I didn’t want to see, what seemed to me then, the atrocities and crimes you committed so ferociously. Everywhere I looked, I saw your hand marks, tinted a color of blood.
How could you, how how how, I screamed silently but you couldn’t hear me.
I was mad. I was furious. It was all your fault, all of it – wars, ecological crisis, raped and hurt women, suffering children, crazy religious heads, greedy politicians, military complex…
I did not want to face the horror.
So, I turned away. I looked
“I am not going to let you hurt me. I am not going to let you close.”
It was too risky to engage so I disengaged. My heart followed course, my prayers floated away. I did not condemn you but I did not look up to you either. As if your existence were a nuisance.
Time passed. I did not notice your absence in my life. Well, I sort of did but I ignored it. I have been rooting my feminine; I drank from the well of dark, mysterious feminine waters and quenched my thirst. I turned my gaze within, I turned my gaze to our beautiful Earth, I turned my gaze to my beautiful sisters. I cultivated gratitude for all the beauty meeting my eyes and my soul. My well started filling, holy water seeped into the soil of my being.
My stem got stronger and as the water walked to my branches and blossoms, I sought fire and I started noticing your absence.
Earlier this year I participated in a gathering about the gift culture that brought together two different groups: an international feminist organization and a network of friends and co-creators from our global tribe, men and women, to which I belong. As our groups merged in our shared passion about the gift, from time to time, an alarming dynamic became quickly visible. Some of the elder women who were among the feminist pioneers of the time, expressed disapproval of the men in our group and criticized their voice being heard more than women’s voices. What disturbed me more than what they said, was the hostile attitude and tendency to exclude men, merely based on their gender. I’d known some of these men for years and they are some of the most generous, gentle, compassionate men I’ve ever met in my life. I respect these brothers so much that I was taken aback by this ill-founded aggression towards them.
My own story of how I interpreted “patriarchy” was amplified in front of my eyes and left a pungent taste in my mouth. In my disillusionment, I saw the punch line of my own story of the world “Men are responsible!”
Dear men, out of my own fear, wounding and immaturity, I had forsaken you.
Sometimes unconsciously, sometimes intentionally, I blamed you, I looked down at you, I ignored you, I punished you, I criticized you.
I cut your access to my heart.
As I come Home to my feminine essence and feel rooted, feel satisfied in my core and my compassionate gaze widens across the fields, I see you again. Gently, I turn my gaze to you and now I see something different.
I see your pain, your not-knowing, your grief, your burden of history.
Just like mine.
I also feel your great masculine presence towering over you and blessing your path on this Earth.
I see your strength, your clarity, your courage and your willingness to be in service.
Just like me.
Dear men, from now on,
I promise not to look away from you but to look directly into your heart,
I acknowledge your pain and struggles alongside mine,
I want to honor you for the gifts and potential you hold and your willingness to embody them,
you are now included in my prayers; I don’t only bow to the divine feminine but also to the sacred masculine and ask for guidance.
there’s a deep longing – perhaps thousand years old – in my soul, of making peace and coming together in love and partnership with you, so I commit to the possibility of shameless, fearless communion, friendship, partnership, collaboration, co-creation with you and the masculine.
And so it is.