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The Men's Centerof Raleigh and Wake County |
August 1997
Jeffrey Duvall
After ten years of working with men, prayer, and healing, I see many men afflicted with a great sense of spiritual loss, in need of community and prayer. When men do come together, they are bursting with anger generations old. Their temptation to continue wounding each other and the world is strong. We create with them a ritual container, an honored place to go and pray, to reveal their lives' passionate, turbulent truths and questions, as well as all the honor and blessing of their bittersweet inner voices, their soulful inheritance. In this prayer-place the conditioning to compete, to better, to dominate for only personal gain melts away. The chance to be blessed by brothers, to experience kindness and acceptance even in the face of a storm, to know worthiness as a given right--all this brings much healing.
I remember the time two men seeking renewal and inspiration camped out on a solo prayer fast deep in a Utah canyon. In the darkness a raging electrical storm confronted them. They hurried back to base camp, shocked deep to the primal basement of their souls. Each prayed to live through the night. With death possibly near, nothing mattered more than life. The struggles of their lives became clearer in that alone prayer time. They were wild, alive men who crawled into my already soaked one-man shelter. There we lay together, half on top of each other, in laughter and fear and gear. Water flowed over our sleeping ground. After a restless sleep, the morning sunshine blessed our new day, our cleaned-out psyches, our opened eyes and hearts.
We survived that night. The ability to be humble enough to witness the beauty around us reminds me of my youth and being in a space of reverence in church. My experience with men and prayer began at an early age in the Roman Catholic Church, in the days of the Latin mass. Elder men in serious moods about God performed their chosen duties. Beeswax candles with a sweet thick smell filled the church with anticipation of what was to come. We wore special garments with many buttons and white cassocks. Our dress and the lighting of the candles--these alone made up a ritual. We prepared incense along with holy water. Both would be used to purify and bless the congregation during Mass. It was a reverent practice, this holy preparation. I loved it. Old men grown eccentric with time before the altar, performing countless ceremonies. Men who had heard the call to serve and guide people through their lives in a prescribed ritual space handed down through hundreds of years. This is a familiar story for many people engaged in traditional religions. This commitment to prayer--to gather into a community and invoke the graces of a whole-hearted life--is an ancient practice.
In the twenty years or so since my self-imposed exile from Catholicism, I have tasted many different ways of prayer and ritual creation. It has been difficult to find my way. A number of elder teachers have taken me under their wings. Some have shown me the way to engage nature in a holy way by allowing the spirits of the earth to assist in visioning. Others have helped me create a spritual team of allies to assist in creating ritual passages and healing. Some have given me the gifts of the sweat lodge, the sweat house, the sauna to cleanse and pray in. I recall the gifts of Dr. John Herman. At that time a ninety-six-year-old medicine man, he welcomed me to his humble office in downtown Chicago. The first day we met he committed himself to our friendship, and we began to see his clients together. I had no idea what I was doing there. He simply said to me, "I know that you are called to do healing work with your people." I believe this is true for all of us. Dr. Herman showed me the way of spirit without the dogmatic one-way thinking about spirit. He and my other teachers loved me and supported me for exactly who I was. Their blessings have become the foundation of my faith and the soul food that has kept me alive. Now I am able to return to Catholic masses and see their inherent beauty, the glue that holds their traditions together. To embrace the richness of ritual and to let go what doesn't serve the individual or group is what fuels peace on earth and honors diversity.
Men are tired of being caged by religious teachings that marginalize their modern-day struggles with personal meaning, material value, and spiritual freedom. Spiritual freedoms of the future will take into account the seductive powers of righteousness that can be found in any spiritual system. Religion that gloats on itself, history has taught us, can have great power to oppress the individual. This is not about condemning any religion for its beliefs. It is about respect for the person in prayer, about learning how culture and religion have oppressed spiritual freedoms in the past. If these judgments continue, they live as part of our own oppressions of ourselves and our communities. This is about keeping fresh the virtues that prayer evokes--virtues that guide and direct a spirit willing and able to bless the diversity of the many creation stories among the peoples of the earth--their visions of the future.
