only wand?
Who has lulled him into this false security?
Who has rendered our fathers tired, and weak, so they can no longer forge our Swords?
Who gains from our slumber?
Deep at the bottom of the lake, where he has sunk, Man fights for his life.
In the depths of his nightmare, Iron John gives him fire and gold, his treasure.

Men have a Story.

Men have a Star, to guide them, back to the light.