Clive W

It never ceases to amaze me, even as I course through this fourth decade of life upon the planet called Earth, how affirming, comforting and enlivening it is to be in the company of supportive and kind-hearted people. It is as vital, I think, to our health and prosperity as good food and secure shelter. And just as absent from modern life.

We find ourselves in a time where material abundance and technological ‘assistance’ are more prolific than at any point in human history, and yet, those of us who dwell in the first world, whatever that is these days… the ‘progressed’ global West, are less happy, less fulfilled and more anxious than at any point in that same human history. You just have to travel somewhere less ‘affluent’ (I’m sorry about the swarm of quote-marks in this post, it’s excessive, even for me. I know) to experience the truth in that. To places that are less steeped in hyper-fast network coverage, and more in genuine, face-to-face social connection. They are happy, for the most part. Even through the perceived poverty and (at least to our eyes) unthinkable struggle. They are content in a way that most of us struggle to fathom.

So when we do find ourselves in something that approximates our Tribe, whether that be close family, old friends or the company of like minded souls, the affect on us is marked. The uplifting palpable. Johann Hari’s book Lost Connections covers this ground far more eloquently and completely than I can here, so I heartily recommend consuming it in whatever means is most accessible to you, but the long and short of it is this; Depression and anxiety are, in frighteningly large majority, attributable in some way to social loneliness and isolation. The solution not to be found in chemical prescription, but in social connection.

Contrast to this, the ultra-efficient means of social disconnection that is (anti)Social Media; a machine so elegantly complex and complete in it’s power to divorce us from our real-world connections, that its euphemistic name becomes a cruel joke to which no-one is really laughing, yet which we are all habitually, even enthusiastically, re-telling. It is not our future. It cannot be our future, if we are to hope to move beyond this moment in history, which feels more dire and consequential by the day.

I have a simple solution, though; get out to a club, a choir, an interest group, anything that increases your exposure to kindness. For every hour you spend steeping your mind in isolation and hate, whether it be doom-scrolling or sitting in the echo-chamber of your own fears, you need at least half as much again in the company of smiling faces. Of voices that are sounding tolerance and compassion, instead of vitriol and blame.

The way out was never through fear and judgement, that was the way in. So now we need to turn toward something kinder, and more helpful to growth. We need to plant gardens, not mines, into the soil of our social lives.

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This post is a dedicated thank you to all the amazing souls I am beyond proud to call friends (you know who you are). Almost all of whom were found after my 40th birthday, and I’m certain their ranks will grow as I move past my 50th, and beyond. The only things you really need, after all, is an open mind, heart and a pinch of humble gratitude for the beauty that lies on that path.

The truism that just keeps being at the core of it; The more you know, the less you have to carry.

Just be careful; it’s easy to confuse what we think for what we know.

I’ve never had a particular affinity with Barn Owls. An affection, yes. And appreciation, certainly, but not what I’d call a ‘connection’ with them beyond thinking that they’re a bit cool and majestic looking.

I did, one night a few years ago, have a close call with one on my motorbike, heading out somewhere along a road that runs from the village I lived in at the time, towards the nearest large town. It wasn’t there at all, until it was; and then it was a flash before me, arcing from the hedges on one side of the road, up and out into the night, no more than a metre or two from my head. I thought nothing of it, other than it was equally unnerving as it was impressive. I can’t remember my mood, or what I was thinking, or where I was going. Just the event.

I am currently carrying an inguinal hernia. It’s a literal pain. not massively grown, yet, but it’s getting bigger as I wait to be seen by the doctors who will seek, once again, to repair it (this is my second in that spot, though the last occurrence was about 20 years ago). As I await the loving care of the NHS, I’m seeking support through various alternative methods, including Acupuncture. Which is really helping to contain it, actually. I would recommend it as a management strategy. This isn’t directly relevant, excepting that in my last session, as I lay down and had the needles inserted into my fingers and feet, the call to journey was strong. So I closed my eyes, imagined myself on the stony shore of my journeying place and spoke my intentions; ‘I wish to Journey to the lower world, to meet with my Plant Spirit Guide to receive guidance’.