For men that come together in prayer from this open place, the forms sometimes appear as metaphorical expressions in a ritual dance that honors the many voices in a man's heart. At other times a sweat lodge or a poem strums the instrument of a man's soul and carries it down to a deeper place. Clearly, the individual chooses how he prays, how he allows himself to call on the spirit to assist him. In all my experience of traditional and non-traditional prayer I have never found "spirit" or "God" or "creator" or (for Buddhists) "the silent peace" to prefer any single religious doctrine, race, or beliefs of a community. The power of "spirit," "God, "Buddha" responds to all forms of prayer equally. In our prayer together, men are opening their embrace to know the wonder of peace, of kind anger, of meaning, of the always changing passages of life. They are coming together and asking themselves, "What are these wonders? How do I wish to be remembered? What of my life shall I leave behind for my family, my community, and the earth itself?"
Men tell me they feel lost in the modern world. There's a weariness in the separation they feel from each other, from prayer and joy, from the blessing of a rich life. David Whyte's poetry reminds us to sanctify this lostness as well. For we must begin from where we are, and from our struggle to know ourselves deeply comes a teaching. When we bring our fear, our anger, our confusion into the place of respectful prayer, what shamed us becomes our ally. When the ugliest, most forbidden parts of ourselves are blessed by other men and our own inner voice, the battle that raged inside us begins to subside. We aren't as threatened, and we become more tolerant of others. We see much to be thankful for and we rejoice in the diversity of life. The more we give thanks in prayer, the more our lives become a living prayer, a daily walk of radical organic prayer that nourishes our growing souls and heals ourselves and our communities.
Jeffrey Duvall is co-founder and co-director of The Men's Council Project, which offers soul-based leadership training for men. He leads workshops for men in the blossoming of heart in manhood, personal mythology, creative expression, healing and ritual. See page 3 for announcement of his upcoming spirit camp in the area.
President's Message
It's almost one o'clock in the morning as I sit at the computer in Kinko's on Baseline Road here in Boulder. I flew into Denver this morning after pulling one of my all-nighters--one that did not include time to write my president's message. Tomorrow morning, I leave with eighteen other men who have gathered here to participate in a week-long leadership training retreat with Jeffrey Duvall, Tom Daly, and Keith Fairmont.
Although I've made headway into our reading list, written a brief description of my reasons for attending, and amassed an extensive assortment of camping gear--borrowed and bought--including a poncho for sudden thunderstorms, wool cap and long johns for 35-degree nights, and high-octane sunscreen for 85-degree days of intense sun, I'm experiencing the same combination of excitement and apprehension I did when I embarked on Outward Bound a couple of decades ago. I don't really know what we'll be doing out in Sapphire Canyon.
I almost didn't come. These last months have been difficult: too much to do, too much responsibility, it seemed. And recently I've felt depleted, worn. I was not exactly eager to share my vulnerability with eighteen men I do not know. I always want to come to these events pulled together so as to present my most competent, engaging, clever, and centered face. I still need to make an "A." I turned a corner one day last week. What better time, I realized, to come to Sapphire Canyon than when I felt scattered, vulnerable, and in need.
On the leg of my flight from Dallas to Denver, I dipped into one of the books I had not yet examined. The Book of the Vision Quest, by Steven Foster and Meredith Little, begins with an account of Steven's first venture into the wilderness to escape the suffocating confines of civilization. After a brief account of his encounters with the awesome beauty and unrelenting fierceness of the natural world, Steven describes his sudden realization that returning to the civilation he abhorred was the next step of his journey.
He writes: “...my heart, which I had come to respect, said calmly, ‘Go back to your life...work it out there. That which you fear most is the source of ultimate revelation and power.’” I paused in my reading and began to ponder my own fears. Images flashed before me--vignettes of my life--and strung themselves into a necklace of despair. I recalled the early fear of playing baseball with my male classmates. I was a year younger than they.
At age seven, a year was one size too small for me to participate with power and grace among my larger classmates. I detested being chosen last, feared the ball would be hit to me where I stood on the outermost fringes of the outfield. I vowed so many times, standing lonely and afraid, an outcast in the outfield, that when I grew up I would be a coach for elementary school. I would spot the frightened young boys, see into their fragile, young souls, and lead them into baseball, into participation, into their own abilities. I would not let one young boy suffer the shame of being left out.
