Depth. How many of us live from our depth, from our essence? Truly ourselves, truly alive, spirit and matter fused?
Our depth scares the shit out of us. Who would we each be if we lived from our deepest knowing, our deepest seeing, our true self expressed - no fear, no shame, no smallness? Ditch the lies - the lies we tell ourselves in order to keep ourselves safe, keep the world in status quo that only seeks to buffer us from who we could be. From our power, our greatness, our bigness.
Yes, I have run from my depth. Wanted to hide it. Play small. Stay safe. No risk. Too easy to survive, too easy just to get by.
But there's too much to lose. We suffer when we hold back our gifts. Our truth. Our seeing. Our knowing. Our hearts. When we hide from God, we hide from ourselves, never knowing who we really are.
Who are you, really? What do you hide? From yourself? From others? Who would you be if you cut the bullshit? What do you really want? Diving beneath the surface. Risking everything for the sake of love, bringing more love into the world.
Tonight I sat with seven men, men with courage, men with heart. They have begun this journey to know and live from their depths. They have screamed, cried, shared. They have loved. I salute them. I give gratitude for them. There is hope.
There is hope.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Deep Surrender
"True strength lies not in the ability to persist, but to surrender."
Destiny. Heart's Desire. The Courage to Love. This is a time to surrender; surrender the ego, the things we think we want and need. Our souls are calling out, crying out to return home to the Beloved, to the pervasive Oneness that we ultimately cannot avoid.
Sure, we get to choose, but the deepest choice is to align with God, and this is where Love lies. The opening of the heart. Allowing the heartbreak, knowing that it will take us home. What does guidance tell you? What are you being shown?
I have been resisting my guidance. It doesn't make sense. It doesn't fit. "But what about what I (big capital I) want," my ego mind asks?
Well, sometimes the picture looks a bit different, at least on the surface. It differs from what God has in store for us. But isn't that the edge - trusting God more than we trust ourselves?
Deep down, I know. You know. Just listen. Because in the big picture, it IS what you truly want. Let it break you open. Fuck the "I deserves" and the "I'm worth its." Live deeper than that. Play a bigger game.
All it takes is to listen.
And trust.
And open.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Full Circle
The power of the circle. Ancient shape, evolution, advances forward into the heart of the new millennium. Round and round it spins, we spins, in the cosmic orbit that we inhabit moment-to-moment.
We forget the circle, deny it's power. Lines. Squares. Buildings. Edges. Fall of the edge of the Earth.
It is in the circle that we come home, unite with spirit. No beginning, no end. This is the Oneness. This is the surrender. Surrender to the all. That which has no beginning nor end.
We come together to sit in circle. Feel the energy build. Behold its power. Unity. Oneness. The one voice comes through. The one spirit moves through. It is done! It is so! It is! Let us rejoice together!
We forget the circle, deny it's power. Lines. Squares. Buildings. Edges. Fall of the edge of the Earth.
It is in the circle that we come home, unite with spirit. No beginning, no end. This is the Oneness. This is the surrender. Surrender to the all. That which has no beginning nor end.
We come together to sit in circle. Feel the energy build. Behold its power. Unity. Oneness. The one voice comes through. The one spirit moves through. It is done! It is so! It is! Let us rejoice together!
A Call
The call is upon us - do or die. Believe the hype or believe the higher power, the source, the divine call to stand up in truth.
Fuck the swine flu, the economy, the bailouts and bankruptcies, American Idol and Facebook quizzes. It's all a distraction; none of it will save you from yourself, from your fear, from your mortal terror of having to surrender your life over to God, to truth, to Oneness.
It is a time for simplicity, returning to source, to essence. Shoot some roots, deep down into the earth and stand tall, motherfuckers. It's not a time for playing small, playing games, or panicking. There's no time for that bullshit. Just let it go.
What's in your heart? What really matters? That's the call. That's the request. To truly know ourselves, our purpose, our being, our reasons, whatever they may be. To live as love.
We've distracted, numbed, avoided, run, hid, and fought all this shit for too long. All for what?