I wasn’t sure what I needed guidance on, only that I needed to go and ask. So I did.

He met me there, with the same enigmatic smile he always wears, as I spoke my requests to him. The same knowing smile receiving my words, and offering nothing but a smile in return. He turned and left, and I followed. Over mountains, forests, rivers and vast plains. I was called to ask him how I can show up in service, how I can show up for my people’s healing, and being a conduit for that, when it was so hard to discern what was my need, vs what was theirs. Again. Just a smile. I want to show up. To stand here, both with my personal needs and desires, and without them. So that whatever passes through me is unburdened and uncoloured by what is mine, and mine alone.

In asking the question, in standing before the heat of the confusion and consequence, he showed me that I was answering it myself. By acknowledging that I have them, and that they are mine, I start on the path of befriending them, where they can act as supports and encouragement, rather than pollution.

Then, he took me to Dandelion. He showed me the leaves, drawing in precious light and carbon-dioxide from the atmosphere, releasing the life-giving oxygen and constructing yet more leaf and vast root from the carbon it receives in payment for this divine act. The roots power down into the earth, probing, searching and absorbing all the precious nutrients of the earth, to bring them up and house them in it’s floral and vegetative body. Nutrients that are not available, otherwise, at the surface. In doing this, it creates in it’s body the rich, bountiful soil of tomorrow. In the certainty of it’s own life and death, it creates yet more life. Not just for it’s own lineage, but for all plants and animals alike. It is ultimate giving.

‘This is you’ he said. ‘In your insatiable curiosity, you learn and absorb the wisdom of the earth and the stars. Wisdom that is not accessible to all. This is your divine work. Not to change, or suppress what you’ve learned to call ‘fad’, or lack of focus, but to lean in. To accept this as your gift, and like the roots of the Dandelion, store it all. Every story, every lesson, in the leaves and flowers of yourself. And to drop them, again and again, so that they might be used by those around you, and those that come after.

Learn and Share. This is your path.

After the dispensation of this, he bade me go back. Not back to the room and the needles and the body of Clive-the-Person, though. To the upper world. I needed to meet Owl. He placed the body of Dandelion in my hands at my chest, where it sank in. Root, and Leaf, and Flower. Into me.

And so I left and, as he said, I followed the path to my ladder tree; the Oak that isn’t there, and up into the Upper World.

Owl met me there. Swooping down to greet me. He flew and I followed, over the same mountains, forests rivers and plains until we came down, in the dead of night, into a garden I know well. I knew where to look. It was in through the window, where a few nights previously, I had sat, before the fire of myself and the consequences of my life’s actions. Finally able to see and accept the demons that had driven me. Where I stood before them, and instead of fighting them, or denying them, or fleeing before them, I welcomed them and the wisdom they offered. Regardless of consequence, regardless of repercussion, I must stand in my truth. No matter how painful.

In that moment, sat in that room, as I finally took my accountability seriously, the Owl came again. Striking down and across the garden, where it flew, backwards and forwards. Ensuring that it’s presence was felt. It must be heeded. It would not be denied. There would be no more passing it by in the night without learning it’s lessons.

I watched from within, and now, from without. The Owl showed me myself. And then we flew. Up and up and up and into the night and the sky and the stars. And the Dandelion at my heart felt it’s roots in the ground, deep and penetrating, and the Owl at my side tore at me, and swallowed the pieces of me, down into the juices of it’s stomach where I dissolved, the minerals of my body to go down to earth to fertilise and ready themselves for the next trip-in-a-body they were destined for, and my soul filtered and absorbed into Owl. And Owl was me and I was Owl. I was a direct conduit between the Great Spirit above, and the earth below, through Dandelion, because the Wisdom and lessons of the living being are not lost in Death. Merely transmuted into what comes after.

And so I was the conduit. From Heaven, to Earth, through the Plants, the Man, and the Owl. All together, in commune. And I existed there, breathing the life and the thoughts of the world and everything in it.

And finally, after all that, I was back, descended, back in the Middle World, on the Acupuncturists table.

I am no ‘Young Man’. My bones have walked too many miles, my blood coursed over them too many times to be be afforded the luxury and impatience of youth.

