Some men, courageous enough to stop playing buddy to their armoring, be it hard or soft, and gutsy enough to un-peel and reveal and fully feel without castrating their power, find a young boy crouched in the dark, the long dark, the orphaned dark, a half-sobbing boy, a boy crushed and bleeding, hammering against the inside of their chest, hammering and hammering with tiny stammering fists, a boy bruised and divided, shoulders sagging, throat and truth far apart, a confused boy with not enough real father and too much mother, already either enemy or slave to the Female, just like Daddy, but still nevertheless hammering and hammering, screaming to be felt, to be touched, to be known, to be held, to be encircled and guided by the truly masculine, screaming and screaming, squashed by grownup silence and gutted classrooms, crushed by bad associations between vulnerability and weakness, the ignoring of his voice a choice pushing him closer to a deadening edge. ~ Robert Augustus Masters
Posted on: Tue, 09 Jul 2013 16:30:36 +0000
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