To avoid facing the truth of who we are.
Well, it's time to find out what we're really made of. Do or die. Keep playing the game or surrender.
What are you afraid of, really?
Fuck the swine flu, the economy, the bailouts and bankruptcies, American Idol and Facebook quizzes. It's all a distraction; none of it will save you from yourself, from your fear, from your mortal terror of having to surrender your life over to God, to truth, to Oneness.
It is a time for simplicity, returning to source, to essence. Shoot some roots, deep down into the earth and stand tall, motherfuckers. It's not a time for playing small, playing games, or panicking. There's no time for that bullshit. Just let it go.
What's in your heart? What really matters? That's the call. That's the request. To truly know ourselves, our purpose, our being, our reasons, whatever they may be. To live as love.
We've distracted, numbed, avoided, run, hid, and fought all this shit for too long. All for what?
To avoid facing the truth of who we are.
Well, it's time to find out what we're really made of. Do or die. Keep playing the game or surrender.
What are you afraid of, really?
Monday, April 13, 2009
The Mother Wound
I just finished reading "When He's Married to Mom" by Kenneth Adams, and man, it's powerful stuff! It's about men who are emotionally enmeshed with their mothers (he estimates about 1 in 10 men are, but I'm guessing just about all of us are to some degree), and how it impacts their adult relationships, particularly with women.
While there is a lot of work emerging around authentic masculine presence, and how many modern men are in a stage of being weak, lacking clear direction, and wishy-washy, little of these approaches go beneath the surface of social constructs to explore why this is the case. Reading this book was like, "holy shit!" I felt like a huge light bulb went off.
It made a lot of sense around how I relate and show up in the world: having difficulty committing, not trusting myself, caretaking, suppressing my own needs, having vague or non-existent boundaries, extreme sensitivity, sleeping around, focusing a lot on sexuality at the expense of intimacy, being so attached to the idea of relationship that I impose it on a partner . . . things I naturally assumed were just part of the masculine experience or a result of social conditioning. Qualities I thought I just had to "push past," and that I could just get over (or just have to accept). These are all common qualities of men who are emotionally enmeshed with their mothers (whether she is physically in your life or not), and/or who have been sexually abused by their mothers.
I see how many other men in my life have these same symptoms. While I agree that we can make present-moment choices and do practices that bring us more into authentic connection and embodied presence, I think it's important to understand what lies at the root of our current state. Not only that, but to go back to the root (family of origin), and first and foremost show up different in those relationships. I know for myself that consciously creating a new relationship with my mother over the past five years or so (and my father over the past fifteen years), has probably had the most impact on how I relate to everyone else in my life.
I feel really grateful for this book, and these awarenesses. Reading it has brought up a lot of grief, sadness, and anger, and also a lot of relief, hope, and excitement. There is a way out. It is possible to become free. It is time to go beneath the surface; this is how we create true integral presence.
While there is a lot of work emerging around authentic masculine presence, and how many modern men are in a stage of being weak, lacking clear direction, and wishy-washy, little of these approaches go beneath the surface of social constructs to explore why this is the case. Reading this book was like, "holy shit!" I felt like a huge light bulb went off.
It made a lot of sense around how I relate and show up in the world: having difficulty committing, not trusting myself, caretaking, suppressing my own needs, having vague or non-existent boundaries, extreme sensitivity, sleeping around, focusing a lot on sexuality at the expense of intimacy, being so attached to the idea of relationship that I impose it on a partner . . . things I naturally assumed were just part of the masculine experience or a result of social conditioning. Qualities I thought I just had to "push past," and that I could just get over (or just have to accept). These are all common qualities of men who are emotionally enmeshed with their mothers (whether she is physically in your life or not), and/or who have been sexually abused by their mothers.
I see how many other men in my life have these same symptoms. While I agree that we can make present-moment choices and do practices that bring us more into authentic connection and embodied presence, I think it's important to understand what lies at the root of our current state. Not only that, but to go back to the root (family of origin), and first and foremost show up different in those relationships. I know for myself that consciously creating a new relationship with my mother over the past five years or so (and my father over the past fifteen years), has probably had the most impact on how I relate to everyone else in my life.
