| The gathering just concluded was truly awesome. Mike has
the total attendance, but I think it was about 40. I counted 12 new
faces as I played the weekend back in my head last night (suffering with
a cold and raw throat from all the singing, chanting and crying, but
feeling full of love for humankind and empty of my usual bellyful of
doubt and anxiety).
It is such a gift to be a part of this men's community and to be a
part of this annual ritual. As a planner, I got a lot of special
appreciation (which I took in), but the remarkable thing to me is the
way that all the men take leadership in creating the experience. We
provide a rough format and bring the food, but the men create the
weekend.
The Saturday and Sunday morning workshops were life changing. I got
so much from witnessing and supporting the men who were expressing their
feelings about being fathers or sons. I identified with every man: they
told my stories. And I did my own profound work. Bringing my favorite
photo of my father, I looked into his smiling eyes and felt the deepest
grief. I cried for a few minutes in a one-on-one with Michael, and I
moaned and pounded more grief, anger and sadness on Sunday with support
from Jesse -- who channeled an awesome quantity of intelligence and
compassion into that three-hour circle -- and the group.
The sweatlodge was terrific, with Forrest handling all the logistics
and providing great questions for thought and prayer, such as "Who
am I?" and "What is a man?" Scott, Peter, Seth and Rick
(all first-timers) brought their own rich histories of sweat lodge
traditions.
This year we had pancakes and eggs for breakfast and a salmon-chicken
BBQ for dinner. People really appreciated the good food, and Tom, Mike
and other servers enjoyed an intense experience of loving service.
The skits... Saturday Night Live meets Iron Man Comedy Jam. I loved
every skit so much it would be impossible to cite a favorite. But the
special effects award has to go to the group that used the smoke from
sage smudges to turn flashlights into Star Wars battle-swords.
This year we had a serious entry, a meditation on how deeply men
grieve their fathers' deaths, then a graveyard scene where three
brothers shared some final observations about their dead father. As the
men lamented how busy and isolated their father was, they showed their
own isolation from each other, especially as they parted with empty
promises to "call ya."
But the most poignant element was their memory of a song their father
used to sing on his walks (which was rendered at the end of the skit by
Dad's spirit). Soemthing about "the luckiest boy..." the song
conjured up a vision of the remote Dad as a romantic youth, humanizing
him, showing that he still had the heart of a boy even with the armor of
a busy businessman.
Several people commented that there was more music than usual: It
seemed like there were a dozen guitars; we had lots of little songfests
and jam sessions, and Russel's wonderful French horn tunes to announce
breakfast.
Next year's gathering is the usual weekend -- first one after
Memorial Day. Hope to see you all there -- and elsewhere!
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