As if counting a rosary of wounds, I next saw the lingering fears of wasting my talents, my life. I recalled how I never experienced my father as leading me into life, into the world of men, so that I always felt outside, inadequate, as if other young men knew how to bridge the awful chasm between youth and manhood. And I hadn't a clue where to leap, or even take an uncertain step.
Tears began to roll down my cheeks. A sadness emerged from deep within to lodge in my throat, choking me with unspoken words of grief. The tears rolled down my cheek, past my glasses. I casually placed my elbow onto the armrest and rested my forehead in my hand. I let the tears continue. I was in a public place. No one would notice. The tears needed to come. They had been waiting months to flow. They came from a well as deep as a lifetime. We all have such wells into which we rarely peer.
The pain in my throat and chest persisted. And it felt good. Because it was true. I was confirmed in my belief that I was headed into right direction--to Sapphire Canyon where I would be among men whom I had never met. Men who had also learned to cover their fears, who were all headed towards one another to share those fears, and to be coaches for one another. So that no little boy would ever again be red-faced with shame because he was not welcome.
--Marcus Copelan
Jeffrey Duvall To Lead Spirit Camp At Kanata September 26-28
I am inspired to study, practice, and
share the mystery and place of manhood in modern times.
--Jeffrey Duvall, Co-founder with Tom Daly of The Men's Council Project
Jeffrey Duvall will travel to North Carolina in September to lead us in a weekend of ritual, poetry, song, dance, and dialogue. Having led these weekend gatherings--called Spirit Camps--for eight years, Jeffrey creates these retreats for men who want more from their lives.
For Jeffrey, the closeness to nature is an essential ingredient for the ritual container. Exposure to rain, wind, sun, and earth bring a grounded form and greater clarity. Being with nature, he believes, contributes to an easy sharing of life's stories, a recognition of the blessings of one's own nature, and seeing sharply the seasons of life-- an experience that can yield dramatic healing and a new sense of personal direction.
From Jeffrey's unique perspective, the very nature of survival demands the use of creative energies that lie within each of us. Confidence found within oneself is the ground work for being a contributing force to family and community. Laughter is essential when wrestling with the dilemma of modern manhood. There is an ancient grace in men like old wise blood. When a man gathers and creates peace within himself, there is more peace in the world.
Within the weekend container are both the lighted pathways and the dark unknown mazes. We learn from what our ancestors have passed to us as wisdom, churn this in the paradox of current experience, and choose a future that permits shedding of old ways no longer useful. In this way, we prepare ourselves for a future in which our choices honor ourselves and all people.
Jeffrey’s Spirit Camp for Men will take place Friday evening through early afternoon Sunday, September 26-28, at Camp Kanata. Cost: $210 if $100 deposit postmarked by September 10; $245 if deposit postmarked thereafter. Mail deposit to Raleigh Men's Center, Duvall Retreat, PO Box 1655, Raleigh, NC 27628.
Our August monthly meeting will be an all-day gathering Saturday, August 30, at Gregory Berns' farm in Youngsville. This day-long event is an opportunity for men to gather at a leisurely pace, enjoy the beauty of Gregory's land--fields, woods, creek--and share a potluck meal. For this men-only day, bring a dish to share, frisbees, stories, poetry, drums, and other musical instruments. Afternoon ritual with sweat lodge. Participate in what you wish. The gathering will begin at 10:00 AM and continue until 10:00 PM. To get there from Raleigh: Take US 1 North. Cross the Neuse River and pass all the exits for Wake Forest. About 4 miles after last exit, look for large Sprint Corporation Building on left. At traffic light following, turn right onto Holden Avenue. Follow Holden into Youngsville. Go through traffic light, over railroad tracks, through another traffic light. 3/4 mile later, turn left by Huff's Cash and Carry--onto Cedar Creek Road. Go about one mile and take left onto Hicks Road. Gregory Berns' farm is second house on left--about 1/2 mile from where you turned onto Hicks. Look for mailbox # 1974. From Durham, take NC 98 east into Wake Forest. Turn left onto US 1 North. Look for large Sprint Corporation Building on left and follow Raleigh directions above. See you there!