I feel really grateful for this book, and these awarenesses. Reading it has brought up a lot of grief, sadness, and anger, and also a lot of relief, hope, and excitement. There is a way out. It is possible to become free. It is time to go beneath the surface; this is how we create true integral presence.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
From the Wastelands of Portland, Part 1 (of 1)
(reprinted from November 2, 2008 on www.WeAreTheLovers.com)
Journey into the Spaceship of Time Travel
A rainy night, fallen autumn leaves scattered about the boulevard as a man steps out of his car, dressed in 80's-style Reebok high-tops, torn jeans, and a Megadeth t-shirt so well-worn that it consists of as many holes as it does fabric.
Destination: the looming, spaceship-like building in the distance
I head towards the building. It's a little wet outside, but warm, especially for an evening in November. I don't pass many people, which is interesting, because thousands of others are expected to be arriving.
Hmmm. Perhaps I've taken the road less traveled.
Nevertheless, I continue on, finally arriving at the Rose Garden to see the show. It's been a long time - sixteen-and-a-half years, give or take. I know I'm cutting it close, and hope to make the second opening band after intentionally skipping the first.
I'm a little late. Down, the New Orleans-based metal band with a southern groove, has already begun its set. I quickly make my way to my seat, settling in and grooving to the music. Even though they've been around since 1991 and feature two former members of Pantera, the crowd doesn't seem to know who they are.
I'm disappointed that the crowd is so blase about such a great and influential band.
Nor do they care; they're there to see the headlining band, the pioneers of a style of music born in the Bay Area of San Francisco called Thrash Metal. Down finishes up their set, and we wait in anticipation. Finally, the lights go down, and the spaghetti-western piece, "The Ecstasy of Gold," comes on. It's been used as the show's opening music for almost 20 years now, and we all know what that means: Metallica is about to take the stage.
The Rose Garden and miscellaneous streets, Portland, Oregon November 1, 2008
Metallica in concert, date unknown
The Long-Haired Freaks
We're all piled in my 1986 Mazda, a group of long-haired, black t-shirted and blue-jeaned teens heading west on the Garden State Parkway. It's either the second or third show, and we're back for more, sponsored by free press-box tickets scored by David from his babysitting gig.
How ironic.
The ride is loud; music blasting, testosterone pumping, passengers getting a little rowdy.
Ok, a lot rowdy.
"Holy shit, look out!"
Distracted by the internal vehicular chaos, I look up just in time to swerve and avoid hitting the slowed car in front of me at 60 mph. Somewhere in the ethers where time and space are relative, Anakha rolls her eyes and groans at David's driving.
This music is symbolic of where I'm at in my life. Angry, rebellious, resentful towards the world and critical of society's injustices and hypocrisies, I can relate to it. In it, I find one of the few places of solace, and a sense of being understood.
Locked up in my room for hours, I play along to Metallica's records over and over again, creating the foundation for my guitar chops, interestingly enough later to be applied towards classical music. My anger is often present; anger towards my dad, anger towards kids in school, it becomes the shield, a way to feel powerful in the face of my fear and isolation. It runs deep enough to result in having my senior yearbook blurb banned, resulting in an inquisitive session with one of my teachers.
We arrive safely at the show.
Three hours later, ears ringing, bodies worn out, necks sore from headbanging, we emerge, stopping at the 7-11 for diet cokes, snowballs, and other unhealthy celebratory snacks. These trips are like rituals, one the few times when I feel like a part of something, when I feel connected. We return home, tired but satiated.
Briarcliff Manor, NY, The Meadowlands Arena, East Rutherford, New Jersey, and points in-between, March 1992
David, ca. 1992
Enter Light, Exit Night
Metallica kicks in full-force, music blasting, drums pounding, guitars crunching. I rock out, singing along and playing air guitar to the songs that I know so well.
Somehow, it's different. Not better or worse, just different.
