Man Seeking Woman

In the Biblical sense, to be a “Man” is to enter into the world to wrestle with its moral compromises.

Those compromises are rooted in the ancient competitions that Darwin called “natural selection.” So it’s not just humanity that we must wrestle with – no, the burden is much larger than that. Judgment is passed on us because our very presence catalyzes win-win collaboration that threatens the survival of the most successful zero-sum competitors. They marshal all their tools to eliminate that threat to their dominance.

There’s no point in complaining about it. The things that we love evolved that way. But we end up physically and psychically battered.

As I have persisted in surrender to that process, every now and then I feel a presence of infinite feminine patience, compassion and healing reach out to me. She sends me thoughts such as “Oh, my precious son. You are so lonely.” Or “Thank you for being strong for us.”

Sometimes that presence finds a route into the world through a female. Those moments, often occurring on the dance floor, are intensely beautiful. But when the dance is over, she finds herself confronted with this choice: to surrender herself to service to that compassion and healing, or to dally with males that don’t demand so much work.

And so I find myself confronted with this dilemma: they want to be pursued, but the Divine Feminine that reaches out to me requires a space of absolute stillness. I find myself often standing stock-still in the middle of the floor, eyes closed in concentration, trying to create that space. And so the ladies dance away.

That hurts, but the alternative would be far, far worse. Any lady that receives that presence and turns away from it to pursue other options would be completely crushed by the forces that oppose Men. Sustaining Men in their struggle requires absolute devotion to Her. Again in the Biblical sense, it demands that they become a Woman.

This is why I am alone in the world.

Womanhood Risen

I’ve been following a blogger here at WordPress for a while, and I wanted to send her a private message, so I’m putting this up so that I can link to it from a comment on her blog.

Her blog is a personal journey of recovery and self-affirmation. When I encountered the work, it had transformed from a powerful, moving written account of what it is like to stand at the edge of the abyss of self-destruction. From that place, the creator turned to visual memes that characterized the virtues revealed within her by Christ: courage, determination, sensitivity, patience, joy, fertility, and so many others. She has achieved what I have not: finding a means to cast the kaleidoscope of Divine Love’s influence on our lives into delicious morsels that her readers can assimilate one at a time.

As she marshalled those virtues within herself, she occasionally reflected on the turning point in her struggle: the hearing of “Here I am to Worship” while at a recovery center. The first time she wrote of that, I was cast back into that moment with her, and felt love establish a beach-head.

Her self-expression was always playfully deprecating; her concerns often that she was not making progress on the life-path that society has allocated to women. As a counter, I told her once that eventually her work would turn outwards. That is coming to pass: now she writes often of the dynamic of her interaction with the world. The terms are more and more confident of her womanly spirituality – the powerful, graceful affirmation of virtue that anchors it firmly to the future, possible only because she possesses a womb in which potentiality can take root and flower.

I cannot express how much I am in awe of that capacity. It awakens powerfully in me the urge to protect, to shield her from the corrupting influences that swirl all around us. But I am also beginning to sense the same certainty that was characteristic of Jacqueline Onassis: that her virtue will call to her protectors at the time and place of her need.

The exclamation that arises in me in the presence of such a woman has always been “Oh Woman! Oh Beauty! Oh Life!” I struggle with desire, even from the separation of a continent, understanding that distance is necessary to the end goal: that such women not become wrapped up in a relationship, but stand as shining stars to inspire their sisters.

I know that doesn’t seem fair, but we are here on Earth to create conditions in which the Divine Feminine will allow itself to be seduced. Laying down what seems to be our natural rights is to open the door to the virtues of the spirit that she tenders. It is time, dear sister, to see her as an equal to Christ, and yourself as one among her priestesses – not for the purpose of displacing Christ, but for the purpose of healing him.

Too Much Fun

We had an “intimate” gathering at Santa Barbara Dance Tribe yesterday. Most of the crew was holding down a dance space at Lucidity in Carpenteria.

That was probably the best for me. As I get older, the damage I do to my joints doesn’t recover overnight. Everyone has a stronger side, but after decades of tennis and basketball, my right tends to overwhelm my left. This has been showing up in my left ankle, which has borne the brunt of leaps and spins that should be stabilized in my hips and knees. It was beginning to fall apart.

