Archive for man verse

Old Story

BondsBe not the slave of your own past

plunge into sublime seas, drive deep,

and swim far

So you shall come back with self respect,

with new power, with an advanced experience,

that shall explain and overlook the old.

—Ralph Waldo Emerson

Dear Human

Dear Human:

You’ve got it all wrong .
image006You didn’t come here to master unconditional love.
That is where you came from and where you’ll return.
You came here to learn personal love.
Universal love. Messy love . Sweaty love.
Crazy love . Broken love. Whole love .
Infused with divinity.
Lived through the grace of stumbling.
Demonstrated through the beauty of…messing up.
You didn’t come here to be perfect.
You already are.
You came here to be gorgeously human.
Flawed and fabulous .

And then to rise again into remembering .

But unconditional love? Stop telling that story.
Love, in truth, doesn’t need ANY other adjectives.
It doesn’t require modifiers.
It doesn’t require the condition of perfection.
It only asks that you show up. And do your best.
That you stay present and feel fully.
That you shine and fly and laugh and cry and hurt and heal and fall
and get back up and play and work and live and die as YOU.

It’s enough.

It’s Plenty.

—Courtney Walsh

Wild Man Weekend

We enter through a hole in the earth,
In silence we scream,shedding our skin.

Some easily become invisible among the trees.

wildman_2For others the first wind hitting is a shocking slap,a first breath,
No time to be taken gently
By fathers’ hands firmly supporting to mama’s soft belly.

Oh! how I love to lay in upon the earth
But instead,lined up and tossed
Into the rushing river, scratched by reeds.

We wake to meet the medicine man,
Reflexive battle twitches,
Limbs learn strength in wrestling,

Digging in each foot and climbing the hill to join the tribe.

Drummers drive the male rain hard into the earth

As masks crack.
Pain packed dormant like a rotting root of a tooth
Rises tension, to grinding,

To deep growling wolf
Howl into the face of the storm.

Winds whip the frenzy
Leaving the illusion of the electric world behind,

As the shadow leaps over the fire
And the grim grip of the intellect loses control.

We dance , we play, we warm ourselves by the fire.
We watch our fears take form and float across the sky
Clouds changing shape

From ships of Viking berserkers to swash buckling heroes and fools,
Flashes of sword and lightning,

The smell of our ancestors
Swirl in our nostrils and then ride away again,
Leaving us beaten and worn
From inner battles.

Still standing in the silence of oak, manzanita, redwood,and madrone,

Knowing more about where we came from,
We stare into the fire and the shadows on each other’s faces
Feeling wounds opened and closed.

Wounds of fathers and lovers
washed by the rain

We listen to stories from the heart
And in this circle move toward wholeness ready to walk
Back on the path toward our dreams

Lit by the healing torch of our sameness
Chanted in the deep voices of men.
And the full moon rising over the green wisdom of the valley.

The owl says goodnight.

Steve Backinhoff
Dancing Gorilla


On Warriors and Greed

Warriors don’t venture into the unknown out of greed.

Greed works only in the world of ordinary affairs.

To venture into that terrifying loneliness of the
unknown, one must have something greater than greed: love.

One needs love for life, for intrigue, for mystery.
One needs unquenchable curiosity and

guts galore.

-Carlos Casteneda from

The Fire From Within


Some words on Shadow

As I descend into basement shadows, I am washed in red.

Smoothness is not a choice on the earthly plane.

As light reveals, so also shadows are spawned.

With this I must learn to rock my ignorance to sleep to await its hungry cry.

I must feed my insincerity its milky gruel.

I must give my meanness rapt attention.

I must dine with my shallowness and play chess with my incompetence.

I must massage my cruelty’s neck and let my coldness share my bed.

I must serve tea to my gloom and warm my fear’s cold feet, while tucking in my weakness for the night.

I must play cards with my animal passions and wrap my ugliness in my favorite silken robe.

I must sing to my conceit and pick up my naivete and hold it close in my arms.

All these folk live in my house, as they must.

I must honor their darkness for in it they help make the light shine.

With this, all at once and in balance, the wholeness of soul can be truly found.

Happy is the house where all sleep warm.

Where no one must lie in the basement, damp alone and afraid-

and enraged at the one who locked the cellar door

All those many years before.