Through the joy and laughter. I do.

I am no ‘Old Boy’. A boy is a wonderful thing to be, so full of potential and vitality, but boys are young. With the coming of age comes also responsibility; to self, to tribe and to land. The age of Discretion. The age of Discernment. The boy must die for the Man to live.

Through the anger and fear. I do.


I am no ‘Old Man’, the grey isn’t yet dominant in this weathering face, but its influence is growing, spreading from my chin. The sun kisses my scalp in an ever widening zone, reminding me of the the passing of the seasons, and of hats thoughtlessly forgotten.

Through the pain and the ache. I do.

I am Flow. I am transition and transmutation. From this, to that. Here, to there, and with every footfall on the path, attention must be paid. It is the price of entry to the future that blooms. If it goes un-settled, the debts uncleared, that future withers under the weight of unobserved ritual. Shrivels, desiccated by the lack of life-giving love and reverence. 

‘Wise Elder’, I aspire to be. But wisdom does not come from idleness. Or comfort.

So, walk, I do.

And pay the price of attention, I do. 



Will you?

“Why is it still so hard?”

Life’s rich tapestry is full of twists and turns, which is, in fact, a saccharine and facile summing-up of the painful truth that the Shit is Real. And Relentless. 

The thing you struggled to conquer, the decision you agonised to make may, well re-appear. Sometimes, it’ll appear again and again. Learning the lesson and doing the work, doesn’t mark it as ‘Done’ in your Great Cosmic Ledger, box ticked, never to be needed again. 


This is not how it works.

Initiation, as a ceremony, often brings with it a feeling of completion. Of Graduation. You have moved from one state of being, and ascended to the next. It is easy to think that this Rite of Passage brings with it relief from the daemons that inhabited it. 



But that’s not how it works either. Initiation is Initial. It comes FIRST. It marks the end of the beginning, not the beginning of the end.

Its power lays in its ceremony, the witnessing of you in your power, overcoming the task with your own resources. This cements the achievement in your psyche so that the NEXT time you experience it, you know you have what it takes to move through it, rather than around it, or letting it confound or consume you.



Again and Again.



You have what it takes.
 You have been Initiated.


The transition from Boyhood to Manhood takes place in every moment where you need to use the tools and skills you gained from that initiation. The transition from Manhood to Sovereignty, likewise, takes place in every moment where you need to use the tools and skills you gained from that initiation.



If you can’t remember your initiation, then you have not initiated.





I was 37 when I finally ‘initiated’ into Manhood, and I remember the process in my bones, my heart aches with the pain of it. The process lasted nearly 8 years and was only completed when I deliberately and actively cast off my boyhood that first, memorable time. I still have to do it. The boy still lives within me, and I honour him by caring for him, as a Man, and taking on the responsibilities that once fell to him. It is deliberate and active and constant.



As I test the limits of that Manhood, I can feel, in my heart, the first boundaries of becoming Sovereign. Probing and hesitant, I take my first tentative steps into this next role. Knowing that the true ascent to it does not, and will never, bring relief. Only competence. And the strength to hold myself up to it. 



But we do not have to face these gateways alone.

The tribe is here for you. The fire is burning, and if you choose to step into it, the way has been lit for you.

Most, if not all original cultures had initiative rites of passage. Processes through which one entered as a child, and came out as an adult. The exact nature of these rites are now unreliably documented, if they’re known at all. Some cultures have managed to hold on to their traditions, though most have lost the fundamental meanings to the mists of time. Others have been lost entirely. Certainly in the case of western culture, we have become so far removed from our original, tribal roots, that even the memory of them has died.

We aren’t alone in our lost history, but we are an extreme example.