Dale English To Lead Relationship Building Through Creative Movement For Men and Women At Glenagape October 24-26
Dale English To Lead Relationship Building Through Creative Movement For Men And Women At Glenagape October 24-26.
"There is absolutely NO WAY that you can do it wrong!" - Dale English
Regardless of age, gender or sexual orientation, there is probably nothing that feels quite as intimidating for many of us as moving our bodies or just focusing on our bodies. Many shame-filled memories and fearful and protective reactions are triggered whenever we try to move our bodies... and feel our feelings... and communicate with ourselves and others.
This Creative Movement workshop utilizes improvisational and authentic movement to access our true and hidden feelings. Within the safety and boundaries of a group-created container, participants will learn to honor their feelings and explore individual movement at their own pace. Also, participants will experience how to move in relationship with a partner without giving up or discounting their own feelings. In addition, participants will be introduced to authentic movement... that is, moving in silence... responding only to what the person uniquely hears or feels from within. Thoughts and feelings are processed after each movement... and, sometimes, old tapes can be rewritten...
If you happen to have an active internal critic (most of us do), give him or her the weekend off and come to this workshop. As hard as your critic normally works to keep you doing things right, he or she deserves this time off... particularly since during this workshop, there would be absolutely nothing for your critic to do...
Dale English is a Senior Clinician in a large northern New Jersey Medical Center. Six years ago, Dale discovered the power of improvisational and authentic movement forms for accessing those deep, resistant feelings, and enabling the authentic self to express those feelings through non-verbal, shame-free movement... that couldn't be done wrong!
Dale is a dancer, therapist, survivor (of clergy sexual abuse) and workshop leader committed to healing our fears of feeling different and building healthy and intimate relationships. See page 3 for workshop cost and details.
Community Dance Project for Men:
Race Matters: Continuing the
Conversation
Jimmy Green of the African-American Dance Ensenble, and William Finger, a writer, dancer, and long-time member of the Men's Center, will lead an eight-week workshop for men, culminating in at least one performance. It will address issues of race in personal and interpersonal ways, drawing on creative movement techniques used in community settings and on African dance and ritual.
The class meets Sundays, 5:00 PM to 7:00 PM, September 7 to October 26, at Art in Motion, 601 Tucker Street, Raleigh. (Tucker Street is off Glenwood Avenue, between Peace Street and Hillsborough Street.). Cost is $75, with some scholarships available.
No previous dance or theater experience is needed, only a willingness to reflect on experiences and feelings defined by race and to move through space. The performance will be designed for a community setting, such as a civic club, human relations council or youth project. We hope to follow this initial series of classes with a community-based project, possibly working with youth. Send registration to Art in Motion at address above.
Ten Warnings in Search of a Consciousness-Raising Group for Men
"Beware of the man who praises liberated women; he's planning to quit his job."
--Erica Jong
Beware of the woman poet;
she's waiting to be surprised by a swan.
Beware of the woman with sharp pencils;
she thinks you're a marginal note.
Beware of the woman who keeps coming toward
you;
she thinks she's the light at the end of the tunnel.
Beware of the woman who accepts you as you
are;
she's weary.
Beware of the woman who loves to cook;
she'll make you delve into the leftovers.
Beware of the woman who won't cook;
she'll eat you raw.
Beware of the woman who won't be touched;
she keeps a list of small injuries.
Beware of the woman who lifts weights;
she'll let you down.
Beware of the unliberated woman;
she knows when to call her lawyer.
Beware of the liberated woman;
she's her own lawyer.
--Lewis Lipsitz, from his forthcoming book Seeking
The Hook, to be published later this year by Signal Books.
Hot and sticky
drenched with eternity
the milky come spurts out
an equatorial
softness the spit
of God.
