Something in the air has just in the last few days changed. It has at least changed in the air of me – in my spirit. And if it has changed in me, then it must have changed in the hearts of many millions of men like me.
I am the most pacific, equable person I know. I have reason to understand myself as competent at combat – as fairly lethal, should I need to be. But I abhor fighting. I have studied fighting, and have trained in martial arts. But I never think about it. Fighting – as distinct from the martial arts – is just not an item of my psychic furniture.
A few days ago I read about Sarah Jeong, the Social Justice Warrior recently hired to the editorial board of the New York Times. I read some of her tweets, in which she expresses her intense hatred for men like me, and wishes that I and my ilk could all be deleted. And I read that the Times was defending her, and doubling down on their decision to hire her. While I was appalled, I was not surprised. In fact, I was grimly pleased at these turns of the earthward gyre of the mainstream media. “The mask slips,” I thought: “the more, the better – and the sooner and more vigorous the comeuppance.”
Then I moved on to think of other things – the grandchildren, the sandwich, work, the mouse the cat dragged in (this has been happening a lot lately). I thought nothing more about it.
Or so I thought.
The next morning, I awoke from an intensely vivid dream in which, suffused with cold calm wrath, I deliberately, carefully took aim at a Social Justice Warrior *and killed her.*
That was a shock.
It was a dream of war; of civil war. The setting was a battle, indeed a mêlée. But in that noise and chaos and confusion, I was clear in my head, perfectly controlled, and deadly.
I take it as evident that something deep in me has changed, and is now rehearsing war. I read lately that many men like me have recently suffered the same heave of paradigms. It’s an ugly thing. What’s interesting is that it feels … curiously healthy, as being correct, more truly fitted to things as they are. It feels like settling down into a better understanding of life, which is always something of a relief.
I dream now of a coming war. Not that I want to. I’m not *doing* it, you see. Rather, it is just *happening* to me, like the weather. Is it happening to you, too? If so, it cannot but bode ill. In the short run, anyway. In the long run: the sooner we get this over with, the better.
The Saxon may have begun at last to hate. Or, as in my case, even with him the Swede.