Culturally, our ancient traditions are lost. by our, I’m referring to the cultural history of the United Kingdom, as that is from whence I hail, but specifically England. Some vestiges of the original Celtic roots remain to the peoples of Wales, Northern Ireland and Scotland, but the English have particularly suffered this loss of heritage. Two thousand years of deliberate eradication and conquest have seen to that. There’s an interesting parallel between east and west here;

A little over a thousand years ago, as the Normans were conquering what is now England, the same thing was happening in Kashmir. The prevailing dominion of the Non-dual Shiavist Tantrics was being invaded and oppressed. Both culturally and literally. Meanwhile, thousands of miles away a similar thing was soon playing out in north-western Europe, as the Norman king William made his way from France to conquer the Anglo-Saxon king Harold. In the immediate aftermath of this the land was carved up and delivered to his most senior knights. In fact, some of those dominions still exist to this day. The crime of Murdrum was conceived. It meant to kill a Norman. As a native to the British Isles, you could be killed with impunity, but the Normans needed to shore up their power-base, and did so at the point of an axe. As was popular at the time. What little remained of ancient British culture after the Roman efforts of a thousand years earlier, was brutally and completely suppressed. And it would never be seen again.

The interesting and important difference between the two being that the Tantrics wrote things down. For a thousand years those hand-written documents were passed, in secret, down family lines until a resurgence of interest in the 20th century brought them once again into the light of day, for scholars to pour over and breath life back into the ancient tradition. Though no living teachers remained, some of the lessons (however opaquely recorded) survived. Druids were not so fond of the pen. Outside of a vanishingly small number of Ogham scripts and passages, nothing remains of the Druidic tradition. Everything that now exists under that name, like it’s sister-tradition of Wicca, was invented in the 1970’s and after, by a small group of historical enthusiasts.

Also interesting to note that this same situation gave birth to the modern fantasy literary genre. In the 1950’s and 1960’s a University Professor of linguistics, lamenting the complete lack of native British folklore, wrote his own. In doing so, JRR Tolkien changed the literary world. But that’s another story.

Bottom line is that there is nothing left to remember. We can make some inferences and educated guesses, but our roots are gone.

So we have to look elsewhere for inspiration.

In spite of this cultural vacuum, there remains a growing movement of people called to fill this gap. By looking to the traditions that might bear parallels to our own ancient origins, we are beginning to stitch together a new cultural fabric. We look to the north, to the rites and practices of the ancient Sami. We look to the West, to the deep, grounded wisdom and frankly astounding resilience of the people of Turtle Island (the heart-breaking skip-fire we now call North America). And to the East and the wisdom traditions of the myriad people of the Asian continent.

It’s a fine line though. In our search for meaning and root, it’s easy to cross over into Cultural Appropriation. We must be mindful to not mine the rest of the world for spiritual meaning as we have for mineral wealth. We have something of a reputation after all.

Actually, just indulge me a while, because there’s something there too;

The people of Western Europe have, inarguably, had a massive impact on the rest of the world. We have invaded, colonised and brutalised our way to the top of the Empirical totem pole, ruling with iron, gold, smoke and mirror. How was it, that a nation of people could be convinced to so roughly subjugate and smother the religious and cultural traditions of the entire world? How do you lay the foundations of the Missionaries? the Evangelicals? ISIS for that matter? You have to convince them, first and foremost, that ancient traditions are either backward or outright evil. This is only possible when those people themselves, the armies of the would be Emperors, are culturally dispossessed from everything except the dominant culture of the state.

And so it went.

We are left with a situation in which the only way one can experience the Divine is through the arms-length and approved dogma of the predominant Religious Institution ^TM. Gone is the day in which you could experience it directly, your very self. The only rite of passage left to us being performative attendances. Nothing of yourself is left in the fire. It costs nothing, and so it brings nothing. A rite of passage, for it to bring any personal meaning beyond a simple affiliation, must be hard.

You must pay your way through this gateway with Sweat and Tears. And sometimes, yes, Blood. It can not be an attendance course if it is to work. It is something that must kill the inner child so the fully grown human can emerge.

A great many of our cultural problems are due to the predominance of the inner child within our discourse. It is immature masculinity that seeks to dominate and plunder for no other sake than entertainment. For no greater end than something to do. It is immature humanity that leads us into the isolation that fosters and creates the conditions for epidemic levels of violence within the home, both physical and emotional perpetrated and perpetuated by humans of all gender.

Rites of passage are, I would posit, one way out of the mess.