It's been an interesting year. It has seemed circular, with many things from my long-forgotten past returning: cupcakes and diet coke, sugar cereals, meat and McDonald's, TV, video games, things that have been out of my life for a long, long time. And tonight, seeing a band who I've passed up seeing for the past sixteen years. It has seemed like my past has been coming into the present, offering a chance to heal the parts of myself that were wounded so long ago.
Earlier today of all days, I started seeing old high-school classmates on Facebook, and noticed the lingering resentment and constriction I felt when I saw their names and faces, old memories resurfacing. It was a great mirror to show me how I've held on to my anger for so long, too long, and to let go; to stop carrying around these outdated feelings and ideas. I don't need them any longer. And the truth is, they didn't serve me in many ways back then, either. Very timely, especially considering that my anger has been up for healing recently.
I have a great time at the show. Rather than a chance to vent like it was in the past, it felt like a chance to celebrate. Even the crowd was different: toddlers, seniors, clean-cut conservatives, and kids who don't look old enough to shave made up a large percentage of the attendees. At a Metallica concert, mind you.
Somehow, it seems relevant. Celebration instead of rebellion, community instead of isolation, powerful creative energy instead of constricted anger.
The circle has come around again, and I have a new perspective and opportunity to let go, to continue to shed the layers of defense and protection. I drive safely home, no near accidents, and a simple desire for some fruit and water instead of artificial ingredients and sugar.
Full circle, indeed.
Portland, Oregon November 1, 2008
- David Franklin (with love and homage to Robert ;)
"Exit light, enter night
Take my hand, we're off to never-never land."
- Metallica, "Enter Sandman"
"So close, no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
and nothing else matters
Never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words I don't just say
and nothing else matters
Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us something new
Open mind for a different view
and nothing else matters"
- Metallica, "Nothing Else Matters"
David, ca. 2048?
Journey into the Spaceship of Time Travel
A rainy night, fallen autumn leaves scattered about the boulevard as a man steps out of his car, dressed in 80's-style Reebok high-tops, torn jeans, and a Megadeth t-shirt so well-worn that it consists of as many holes as it does fabric.
Destination: the looming, spaceship-like building in the distance
I head towards the building. It's a little wet outside, but warm, especially for an evening in November. I don't pass many people, which is interesting, because thousands of others are expected to be arriving.
Hmmm. Perhaps I've taken the road less traveled.
Nevertheless, I continue on, finally arriving at the Rose Garden to see the show. It's been a long time - sixteen-and-a-half years, give or take. I know I'm cutting it close, and hope to make the second opening band after intentionally skipping the first.
I'm a little late. Down, the New Orleans-based metal band with a southern groove, has already begun its set. I quickly make my way to my seat, settling in and grooving to the music. Even though they've been around since 1991 and feature two former members of Pantera, the crowd doesn't seem to know who they are.
I'm disappointed that the crowd is so blase about such a great and influential band.
Nor do they care; they're there to see the headlining band, the pioneers of a style of music born in the Bay Area of San Francisco called Thrash Metal. Down finishes up their set, and we wait in anticipation. Finally, the lights go down, and the spaghetti-western piece, "The Ecstasy of Gold," comes on. It's been used as the show's opening music for almost 20 years now, and we all know what that means: Metallica is about to take the stage.
The Rose Garden and miscellaneous streets, Portland, Oregon November 1, 2008
Metallica in concert, date unknownThe Long-Haired Freaks
We're all piled in my 1986 Mazda, a group of long-haired, black t-shirted and blue-jeaned teens heading west on the Garden State Parkway. It's either the second or third show, and we're back for more, sponsored by free press-box tickets scored by David from his babysitting gig.
How ironic.
The ride is loud; music blasting, testosterone pumping, passengers getting a little rowdy.
Ok, a lot rowdy.
"Holy shit, look out!"
Distracted by the internal vehicular chaos, I look up just in time to swerve and avoid hitting the slowed car in front of me at 60 mph. Somewhere in the ethers where time and space are relative, Anakha rolls her eyes and groans at David's driving.