I’ve been trying to activate the weak muscles in my left hip and calf. That’s allowed my ankle to recover, but it’s still sensitive, so yesterday I spent a good portion of the dance just trying to walk with my left foot pointed in the same direction as my right foot, or doing dips standing on one foot at a time. Frustration set in more than once – I just couldn’t find the muscles on the left side that the right wide was using.

I mean, is learning to walk really that complicated? I guess I forget.

The music was all vinyl, offered by Mark Metz who had come down from Berkeley. Up until the last fifteen minutes, I had only gotten wound up once, and then he put on Phil Collin’s “Sledgehammer.” I had a good time interpreting the lyrics, but found myself wondering why I was getting into this patently licentious song. Then the music shifted into the last bridge, and my kinesthetic memory activated:

I kicked the habit (I kicked the habit)
Shed my skin (Shed my skin)
This is the new stuff (This is the new stuff)
I go dancing in, (We could go dancing in)
Oh won’t you show for me (Show for me)
I will show for you (Show for you)
Show for me (Show for me), I will show for you

Yea, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, I do mean you
Only you, you’ve been coming through
Going to build that power
Build, build up that power, hey
I’ve been feeding the rhythm
I’ve been feeding the rhythm
Going to feel that power, build in you

Tender ankle forgotten, I sang along; pinwheeling and spinning; reaching up into the sky and throwing down; crouching and spreading the love across the ground.

It was light, that new stuff I dance in, just all over my body. It felt so wonderful!

And I’m not paying for it today – at least, not too much.

Winged

After six months, my masseuse is still trying to dissolve the knots that lie above the parasympathetic nodes along my spine. The visualizations that come have been intense at times.

The lady with the alabaster jar capturing the memory of Jesus before  he suffered the lash, projecting it into the future so he could be restored  to himself when the world was finally ready to receive him.

So she’s made some progress, but those lumps are persistent. Saturday night she was working persistently on the nodes between my shoulder blades, just under my neck, and I shared this silly thought with her:

You keep on doing that and you’re going to make my wings pop out.

We already knew that the lumps are tied to the pressure of the darkness that resists me.

I was working on the first of the scripts on Revelation yesterday down at Renaud’s café in Santa Barbara when a cover of “Blackbird” came on, this one through a woman’s tender vocals:

Blackbird singing in the dead of night:
Take these broken wings and learn to fly!
All your life,
You’ve been only waiting for this moment to arrive.
You’ve been only waiting for this moment to arrive.
You’ve been only waiting for this moment to arrive.

I had to go out into the gentle morning sunlight to let it wash the grief out of me.

At Dance Tribe, the gift from the avian kingdom – the lady that I fell in love with last January – finally returned. Not wanting to torment her, I just kept on dancing, and she fell into the embrace of her lover. As they wrapped themselves into each other, I reached past her for the gifts that she had received from me. He gripped her more firmly in his powerful arms, trying to protect her, but they had chosen me – they were only on loan to her in the hope that she would open herself to the Holy Mother.

When I resumed dancing, they brought the memory of her joy with them. It had been a long time since I danced with such playful abandon, just letting my parts do their work together.

The penultimate number of the session was the beautiful gift from the Wailing Jenny’s, “One Voice.” The souls of the dance surrendered themselves to union as the progression advanced: One voice…voices two….voices three, and then “this is the sound of all of us.”

But they weren’t expecting what happened on the last stanza. I spread my arms wide, pushing against the darkness with my palms:

This is the sound of one voice
One people, one voice
A song for every one of us
This is the sound of one voice

Oh, my humbled heart! The sound of a world grieving it’s sorrows.

Somebody must hear them! Oh, if it needs be, use me, dearest Father, use me.

Divine Intercourse

At the AMP conference last month, Michelle Tepper’s topic was “breaking the silence on love, sex and relationships.” Michelle trumpeted her success reaching college students, but I found her message uncomfortable. She relies heavily on Biblical rules in framing responses to the psychological needs of individuals.

So when I approached her afterwards, I began by suggesting that we sit down, bringing our eyes to the same level.

As I explained, if any of us were complete in ourselves, we would be God. He made us a duality on purpose. I expressed my concern that this aspect of the Biblical message was underrepresented in her teaching.

Having warned us in her presentation that we shouldn’t go around looking for a relationship that completed us, Michelle was hostile to the idea. I guided her away from reiteration of her message, observing that I have been advising youth on-line.

Then the conversation took a sharp twist. She asked “Do you think that Jesus was satisfied?”

