Category: Men

The boy who married an eagle

Was just thinking about Dr. Clarissa P. Estes.  I write a lot about women, and a lot of my writing is influenced and informed by her astounding brain.

About a million years ago, she did an audiobook about men – The Boy Who Married An Eagle.  Seems to me it’s pretty hard to find these days (being circa 1995 and released on cassette), but if you can hear it, it’s probably got things to say about being a man that will change your views, as she has mine on being a woman.

Go hunt, go gather, go write!  Love to you all, women, men, those in between and those who are something else entirely.

I had another dream.

Two, actually.

In the first, there is a lady and her retinue.  Very epic-fantasy;  shocking, I know.  The retinue is all indentured in some way.  There is someone trying very hard to kill her by covert means, and she will not tell them why.  There is one man tasked to keeping her alive, instead of simply keeping her comfortable while alive, and he is tearing his hair out trying to find the reason that she is a target, and who is making her into a target.  He loves her, although it takes him too long to figure out that he loves her instead of just being true to his duty to her (of course).  It’s a very formula tale, but the way the characters interact made it… interesting.

“I hate poisoners. At least a real villain will face you, or have to look at you to aim when he strikes you down.  Poisoners, though, they don’t care who they catch in the cross-fire, and won’t look at a man to aim at him.  They just toss their filth in the line of a life, or a dozen lives, and scurry back to their holes to see if it worked.”

“I tell you this – I will find him, and I will answer him for his actions.  And no matter who it is, or how high or well-defended, I will see his blood on my blade as that answer.  Isn’t that right, dear doctor?”  (This, when he suspects the much-drunk doctor of being more than he seems.)

The second – there is less plot, more a single character.  He thinks he is old, because he has lost the bloom of youth that he had when he last did things that people remember.  And so he has convinced himself that he is old, and broken, and useless.  And somewhere, somehow, he must have a dream – he must dream a dream of youth and life and energy and will, and remember that he did amazing things not because he was young, but because he was driven.  He must be reminded, somehow, that there is nothing about him that prevents his mind from working, nothing that prevents him from being as dangerous as ever.  (The visuals from the dream are vivid but very out-of-context for me.  He alters something that looks like a cross between a soldering iron, a swiss army knife, and a sonic screwdriver (but is apparently a very simple tool to him) to make it suck out the mercury-like driving force of… Something that looks like an overhead projector?  And that same type of overhead projector is used as a mechanism of playing his greatest feats back to him, and semi-conscious, he ends up holding onto a sink sprayer (?!?) coming out of it to try and recuperate before the next attack of… whatever he and his companions are being assaulted by.  In retrospect, it sounds like a very strange and disjointed Dr. Who episode.)

In any case – life is returning to a swing that is predictable (somewhat) and I am dreaming and writing somewhat regularly again.  Still have to get the notes down from the weekend; bad Motley! Stop procrastinating!

I want men.

I want men who are not afraid to love.  I want the women and other men in their lives to stop telling them and showing them and beating them over the head with the fact that love is women’s work, and that men are not allowed to do it, or only allowed to do it conqueror-fashion or protector-fashion.

I want men who are not afraid genuinely to hurt.  I want men to be allowed to see hurt not as weakness, but as humanity – a genuine part of the experience that makes us us, and valid in its own right.  It is acceptable, and sometimes even desirable, to be hurt by what we experience, because it teaches us and it changes us and it gives us insight.  It is a good thing to share that hurt with the people we love, because it gives them the opportunity to do something about that hurt – to show their mettle, to mend if they choose, to do more harm if they choose, and either way to teach us something we need to know about what they will do when we show them that we’re bleeding.  I want men to be taught that hurt is acceptable to feel and to show – not just as martyrs or as superheroes, but as people being affected by experience, who are living out their lives and being affected by other people.

I want men who can be courted.  I want them not to be bludgeoned with the idea that if they are not the aggressor, they are prey.  I want them to understand and believe that their worth comes not from their ability to pursue, but from their character as people.  I want them not to hear from their sisters, their mothers, their daughters, their lovers, their wives that they are weak, pussywhipped, or sissies, or less than if they are the pursued instead of the pursuer.

I want men who are allowed to be beautiful.  I want the women and men around them to celebrate their beauty with them, and give them the tools and praise they need to feel their beauty glitter in the light like stars on velvet.  Men have a right to be beautiful, just as women do, and I want men to know that.  I want men in my life who know that.

I want men who are not afraid of comfort.  Who unlace their boots and weep.  Who aren’t afraid to get fucked.  Who aren’t horrified by their own inner child.  Who say shitty things when they need to be said.  Who apologize freely when they realize that they needed to say things that weren’t true.  Who care and trust and are vulnerable and willing and kind and amazing.  Who understand that none of this makes them any less strong, masculine, impressive, or attractive.

I want men.  And I want us to help create them, because we are the only ones who can.

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