Cracking open the man
A couple of days ago I found myself in a frypan.
We do this where I live, have hygiene meetings to clear out any energetic blocks that are living amongst the people that reside here…….well actually this was the first one on the newly updated calendar.
Sunday mornings 8 to 10 - Hygiene meeting.
One of the woman that I share this land with and I, were in a stuck place that had us avoiding each other and not connecting at all, the energetic walls were up.
Two space holders sat to our sides and we faced each other.
It turned out she had fear of me. Massive, powerful scared as fuk fear.
She was scared for what I stood for, and the layers upon layers I was hiding behind, preventing and hiding my true being from being present.
Sacred of men, scared of me as a man living in Patriarchy.
“What is going on? You spend 85% of your time avoiding me”; “98% of the time actually” came back the reply with real anger backing it up. Then it came the anger and the fear…….raw, brutal and honest. I sat and allowed my feeling to come forward; at first I got hammered for smirking…….I let it sink in, deep. Slowly it was building……….I got challenged that I wasn’t doing anything, that I wasn’t acting upon what was being presented to me. That I enjoyed this, like a sport, a game; seeing my fellow human angry and scared.
This wasn’t a time for my survival blanket of knowing, reasoning and validating myself. This was a time to sit and listen and feel.
My anger came and spoke of how I was moving in my own rhythm and if you would shut up I will bring forth what I have. No I don’t like this! No I don’t enjoy this. Yes I want something different!
My rhythm….. that was new for me too; to sense my own rhythm and allow it to be present, with no force or pressure.
Slowly the armour surrounding the man started cracking…………the sadness from the realisation that the once beautifully innocent loving the world 5 year old boy had been constructing layer upon layer of survival armour to protect himself from all the hate, anger and destruction of the earth and humanity had been building heart break after heart break was a being seen. And it is so present, that I arrived with it in me wherever I go. Even here in my own corner of paradise. It was so present, women can be scared of me.
A frypan is a powerful tool. A place to let the unconscious and conscious come forth in all it mess and in all its beauty. The beauty was still to be revealed.
There are a couple of rules……..don’t hurt yourself & don’t hurt anyone else. A place to get it all out in the open. No holds barred. A place to reveal the wounds. Don’t take it personally, the other person is on your team.
And this is what it takes to reach into me, so deeply hidden under the veil of strength, power and determination.
It takes a powerful woman ready to stand by my side and release her fury into me.
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Just a couple of days before hand, the collective four of us agreed to write what it was that this place meant to each of us in our own words.
What is it’s purpose for us.
At 1 o’clock in the morning I had awoken to scribe…………the purpose of Ahi o te Manawa :
A place where love is, A place for high level fun to occur; a place of connecting to the land, a place where people are creating a new culture that encompasses being radically honest about themselves and how they interact with the world and others, a place where people are relating with each other in an extra-ordinary way. A place where peoples non material value holds greater importance than their material value. A place where people can be vulnerable with each other in the name of their own personal evolution. A place where a New culture is actually being cavitated in the way that I want it to exist.
A place where village weavers, researchers, guardians, space holders, evolutionary’s, reside alongside each other.
………………………………………………..
And here was a woman with so much fear of me a man living on this land that I have held within my heart of fire for 24 years.
My shell cracked more.
My sadness enveloped me and I cried. I cried to be vulnerable, to be just that.
It came. The space was being held for me to do that.
I cry at the realisation of the beauty of being vulnerable.
I cry at the bullshit that I live amongst, the sorrow of building layers so that I can survive modern culture and how it expects me to blend in.
I cry that all men have these layers just so that they can survive.
I cry at the layers I have been carrying all this time.
I cry for my real self, my being who wants to be alive and present.
I cry for the anger I carry with me.
I cry for the sadness of missing out on so many years of hiding and not being fully present.
I cry for all the hiding I do and have done.
And as the cracks get bigger, the boy gets healed and the man revealed.
I never realised how much pain there is to feel, how much pain I have avoided connecting with and how much I have been avoiding how beautiful I can become.
Being vulnerable is the new power of men. But more on that later.