There’s a big ‘but’ though. We just don’t have any left. The words are long silent, the fires long extinguished. So we need new ones, to search them out. To take inspiration from the cultures our ancestors sought to obliterate. Go to the schools of our neighbours. Honor them, respect them and beg their forgiveness, that they might honor us with their lessons. We can begin to piece together a new tradition. One rooted in this place, in the soul of this land, and the blood of it’s people. And we can once again stand tall, shoulder to shoulder with the Peoples of the World in defense of our mutual homes.

To come home.

This post is my own thoughts about being a man, and what that means in this almost 2nd quarter of the 21st century. I’m not saying I have all the answers and I’m not saying you have to act a certain way to be valid. You do you. But if someone were to ask me what my thoughts on modern masculinity and the apparent ‘crisis’ within it, then I reckon this is where I’d start:

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“It’s not as simple as it used to be” goes the lament, but it’s true. It’s not. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, it’s not a bad thing at all. The simplicity that used to surround masculinity, like dodgy ’80s wood-chip wallpaper, hid a multitude of sins. Quite literally. It hid culturally accepted, widespread domestic violence. It hid sexual violence (in the UK, it only became illegal to rape someone you were married to in 1988), and a great many other tragedies besides.

Nineteen Eighty fucking Eight.

It also hid the frameworks and mechanisms by which Men and Women would be treated differently, paid differently and given different standards of everything from legal representation to healthcare. These aren’t opinions by the way, the reality of it is established and verified.

I was 9 in 1988

I grew up in a world where a Man could quite literally force his wife to have sex with him without fear of any form of consequence. Now, as a 9 year old I was ignorant of this, but the cultural soup in which my childhood mind and body formed was steeped in that reality. Films routinely displayed low level sexual aggression. Music videos displayed hyper-exaggerated misogyny, which only got worse through the 90’s. My sister and her friends where so accustomed to the inappropriate advances of older (much older in some cases) men, that they would talk to each other, quite openly and without any form of surprise or outrage, about which of the men from our village would try to touch them, and in which ways, when given the opportunity. There were many. This was normal.
We young lads heard this. It confirmed to us that this was just how one related to girls. Grabbing, unsolicited propositioning and all manner of harmful and traumatic behaviour was, then, considered to be okay. We didn’t even know the word ‘trauma’ could be used in a context outside of an ambulance. If you weren’t in the Army, you couldn’t really have PTSD. The list goes on.

We didn’t know what we didn’t know.

I should probably speak more personally here. It’s what I learned. I can’t speak for anyone else. Maybe other people had better access to familial role models (this would not be difficult). But given the still widespread outrage at the suggestion of male accountability, I think we can assume not.

I can however speak with some authority on the process of unlearning.

Boys will be boys

This is another tired old excuse, allowing bad behavior to go unchallenged because, essentially, it was being demonstrated by basically everyone.

So it was easier to just not.

Boys would be boys. Because they learned from example, like all humans, and men showed them how to be. So, the refrain really meant that Boys will be Men, and the Men are too set in their ways to be challenged. It still shows up. The legal system is awash with examples of where a woman’s right to autonomy and respect is denied or de-legitimised when balanced against the reputation of a man. TL:DR, a man’s reputation is more valuable than a woman’s safety or well-being. I know this isn’t the intention of such a reality, but it’s the result.

Thankfully, that is now being challenged. Not fast enough perhaps, but the ball is rolling and the momentum is building.

I should state at this point that this post is not about bashing men for being bastards. It’s not. But it is important to acknowledge the past and it’s failures, so that we can learn from them. We hear a lot about ‘Toxic Masculinity’ (a term I loath), so what does benign masculinity look like, in fact, fuck benign, what does positive, generative and HEALTHY masculinity look like?

Sadly for the aforementioned menfolk, the whole thing has changed without giving us any clue of what to change to. So, we now have a large proportion of the population with a sense of being somehow wrong without any instruction on what right looks like, or how to achieve it. And it’s a big ask. So I’m going to draw on some big influences. Here goes;

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The start of a new way

The first step on the path before us, as it appears to me, is one that involves redefining, at least in the modern context, what it means to be ‘masculine’. I’m going to call to our attention at this point that the term ‘masculine’ should be separated from the assumption of ‘maleness’. By pinning behaviour patterns on a particular gender, we begin to exclude. This process needs to be the opposite of that. To that end, from here on in I’m going to be avoiding binary gendering wherever possible because, well, it’s easy for me to do and it helps a lot of people feel included. What’s not to like?

