This past Sunday night, I returned home after a 48 hour retreat in Oxford, MA. The group that holds these retreats is called the ManKind Project, and I went because one of my most trusted friends told me of the power of the experience he had had there. So I went, despite my hesitations, and came back renewed.
A poem that I hope captures my experience:
I turned off my phone.
I put away my clock.
I dropped off the map.
I saw men laid bare and raw.
I heard beautiful truth that scratched throats red and swollen.
I felt my tears stream down and did not wipe them away.
I looked deep into men's eyes without threat.
I saw my culture's stream of judgment exposed for what it is.
I heard my own judgments ringing hollow and brittle in my head.
I saw men telling their truth.
I saw paradox held up and embraced.
I felt trust that can't be earned in a lifetime of acquaintance.
I was allowed to not know.
I saw every man both flawed and whole.
I met someone I hadn't met in decades.
I named my demons.
I smelled my body unwashed and felt cleaner than I had in years.
I heard chatter fall silent.
A poem that I hope captures my experience:
I turned off my phone.
I put away my clock.
I dropped off the map.
I saw men laid bare and raw.
I heard beautiful truth that scratched throats red and swollen.
I felt my tears stream down and did not wipe them away.
I looked deep into men's eyes without threat.
I saw my culture's stream of judgment exposed for what it is.
I heard my own judgments ringing hollow and brittle in my head.
I saw men telling their truth.
I saw paradox held up and embraced.
I felt trust that can't be earned in a lifetime of acquaintance.
I was allowed to not know.
I saw every man both flawed and whole.
I met someone I hadn't met in decades.
I named my demons.
I smelled my body unwashed and felt cleaner than I had in years.
I heard chatter fall silent.