This music is symbolic of where I'm at in my life. Angry, rebellious, resentful towards the world and critical of society's injustices and hypocrisies, I can relate to it. In it, I find one of the few places of solace, and a sense of being understood.
Locked up in my room for hours, I play along to Metallica's records over and over again, creating the foundation for my guitar chops, interestingly enough later to be applied towards classical music. My anger is often present; anger towards my dad, anger towards kids in school, it becomes the shield, a way to feel powerful in the face of my fear and isolation. It runs deep enough to result in having my senior yearbook blurb banned, resulting in an inquisitive session with one of my teachers.
We arrive safely at the show.
Three hours later, ears ringing, bodies worn out, necks sore from headbanging, we emerge, stopping at the 7-11 for diet cokes, snowballs, and other unhealthy celebratory snacks. These trips are like rituals, one the few times when I feel like a part of something, when I feel connected. We return home, tired but satiated.
Briarcliff Manor, NY, The Meadowlands Arena, East Rutherford, New Jersey, and points in-between, March 1992
David, ca. 1992Enter Light, Exit Night
Metallica kicks in full-force, music blasting, drums pounding, guitars crunching. I rock out, singing along and playing air guitar to the songs that I know so well.
Somehow, it's different. Not better or worse, just different.
It's been an interesting year. It has seemed circular, with many things from my long-forgotten past returning: cupcakes and diet coke, sugar cereals, meat and McDonald's, TV, video games, things that have been out of my life for a long, long time. And tonight, seeing a band who I've passed up seeing for the past sixteen years. It has seemed like my past has been coming into the present, offering a chance to heal the parts of myself that were wounded so long ago.
Earlier today of all days, I started seeing old high-school classmates on Facebook, and noticed the lingering resentment and constriction I felt when I saw their names and faces, old memories resurfacing. It was a great mirror to show me how I've held on to my anger for so long, too long, and to let go; to stop carrying around these outdated feelings and ideas. I don't need them any longer. And the truth is, they didn't serve me in many ways back then, either. Very timely, especially considering that my anger has been up for healing recently.
I have a great time at the show. Rather than a chance to vent like it was in the past, it felt like a chance to celebrate. Even the crowd was different: toddlers, seniors, clean-cut conservatives, and kids who don't look old enough to shave made up a large percentage of the attendees. At a Metallica concert, mind you.
Somehow, it seems relevant. Celebration instead of rebellion, community instead of isolation, powerful creative energy instead of constricted anger.
The circle has come around again, and I have a new perspective and opportunity to let go, to continue to shed the layers of defense and protection. I drive safely home, no near accidents, and a simple desire for some fruit and water instead of artificial ingredients and sugar.
Full circle, indeed.
Portland, Oregon November 1, 2008
- David Franklin (with love and homage to Robert ;)
"Exit light, enter night
Take my hand, we're off to never-never land."
- Metallica, "Enter Sandman"
"So close, no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
and nothing else matters
Never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words I don't just say
and nothing else matters
Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us something new
Open mind for a different view
and nothing else matters"
- Metallica, "Nothing Else Matters"
David, ca. 2048?Thursday, February 19, 2009
All I Want is to Love
All I want is to love
That's what this is all about
This holding on
This grasping
This wanting
This yearning
This craving
To love in the midst of pain
Of fear
Of anger
Of rejection
Of betrayal
Of abandonment
It's why I keep coming back
Over and over again
Breaking my heart
Over and over again
Until there's nothing left to break
Shattered into a million pieces
Over years
Decades
Millenia
Eons
Wear it down until there's nothing left
No armor
No defenses
No protection
No excuses
Nothing to get in return
But Love
That's what this is all about
This holding on
This grasping
This wanting
This yearning
This craving
To love in the midst of pain
Of fear
Of anger
Of rejection
Of betrayal
Of abandonment
It's why I keep coming back
Over and over again
Breaking my heart
Over and over again
Until there's nothing left to break
Shattered into a million pieces
Over years
Decades
Millenia
Eons
Wear it down until there's nothing left
No armor
No defenses
No protection
No excuses
Nothing to get in return
But Love
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