There. First example.

Positive masculinity seeks, first and foremost, to hold space. Not in the instagrammed cliche, wafting sage around or sat cross-legged on a bean bag with tissues at the ready, though it absolutely can look like that. But in the sense that to be in our masculine, we are seeking to demonstrate to those around us that they are safe with us. We are in charge of our ego, our actions and our words, and we take that seriously. “You’re safe here“, we’re saying. It doesn’t matter who you’re engaging with. Seek to reassure them that you are the master of your emotions and that people can show up with you as they are, and that that won’t phase you. That’s masculinity.

This concept is borrowing heavily from the Tantric concept of Shiva and Shakti, by the way; Shiva provides the conscious awareness that Shakti then uses to form and direct the energy that is herself (these aren’t binary human genders we’re referencing here, they’re the divine constructs and manifestations of both masculinity and femininity that exist within all beings. Even all matter, depending on your viewpoint). This is the cosmic dance that gives rise to our entire universe. Consciousness and Energy.

Sadly, we can’t just say we are a thing and then be a thing. Walking the walk is essential:

No one can be convinced that we are honorable and trustworthy. It’s not words that you say. It’s the way that you say things, the things that you do, and the way you react when things are said to you.

These things can, do and should include statements like ‘you did that wrong’ or “I’m angry at you”.

Lets leave aside the judgemental tone that’s coming at us there. It’s okay. people get challenged and sometimes they phrase things in activating ways. No biggie. We all do it. What matters is how we allow that to land with us.
The conscious masculine does not get triggered. Or at least it tries really hard not to, and when it is, it’s aware of it.
Criticism is inevitable. How you handle it is the thing.
Even if you do get triggered and say something reactive in response; fine. you’re human. Here’s the clincher;

We fix forward.

We acknowledge what’s been said. If that’s a judgement coming toward us, cool. Assess it. Calmly. Is there something we missed? could we have done, phrased or intonated something differently? If so, acknowledge it and integrate it. Learn from it. If not? Fine. Maybe this interaction needs some distance. Be polite and move on.

This is something called ‘Rupture and Repair’ and it’s the key to building a strong relationship; whether that be social, romantic or professional. If you can acknowledge your actions, take responsibility for them and seek to improve, that’s all anyone can ask of you.

Embody your masculine and be the change. Allow people to be themselves.

What exactly is ‘Holding Space’

If you’re coming to this post from somewhere other than the ‘wellness’ or spiritual worlds, there may be a chance that this term is somewhat misunderstood, so I’ll try to translate it into ‘bloke’;

That feeling we get that manifests as the need to take care of our loved ones, the thing that drives us to Crossfit or Martial Arts classes, that gnawing compulsion to ‘protect’ ourselves and our nearest and dearest, this is how the need (and it really is a visceral need) to hold space shows up in us. Holding space is not pandering to someones whims, it’s the desire and ability to protect, and as such, it’s deep in all of us. We have just hitherto labelled it or understood it differently, but this is what it is.

The confusion comes from our conditioning. Our society is 100% fear based. Fear is everywhere. It sells products, infects popular culture and oozes from every shining screen. Be afraid; the World tells you. So, as someone operating from our masculine as our first principal, we seek to protect. We are told that the best way to protect, by our cultural narrative, is to dominate. To be bigger, meaner and more familiar with the application of violence than those people of whom we are told to be afraid. Which is everyone. So, logically, the best way to do that is with aggression.

It’s why we have valued biceps and pectorals over emotional intimacy skills.

The trouble is, it misses a big part of the point. You see, by being a stronger, fitter, more violently capable individual, you are still no safer than you were before. As my old man sagely advised in my youth; “There’s always someone bigger and stronger mate, that’s just how it is. Never get involved with an unknown quantity”.

Good advice. Problem is, the whole world is an unknown quantity.

