The way we’re telling this story… is adding the lethal dose of pain and grief, drip by drip, into all our cups, everywhere. Men are carrying the load for a culture weak with the labours of its awakening. But the pain in women everywhere was felt first, and in terrible degree, by our men… first broken.
In our culture we say very little about the longing for father love.
Or about that great ache
That belongs to us all..
And not just to the victims of the day.
Rather than bringing us great wisdom about the nature of men and love,
or about our joint human adventure in times of peril and possibility
feminists, the spiritual community, and media everywhere have focused on male power
And female victimhood
And then on revenge
or the holy vagina
And the goddess
(hunting the bloody throne of her consort)
As the spectrum for our healing.
Making men feel, basically
Like putting a gun
To their heads.
The way we’re telling the story is
.. providing yet another platform
For the worst among us
To peddle fear, rage, lust, addiction
At a market driven by misery.
Feminists, who had the wonderful opportunity to tip the balance and actually create something of a renaissance
that Might have healed the culture,
Instead, they curdled the milk further
Sent us hellbent toward war over power
Against each other
Instead of toward the restoration
Of love, honour, dignity
And beauty in the world.
Feminists, and media, set the stage for vitriolic argument
At home and all across the hurting fields
Instead of raising a revolution
For peace and comfort
And dignity on earth
… for the mighty temperance
No, they raged for freedom to work
Instead of freedom to make homes
To make love.
To widen the arts of compassion
To deepen the crafts of wisdom.
The movement still values the status
Given by the economist
over the sacred intimacies of home and culture
It rages about power, still
… the same
That saw millions of men slaughtered or destroyed at war
Or enslaved and bullied at jobs they didn’t want
But which provided for their families
And fulfilled their obligations
As good – men,
Men who poured their energy into providing, forsook their own thriving in the deal.
Feminists and these shallow activists against patriarchy
reinforce the notion that somehow males were ever powerful
Ever had it all.
They conveniently and deliberately
Ignore the deep misery of men.
They vent about the failure of their fathers
But not the terrible inheritance
Entangled in a culture that had been
Murdering, maiming, enslaving its sons for generations
As it ripped them out of the land,
Then out of the home
And out of any kind of connection to their own actual passions
Using the guilt of the ‘provider’ cult
As the blade at throat and heart.
We are still not talking about the grief
That comes, not from what ‘daddy did’
But that daddy left
.. and what daddy couldn’t do
To overturn a world
In the hands of bad leaders.
And how we felt our souls were torn
By his absence
By the failure he knew
But we did not yet understand..,
And sometimes, also, at his return
From the battlefield of work.
What has ever ‘been done’ to women
Was done first,
and by most severe measure to men.
Too many in the spiritual and social change scene refuse to admit this.
They want all the pain to themselves.
They demand that men ‘be kind, or be damned’
But if you said to a woman ‘be nice’, you’d be at terrible risk of a sudden vasectomy.
Women who envied men their careers,
their suits and ties,
were not about to tell us about the depth of male suffering.
Men are meant to suffer, for one thing.
It goes with strength and power.
But the narrative of change
Has been driven by an enemy
And the common one
And so it has taken a very, very long time for the voices of visionary feminists to be heard.
And when they are
They are often met with acid
Thrown by women
… have you noticed that?
One reason for male violence
is that many men, for several generations now, know, deep in themselves, that they’re trapped in a lie.
And that it’s getting worse.
Men know that being ‘good’ does not ensure them anything at all.
There is a fury rising.
Of being caught up in this lie.
Of being helpless to overthrow forces undermining their own lives,
those of their society,
and the children, community and wild they have the strength and the destiny to serve
But not the permission
And certainly not the protection.
Good men everywhere are being told to ‘play nice’ in a system that is malicious,
infected with bad guys
and takes their best qualities,
And uses it to further a logarithm
Which will undo them, and their families
In the end.
A slave system
Which eats their bodies
For its fuel…
And then checkmates them into silence
Or playing nice with toddlers
When what they really want to do
Is tear down the flags of their oppressors
Rage against the machine,
Under true masculine poles
of order and decency to the world.
But no…. male resistance
Has been muddled up with violence
The violence of a broken minority
Who force the rest to tiptoe on eggshells
When what we really need
is men of heart, united,
with face paint, and hakas, if necessary,
to restore beauty to the world
And get the weasels
from the wheelhouse
They are merrily plundering
While good men
Have their hands, ever more,
tied behind their backs.
… while the feminists
Insist that women can do the job.
Men are in a rage because they’re homesick.
Because they are unsafe everywhere.
Because they are devastated too,
by what has become of the world,
Where they are made to cower
Before the perpetrators
Who easily set the masses
Against one another
Or by engineering a gender war
Instead of one against those who break human beings, homes, communities and rivers.
The truth we do not tell
is that men are longing for love.
This is the simple, shameful truth of it.
This is what child healers, dressed as tantric shaman are trying to exploit.
This is why porn and retail and infidelity are rife.
But sex is not love.
As men know.
And wealth is not love.
As men know.
And not all women, either, love
Or want to…
When the goddess,
the sacred vagina,
the idea of a malignant patriarchy
becomes the rhetoric that empowers women
We push our good men deep
Into a gruesome sludge of silly ideas
And female shadow.
They catch the scent of the dark woman
On this breeze,
And either crave her whip
Or collapse in exhaustion
At the futility of it all….
Broken men, lost men,
may crave the stiletto
As a pole
To orient to,
But the good ones
Crave a horizon,
The safe hands
And holy castle
Of the towering woman
Who lifts and inspires souls
Instead of seducing
Or simply healing them.
These men, crave men who can guide them toward a good fight
And women who keep lighthouses
Who keep homes.
Who make the cuts of battle
Instead of reducing them to mortgage
Or fashionable cushions.
The truth is,
we are all grieving our fathers
And they too,
Too many men who have been told to live as though the men they loved did not matter,
Or whose pain they endured
Was not the dividend
Of a wicked hierarchy
that inflicted it
Cut by cut
Over the years.
We have women who want only
that men have had
And will not look to the posts
Which they, themselves, deserted
To the treachery they let inside the home
And the demons upon the hearths
Which women once kept sacred.
We have a grand adventure in store
Of showing the most tender of wounds
Each, to the other,
And standing up together
In our mutual humanity
To drop the poisoned cup
In order to save ourselves,
And our heritage
In the grief-filled world
Where god is dead
The goddess haunts the graveyard
And the dollar crowns the devil.