My prick is only
the way for it
the bridge over
which these
messengers travel,
bursting forth
marathon runners
rushing
to the front
at the start
of the race
bringing
their information
that the war
is over that
we survived
that no one can
deny
our history
that all the ones
who came before
us
crowd in this
room around
our bed - Yes,
it's a big group
but who ever said
evolution was
comfortable? My
Russian forebears
stand far in the back
keeping their
fur overcoats
on.
--Lewis Lipsitz, from his forthcoming book
Seeking The Hook, to be published later this year by Signal Books.
Commentary
My Path Towards Passionate Art Collecting
My vacations in Santa Fe, New Mexico, overflow with magic, beauty, and adventure. On a recent visit, I purchased a Native American clay pot made by a noted artist, a piece of perfect shape and proportion, highly polished in red and black, with inlaid turquoise stones. The pot was the most expensive piece of art I've ever purchased.
At the Guadalupe Cafe that evening I ate sensuous green chile and chicken enchiladas in a private booth with my wife. The sunset was brilliant with vivid colors; the air dry, clear, and fragrant. But beneath my appreciation of the love and beauty surrounding me, I felt uneasy and anxious about the magnificent piece of art I had purchased. Part of me believed a message I heard inside my head. "The pot has no utilitarian purpose. It doesn't do anything, you don't need it. You could have gotten something just like it for a tenth of its price."
After dinner my wife and I walked hand in hand down quiet streets toward the old train station. I could still taste the exotic mix of chile, cilantro, and peppers. We talked about the purchase of art, where logic and common sense do not rule; the do's and don't are reflexive, primitive, and powerful. As a child and young adult I did not learn to spend money with pleasure and passion.
When we reached the plaza, where the St. Francis Cathedral reigns at the top of San Francisco Street, the sun continued its descent. As the sky turned purple and blue, a crescent moon rose over the Sangre de Cristo mountains. Our discussion moved toward the nature of our collection, Native American art of the Southwest. Our pots, baskets, and kachinas are not the "traditional" media of art collections, not the sort displayed in most museums or books, not highlighted in magazines or talked about at parties. The artists are not glamorous or flashy. Few people in North Carolina share my interest in Southwestern art, and I sometimes feel isolated, different, not well understood. This solitary position fueled the angst I'd felt earlier at dinner.
With dark settling around us, we walked to the Galisteo Cafe, to continue our discussion amidst the aroma of coffee, fresh pastries, and a heterogeneous crowd of native Santa Feans and tourists. The high altitude, jet lag, and a big meal took their toll, and we headed for our hotel. I felt somnolent, ready for sleep.
Home again in North Carolina and drinking my morning coffee, I enjoy the sun's heat and beauty flowing through the trees in the backyard. My prized pot sits on the table behind the couch. Daily, I am aware of my good fortune to own such a work of art. For the past six weeks I have spent considerable time thinking and talking about art in my life. I have developed a new, more healthy approach to art collecting and appreciation.
I accept the fact that as a child I learned behaviors and thought patterns that are no longer in my best interest. I am beginning to believe that I am worthy of having numerous unique and wonderful pieces of art in my home. To buy art is to take care of myself. I give myself joy and pleasure and affirm my goodness and my right to be happy.
I realize that my passion for Southwest Native American art makes me special. Visitors to our home ask questions about where the pots and baskets are made, and what is the purpose of a kachina. Recently, I talked with friends who spend considerable money on automobiles, hunting, horses, and other hobbies. We shared views on making and spending money, subjects that most people do not feel comfortable discussing, and we became more intimate and better friends as a result of these conversations.
Over time I have discovered how vital art is to my mental well-being. My involvement with visual arts and rich color is a wonderful counterbalance to the dreary surroundings in the hospital where I work. At work I see blood, bodies disfigured from trauma or cancer; pain, grief, or despair on my patients' faces; my colleagues' tired eyes. Art in my life is the antidote to this pain and misery.
In six months and fourteen days, I will return to Santa Fe. I long to once again eat green chile, view spectacular sunsets, and tour magnificent galleries. But I am committed to making a major change; next time, my art purchases will be infused with joy, gratitude, passion, and pleasure.
--Fred Spielman
Fred Spielman is an anesthesiologist at the University of North Carolina School of Medicine. He has been a member of a Chapel Hill men's support group for nine years.
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