Last weekend close to 60 men travelled 8 km of logging roads in rural British Columbia to search within themselves for the gifts and gold that they have to offer the world. 19 of those men didn’t know what they were in for, but took the journey for one reason or another, sensing the beauty within that wanted out.
Speaking about the weekend would be akin to writing out the climax and resolution of a movie you want to see. It spoils it. If you are a man, are curious, adventurous, craving community, or perhaps are at a crossroads that you no longer feel you have the resources to navigate alone, I can only offer my full urging to hunt out one of these weekends, resist the impulse to research it, and dive in, with your heart open.
Getting real is among those extraordinary things. Living from heart, admitting pain, nurturing fear, allowing rage, with the understanding that inside every one man is gold the world craves. And the sobering knowledge of just how much carnage the shadows of men have wrought on this tender earth.
Coming off the weekend, I was raw, wide open, alert, my authenticity radar tuned right in. I came across the video below, not surprisingly on the Facebook page of one of the men on the weekend. It ripped my heart right out of my chest.
I’m an Enneatype 8. We like, we need, life to be real, really real, intense, in order to feel, and be, genuinely alive. I believe this is a gift because, and I say this with all sensitivity: why the hell is life worth living when it’s anything less than totally real?
This man in the video has faced the flames of hell and with no choice gone through. I recall a speaker once asking: how could a place where everything you love dies not be a realm of hell? I thought it was a good question. Listening to this man’s story, the question is further begged.
I hear and read a lot of fortune cookie cheerleading whenever I check into my social media accounts, read email threads or whathaveyou. That’s ok, I suppose. It beats rabid cynicism. But give me balls out guts open raw facts any time. I want to see the scar, hear the wail of sorrow or be party to the untethered joy. These expressions to me are sacred and to bare witness humbles and astonishes me beyond words.