I knew that she meant sexually, but I shifted to a large view of his life. “No, he wasn’t satisfied at all. He knew that his culture needed to change, with a passion that drove him to the cross.”

Michelle wasn’t to be deterred. “I meant satisfied sexually. I believe that he was beyond that need.”

Well, it was time to plunge right in. I shrugged. “Read the description of the New Jerusalem. It is a metaphor for the union of the divine masculine with the divine feminine.”

She was struck dumb, as were the onlookers.

I continued “Look, the Bible is all about men’s problems. The holy mother is in hiding, and it is time for her to be sought out and revealed.”

I know that I appear to be uptight and tortured as regard my sexuality. But the Bible describes the brutal beast of the apocalypse as possessing ten “horns.” This is an apt metaphor for the masculine approach to dominance: many men run around the world trying to stick their penis into it. The feminine beast in Revelation is red, suggestive of the menstrual cycle. The feminine beast uses sex to co-opt masculine aggression.

So the reason that I haven’t been “playing the field” (which would be easy to accomplish) is because all the women that I meet accept these conventions. They may not wish to personify them in their relationships (part of what makes me attractive to them), but they accept that bestial patterns of dominance define the world that we live in.

Being who I am, I am incapable of submission to any ethic that limits the domain in which love is expressed. So I choose not to have a relationship with any woman that brings that with her.

Sera Beak has been in my mind ever since I read “Red, Hot and Holy.” I believe that she showed up at MovinGround one Sunday after I filled out her online contact form. In that message, I suggested that if we were each who we claimed to be, that would be apparent only in relation to one another. She was clearly uncomfortable in my presence during the dance, and stood before me timidly afterwards. My thought was “Not yet.”

She lives in Texas, though, which is a hot-bed of Christian hypocrisy. Last year I felt her reaching out in concern, and I poured power into her spirit, trying to expand her range of influence.

Why? Read the book: Sera went all the way in with the Red Lady, and found wisdom waiting for her on the other side. That wisdom came from the holy mother.

Putting this all together last night, I reached out again, sending “It’s time for us to merge our powers.”

But what are those powers? What is the nature of love, and how is sex a metaphor for its operation?

Our exploration last night was complicated by pragmatic concerns, but it boils down to this: any act of love that preserves self involves penetration and yielding. A gift is offered, but room must be made for it to be received. As we are aggregates (both physically and spiritually), reception is consensual at many levels. Full acceptance requires communication of the nature of the gift, and adaptation to the perceptions of those smaller parts. That involves circulation, which is stimulated by withdrawal so that the gift of yielding may be repeated again and again until consummated.

Yeah. This is “White Hot” and Holy. This is why Jesus told the Magdalene “Do not cling to me.”

The visualization eventually evolved as a complex many-dimensional Klein bottle. A man penetrates a woman, the women connecting to the Earth that gives life to the man, the male penetrating the Earth as light from the sun, the light from the sun sheltered in the womb of space, and on and outward.

The Bible, being concerned with men, celebrates the masculine aspect of God. But that is only half the story.

Deeper, Yes, Yet Deeper

I spent the hour after lunch weeping at my desk, thinking about the panic I generate when I dance.

I don’t understand. Chris Tomlin sings (Good, Good Father, which I’m looping today):

Oh, it’s love so undeniable
I, I can hardly speak
Peace so unexplainable
I, I can hardly think
As you call me deeper still
As you call me deeper still
As you call me deeper still
Into love, love, love

Is that what it’s like for you when I dance?

The world calls for love, compelling a response, and energy fills the air as I arch backwards with my heart open to the sky. On the streets later people smile as though they know me, and I wonder what they expect. I can’t relieve them of the hole in their hearts that God meant to  be used as a gateway for love. I can only bear witness to the consequences of their neglect, witness etched deep into my disfigured face.

Oh, Woman! I don’t need the forgiveness of your beauty. I need a pair of arms to encircle my weary heart. I need someone to believe that I am enough, even as the tide of sorrows rises and our conventions surrender to heaven’s purpose.

Yes, it hurts. It hurts SO MUCH! You were meant to see that wound, to guide the healing power of love to it. It’s not your heart to own! It is filled with waters for you to channel into life.

This purpose: why does it have to mean so much? Why does it have to exclude everything else?

My father tried to warn me: “Maybe we’re all waiting , Brian, for you to prove that love works.”

Corruption seeks power, and absolute love draws corruption absolutely. We fear ourselves, the candles that draw the moth to the flame.