Dear Creative and Brilliant Men, I'm lucky to hang out with you all the time-- at parties, at meetings, at home (that's you, my wondrous partner). I see you doing your thing out in the world-- researching, performing, building, teaching-- and I notice the skepticism and shaming you endure from society in general, from family, and from the women in your life (sometimes even me).
We tell you to stop playing around, do something serious, bring in the cold hard cash. ("Why don't you do right, like some other men do?")
("Why don't you get outta here and bring me some money too?")
Please don't listen. Please be you. Please make and do insane stuff that dazzles me.
I look around and I notice that a lot of the creative recovery material out there is geared toward women and focussed on fostering the divine feminine. Of course that's incredibly important-- but I just want to say that my divine femininity needs your divine masculinity in its full force-- whether you're my friend, my lover, or just some guy whose show I go see.
I need you to be out there and in here with me relentlessly playing, pushing the edges, stalking strange prey. I need you to be cheeky, cocky, and totally out of my control.
Whenever you do this-- whenever you inhabit the glory of your playful masculine nature with no apologies and no shame (something that's very hard to do in an age where masculinity is constantly caricatured as base violence and lust) you invite me into a dance and give me freedom to deeply embody my femininity. I can relax. I can surrender. I don't have to be managing everything. Your strength and verve can make me forget myself-- and in doing this, put me in touch with the well of pleasure at the core of my being.
But this isn't always clear in the moment. Sometimes I resist. I might give you a tight-lipped smile and shake my head in disapproval. I might nag you about making more money. I might not look like I'm totally thrilled when you spend the weekend on an esoteric research project instead of taking me out. I could act like I don't care that you've got mad skills when it comes to painting, rapping, laying labyrinths or making robots. Like I'm not impressed. Like I'm not delighted.
But the thing is-- I am, totally. And whenever I don't show it it's only because I'm stuck in my own nonsense fear and grumpy neuter adultness. Be patient; keep burning; keep flashing. Your strength and commitment to your purpose is irresistible, intoxicating, liberating. It opens me, melts me, kills the dead parts of me. And leaves me so glad that you're my friend, my lover, or the dude who's show I'm seeing. Because fuck knows I need to be opened, melted, killed-- again and again. (The ladies of Heart know what I'm talkin' about).
("He's a magic man, mama!")
So if you're feeling tired or discouraged or bedraggled today please don't give up. Don't give in to the pressure to be normal. Don't stop. Keep on. Please push harder and venture more wildly-- for my sake and for that of all the women you love, dear magic man.
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