Eyes on beauty; Sweet, obliging death.

I breathe in darkness,
I breathe out light.
I step toward destruction,
bleed willingly,
and smile.
Great adversary,
come now toward me.
I have been waiting,
patiently to die.
To then be reborn,
as the vision in my eye.

The Gentle Man does not fear death, but knows it as a necessary, and beautiful, part of life. All of life is dying.
All but spirit, who resides in the bartizans of eternity, is a momentary flicker, destined to puff out and fade back to nothing.

The Gentle Man watches as the sun is born each day and then dies.
He watches again as the moon does the same of its monthly cycle – gently waxing and waning with his woman.
He watches once more as the apple falls from the tree, thuds at the earth below and slowly rots – encasing the seed, now sunk into the earth, with the nutrients necessary for new life.

With the sun, the moon, and the apple, the Gentle Man dies.

He knows no fear. For fear is a liar. Fear is a thief. Fear knows nothing.

And through each death, the Gentle Man experiences more and more of life.
Gracefully, and consciously he walks through each of his lives, this and the next.
Eyes on beauty.
Sweet, obliging death.

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Artwork by Julien Mauve-Headlan
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Le Gentilhomme

Do not mistake my gentleness for weakness.
The strong hand is a gentle one.

 

Your Tension is fearful.
Violence is fearful. Anger is fearful.

 

For the rowdy male is frightened. Internal eye on only his weakness. He knows he is weak. They know.
And so he attracts the weak, for the strong disregard him. His company, who he dominates to falsely validate himself, is his reflection.
He is a playground bully – stuck in the little boy.

 

The gentle man, by contrast, is silent.
Still.
Certain.

 

Weakness is an inability to do what must be done.
The blemished male has an eagerness to act violently in mad defence of a rotting kingdom of blame, shame and excuse.
The gentle man will be aggressive if the moment calls for it, but never violent, and always benevolent in his correction of the adversary. He, loves all.

 

Yet few are willing to look at themselves and make the necessary corrections before attempting to correct others.

 

The gentle man, by contrast, corrects self.
Perfects art.
Elevates others.

 

Through the necessary internal adjustments I embolden and enlighten my reflections and therefore myself.

 

I am the dark angel, emanating from the light.
Your death has come to save you.
As I gracefully walk, things gently weep and wilt around me,
reborn beautifully in my wake.
Untouched by chaos.
I am a beacon of peace.
The eye of the storm.

 

My woman is my art. I cut into her with the blade of my stillness, and then mend her up with the light of my love.
I, her great destruction. I, her loving healer. She, the bubbling, churning abyss of my passion.
We die. We are reborn. We integrate.

 

And as I foster the seed of her might, the tree of my power thickens and entrenches itself deeper into the earth, becoming increasingly unmovable,
and unfathomably solid.

 

I am fluid. I am strong. I am gentle.

 

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Artwork by Josh Courlas

Ex-lovers.

In days of old, through self-hate and confusion, I found women of beauty, made them mine, and conscripted them into hating me, too. I did not see that I hated myself so they came to me as a mirror, to show me what I lacked internally. What a beautiful service they provided to me, by pushing the knife deep to wake me up, and sending me in the right direction towards my ultimate healing.

 

Instead I called them ex-lovers and thought of them negatively – blaming them for my hatred of myself.

 

Now, as a man of power, my reflection in feminine is before me whispering that I rob her of the full force of my godly love until I can say I love all women, as she is all women – the goddess in full.

 

So I accept her correction and return these ex-lovers from the floor to the shelf where I will once again honour them as all women and thank them for the service they lovingly provided. All as beautiful as the next, they were the loving signs along the way saying “go this way, your woman awaits you.”

 

For this, I thank each of you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

 

I love all.

 

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Photography by Alex Dram

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Correction.

No step is a misstep. All moves to perfection. There are no mistakes – until an action has been corrected and repeated.

Correction can come internally (ideally); externally, from life (in the instance of ignorance); or from another person (in the instance of belligerence). How long it takes for an action to be corrected is directly proportional to self-awareness and inversely proportional to the extent to which ego has its grip on you. A big ego is not a concern. An ego that is in control of you is. Have the big ego, this is a powerful thing. Have control of it. This is more powerful again.

Self correction is an aspect of knowing what must be done, and then doing what must be done. The knowing precedes the doing. And we can only claim to not have known so many times before we enter the realm of childishness. Make it your business to know. Make it your business to correct yourself. Do it before life corrects you and especially prior to being corrected by another.

If another is so gracious as to reveal to you a chink in your armor, thank them, do not apologize, correct yourself. There is nothing more to discuss.

For as long as you require repeated external correction, your progress will be limited in proportion to your effort in achieving your mastery. In other words, you will have diminished your unlimited potential.

Step instead into responsibility, diligence, grace.

M.

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Image from the music video for ‘Lonely’ by ‘The Peach Kings’

 

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