ROAR

At the peak of my warrior initiation, I was offered the opportunity to face the ugliest demons in my soul. Having watched other men break down and sob, I still struggled, but ultimately could not release control of myself and let the deep emotions overtake my consciousness.

The leaders teased and cajoled my tougher inner man, tried to humiliate my little boy, angered my sensitive self, but I would not bend. Even after banishment to a dunce’s corner, on the next try, I merely went through the motions of my sixth grade self, giving them a piece of what I knew they wanted me to do.

The process brought me home to begin leaving my home. It returned me to my passions of writing, music and skis, but with nearly a point of stubborn pride, I looked at the part of me that refused to let go.

This impending surgery offers a bigger and better chance. If I fail here to take the risk, explore the darkness and make the leap, I am frightened to imagine what the Universe might deliver next for me to learn my lessons. The odds of success are very high to survive and thrive after this surgery, still I feel this is a fight for my life, a fierce battle, if not against death itself, certainly for the quality of how I will live on from here.

In my I-group last night, it was easy to see how much, in spite of my wound to the groin, I am too stuck in my head. Always the story-teller, so comfortable with words, phrases and volumes of sharp analyzations, the time has come to set aside all of the intellectual processing and “simply” get more settled into my physical body, no matter how aching and full of spasms it pretends to be.

We pushed back our chairs and I began to growl. The first sounds were too wimpy and awkward for a strong man claiming to be a warrior. I sputtered and fizzled a few times with embarrassment, rocking on my toes with eyes closed to my brothers who were fully there in support.

Gradually, the growl grew into something more affirmative. My nervous chuckle punctuated the in-betweens that could have been reverential silence of mounting energy. I had to breathe, plant my feet more solidly, center my soul and open my eyes to the men still there surrounding and supporting me.

On the next push, a roar was born, feeble and fragile as a baby, but growing stronger with each breath, a roar that sounded like a lion giving warning, establishing its territory. The others joined in and I reached for the sky, the sun, the moon and the stars.

From the back of my throat, the strong belly that sings, even lower to the sacral region that needs to be healed, my roar bellowed forth with more confidence, urgent and aroused, impassioned. Anguish and frustration released full volume, shaking my body.

I gathered more breath, rocking in silence hands twitching. My groin thrust forward, pulsating with twitches of energy, shocks of twinges, building up again for more release.

The primal roar blasted outwards. My brothers urged me to go farther, deeper, get pissed that I cannot piss. They supported my anger like a foundation to a home, and then quickly let it crumble to nothing as I released the tears that cried out that this ordeal was all too much to bear.

Still, again, I stood in silence, breathing and twitching, building myself back up again. Shallow and deep together, my breath brought relief. The exhalations cleared the toxins. My heart raced to embrace the love so anxious to be expressed.


No longer do I want to wait. No more hold back. For far too long, perhaps a lifetime, I have held myself in check, twisting and contorting to be my mother’s son, my father’s man, something in between for my sisters, brothers and lovers along the way.

Love for one in particular, love for all, needs to be expressed and the final set of roars became the affirmation that I am no longer blocked, no more holding back, unwilling to accept half-hearted effort and lame excuses from myself in my life.

My love is worthy, my heart full of gold; shadows evaporate in the bright light of a man accepting his power. The roar of my rebirth erupted from my sacred chakra, an ejaculation of soul no longer ruptured, but flowing free, proud and magnificent.

“As a man among men,” I shouted, eye to eye with each man in the room, “I go forward in celebration at the top of my lungs.”

And finally, one held up a mirror and I had to face the deep and dazzling clear and tear-filled eyes of my own self, wash the sheepish shy grin like mud off my own face, and repeat the loudest of all, “As a man among men, I will come back into this body healed and in celebration, love to the fullest of my heart and at the TOP OF MY LUNGS.”

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