— Unknown

A Warrior….

Listen to me carefully and remember every word.

A warrior is not a soldier.
A soldier is trained to fight and follow orders.
A warrior is trained to think for himself and fight only as a last resort.
A warrior is the first to begin and the last to quit .
He laughs the hardest and loves the best.
Stand your ground in all things and only give ground out of kindness.

A warrior is not a follower, nor is he a leader except at great need.

A warrior learns from the animals, the hills, and the rivers.
He respects all things of the earth as if they were his own heart.
All men and all spirits are equals.

A warrior never begs or pleads, nor does he give in to hopelessness and despair.

Whether the warrior is successful or tries valiantly only to have failed, he thanks the Great Spirit for the opportunity and the lessons.

A warrior cares for the weakest and least of his brothers, humbling himself in their service.

He seeks wisdom in all things and learns from even the dullest, for all are his teachers.

A warrior leaves judgment of his brothers and sisters to the Great Spirit, but does not tolerate disrespectful behavior in his presence.

Love and Peace,
Barefoot Windwalker

Some more words on warriorship from Robert Breszny’s book
PROnoia is the Antidote for Paranoia”


Four Dignities of the Warrior’s Path

 In Tibetan Buddhism’s “Four Dignities of the Warrior’s Path,” courage and ferocity are absent. In fact, the qualities regarded as essential for being a warrior have nothing in common with the training regimens of Marines or football players or lobbyists.

The first dignity is often translated in English as meekness, but that word doesn’t convey its full meaning. “Relaxed confidence” is a more precise formulation — a humble feeling of being at home in one’s body.

Perkiness, or irrepressible joy, is the second dignity. To develop it, a warrior cultivates the habit of seeing the best in everything and works  diligently to avoid the self-indulgence of cynicism.

 The third is outrageous-ness. The warrior who embodies this dignity loves to experiment, is not addicted to strategies that have been successful in the past, and has a passionate objectivity that’s free of the irrelevant emotions of hope and fear.

 The fourth dignity is inscrutability, or a skill at evading the pigeonholes and simplistic definitions that might limit the warrior’s inventiveness while fighting for his or her moral vision.

Great Men

The real great man is the man who makes every man feel great.

~ G. K. Chesterton

Your Garden

The Paradoxical Commandments

People are illogical, unreasonable, and self-centered.

Love them anyway.

If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish ulterior motives.

Do good anyway.

If you are successful, you will win false friends and true enemies.

Succeed anyway.

The good you do today will be forgotten tomorrow.

Do good anyway.

Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable.

Be honest and frank anyway.

The biggest men and women with the biggest ideas can be shot down by the smallest men and women with the smallest minds.

Think big anyway.

People favor underdogs but follow only top dogs.

Fight for a few underdogs anyway.

What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight.

Build anyway.

People really need help but may attack you if you do help them.

Help people anyway.

Give the world the best you have and you’ll get kicked in the teeth.

Give the world the best you have anyway.

© Copyright Kent M. Keith 1968, renewed 2001

On Fathers

How do we forgive our fathers? Maybe in a
dream. He’s in your power. You twist his arm.

But you’re not sure it was he that stole your money.

You feel calmer and you decide to let him go free.

Or he’s the one, as in a dream of mine, I must pull from the water,
but I never knew it or wouldn’t have done
it, until I saw the street-theater play so close up I was moved to actions I’d never before taken.

Do we forgive our fathers for leaving us too often or forever when we were little?

Maybe for scaring us with unexpected rage or making us nervous because there never
seemed to be any rage there at all?

Do we forgive our fathers for marrying or not marrying our mothers?
For divorcing or not divorcing our mothers?
And shall we forgive them for their excesses of warmth, of coldness?

Shall we forgive them for pushing or leaning? For shutting doors?
For speaking only through layers of cloth,or never speaking, or never being silent?

Do we forgive our fathers in our age or in theirs?
Or in their deaths. Saying it to them or not saying it?

If we forgive our fathers, what is left?

Dick Lourie, Forgiving Our Fathers,
Hanging Loose Press,
pps 147-149,
and as appears in
Sherman Alexie’s  film, Smoke Signals,

some More words on Fathers –

Knock Knock

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