One of the first pieces of useful advice I received upon joining the Army was being told by a Corporal that; “Doesn’t matter how hard you are pal, when I hit you with a fire-extinguisher, you’re going down”. Also, very good advice, as well as a not-entirely-mildly threatening statement.

So, what does all that mean? That we should just give up and hide under the stairs? No. We just need to rethink our strategy. Because there is a workable mode of protection for us and our loved ones. And it’s way older than Jeet Kune Do.

Community.

If we take that desire to protect and instead of applying it to domination with a lubricating sheen of protein powders and gum-shields, we put that energy into learning how to create strong relationships, not only within our family but within our local community, then we build something far stronger than a muscle. We build a village.

We become a connected network of mutually supporting relationships, all of whom look out for one another. That’s real protection. Yeah, sure, sometimes we might need to defend ourselves physically, but these days it’s far more likely that we’ll need to fight off a polluting local chemical plant than a horde of Saxons or a mechanised invasion, but the community is still a better defense strategy there too. You wont achieve much hiding up a hill with a rifle and a grump. We’ll need to work together. So, just like you’d prepare at the gym for a fight, you need to prepare those skills ahead of time.

It’s worth noting here that taking care of your physical body is never a bad thing. The confidence and health benefits of physical training are well documented and feel bloody great. No-one is ever going to complain about defined abs, but, they aren’t the be all and end all. You are more than your body. You are more than your bench-press PB.

So Hold Space.

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It’s not all on you

Now we’ve established a bit of an action plan for how we can aim to show up for other people, it bears emphasising that we deserve this too.

Masculine is nothing to do with ‘Man’. Ergo, feminine is nothing to do with ‘Woman’. That too is an energy that exists within every living being. and it is very far from ‘weak’, as the old cultural narrative would have us believe.

Every time you allow yourself to show up in your vulnerability, you are honoring the divine feminine within you. In everyday English, this is essentially saying that when you allow yourself the space to show your hurts, explain your emotional state and speak openly, rather than hiding behind an imprisoning armour-plated exterior facade, you hold space for yourself. If the people around you do not do the same, well, maybe this interaction needs some space too. Be polite and move on. If it’s an important relationship then try to come back to it, if not, well that’s your call. You are worthy of respect in all your aspects.

I would say that this is probably the crunchiest part of all of this. It’s certainly the part that I’ve agonised over writing the most; In order to do all this space holding and honoring of the various facets of our humanity stuff, we need to get to grips with, and understand that humanity. By this I’m talking about feelings.

I know. Bear with me…

One of the most fundamental aspects of this whole process is emotional literacy. Which is to say feeling your feelings. If you can’t hold space for your own sadness and fear, how are you going to recognise this in others? let alone hold them in it? There are no short-cuts here and it is by far the hardest part of this process. The mechanics of ‘Holding space’, i.e. practicing patience and respect, that’s just a matter of repetition and commitment. Anyone with a bit of time and some perseverance can do that. The thing here that quite literally separates the *Men from the Boys (figuratively speaking) is the messy business of feeling. And it is far from easy. Admitting to being afraid is one thing; owning the pain we may have caused, acknowledging the perhaps decades of compounded trauma that we may have played a part in… that doesn’t just sting, it rips out your viscera and turns you inside out. Into something new. I do not advocate doing that work alone. Seek help (remember the community part?). Go to a men’s group. Ideally one that has a sufficiently broad definition of ‘Men’ to challenge your preconceptions. Listen to people that are different from you. Hear them. Hold space for them. When sat in a circle, it’s not just the ‘leader’ who has responsibility there. Every single person around it does, and it is the crucible through which you will pass into the future version of yourself. Get a therapist if that works for you. But start Feeling.

One of the most important things that we are missing in our framework of positive masculinity is a rite of passage. The circles mentioned above form a vital part of that rite, but that’s a whole other blog post 😉

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The last thing I’ll say on the matter (in this post anyway) is this;

We, as human beings, have a right to be treated with respect and dignity. YOU have that right, and so does everyone that interacts with you.

Modern masculinity is not about being a ‘New Man’. It’s about being a Human.

I appreciate it.

We could learn a lot from this post.