Rauhnacht’s Lied: Men, of women born: Only to lead; only to love; only to serve

I’ve started to observe the Rauhnächte, the 12 days between the Winter Solstice and January 3. This has always been a special time for me, for many reasons. Some of these may become clear to you, dear reader —and perhaps also more clear to me, the writer!— as we travel through these dark days, these beloved dark days… and as I write these short “songs” to this time “between the years.”

Men, of women born: Only to lead; only to love; only to serve

You know what to do.

You are only afraid to trust this knowing. So dearly bought.

Where did this knowing come from? It wasn’t something your father left you. Or your grandfathers, your uncles, brothers. No. This knowing is no part of the patrimony left you by the generations of men who themselves didn’t trust their own dearly bought knowing.

Where did this knowing come from? Do you remember the price you paid? Perhaps twice over. Three times over. More likely many more times than that. One thing is understood: this knowing has been dearly bought.

This is why it is so important to acknowledge the price. To feel, deeply, the regrets that accumulate in our lives: to remember the price you have paid for this knowing that you still do not trust, that you still think was too cheap to be true.

And so we pretend we do not know. We, men of woman born, pretending we have no regrets. We, men of woman born, pretending it was enough to “do our best,” etcetera knowing in our bellies that our best was not what we did. And so we have regrets, but pretend that we are not the men we are.

Instead, we choose —time and time again, the weight of regret becoming heavier and more difficult for our hearts to bear— to be naïve. Pretending to an innocence and irresponsibility that is years behind us and beneath the integrity of the man we are today. The man of woman born who clings to a version of himself still wet from the womb, as if this would absolve him of —again— paying the price of the wisdom that only waits for us to acknowledge and live it.

But, apparently, we —most of us— would rather pay the painful price again. And again. And making all around ourselves pay it with us.

So generous we are, in our denial of the men we are!

You know what to do.

But, of course, you are free to choose the unknowing, the pretence of innocence, the perpetual retreat into ignorance. Ignoring what you’ve suffered to know. Ignoring the wisdom you already hold. Because, well, it’s a big step isn’t it? To accept the teachings of your regrets, and to live, fully, as the man this moment is calling for, this is a lot to ask, isn’t it?

You know what to do, you, man of woman born. Honour this birth. Honour your regrets. So dearly bought.

You know what to do.