Embracing Your Passion

by Gary Sackett

On poetry: Everyone wants to know what it means.

But nobody is asking, How does it feel?

–Mary Oliver

Passion or better yet, emotion. Stop and think, two words, readily utilized by women, what do those words mean to men? Ok, maybe a definition may help: 

passion |ˈpaSHən|noun1 strong and barely controllable emotion: a man of impetuous passion.• a state or outburst of strong emotion: oratory in which he gradually works himself up into a passion.• intense sexual love: their all-consuming passion for each other | she nurses a passion for Thomas.• an intense desire or enthusiasm for something: the English have a passion for gardens.• a thing arousing enthusiasm: modern furniture is a particular passion of Bill’s.

ORIGIN Middle English: from Old French, from late Latin passio(n-) (chieflya term in Christian theology), from Latin pati ‘suffer.’

I’ll just play with this a bit, riff as you may.

As a man in this world and I’ll say a majority us men have no problem with some of this definition. Putting our unique, Tim “the tool man” Taylor’s primal grunt signature all over it. The testosterone driven mania of going after “the kill”, whether hunting for animals or women.

It’s cool if its shown, let’s say in sports, where a feat has happened, a breakdown perhaps, tears possibly shed, most guys would say– ok, that’s acceptable..a little of it.  It’s possibly ok, at a funeral or a birth.

We call it a “chick flick”, and put on our best face to accompany, our girlfriend or wife to the movies. Even if we’re caught in the act, its the “something in my eye, bit.”

In a group of guys, shooting the ‘shit’, you won’t hear too much about anyone’s feelings, unless it involves ‘kicking someones ass’, the feeling of ‘being the man’.

We drown it out, fight it to the core, let it escape with short burst, hidden deep inside. Burp, vomit, “I love you, man!” phases, that escape our lips as the truth serums are digested. Or, we keep it deep inside, with no light or air, so that it putrefies and makes us bitter, short, angry, uncomfortable, unhappy.

Alone, we wonder, why we feel this way. We cry inside, “man up” we hear, in our mind, that halt us in our tracks. In our ears, from the upbringings we’ve had, the constant pounding of what a “man” supposed to be, reveled through the ages as a trophy, a badge of courage..not to show it.

emotion |iˈmōSHən|nouna natural instinctive state of mind deriving from one’s circumstances, mood,or relationships with others: she was attempting to control her emotions | his voice was low and shaky with emotion | fear had become his dominant emotion.• instinctive or intuitive feeling as distinguished from reasoning or knowledge:responses have to be based on historical insight, not simply on emotion.

ORIGIN mid 16th cent. (denoting a public disturbance or commotion): fromFrench émotion, from émouvoir ‘excite,’ based on Latin emovere, from e-(variant of ex-)‘out’ + movere ‘move.’ The sense ‘mental agitation’ dates from the mid 17th cent., the current general sense from the early 19th cent.

The origin of the word “passion”, Old French/Latin = suffer

The origin of the word “emotion”, French = disturbance and mental agitation

So what men have going for them, is that for showing passion and emotion is suffering, disturbance and mental agitation. AND that’s exactly what it gets, when applied in the old world way of things.

What if we allowed passion and emotion into our lives? Showing emotion and passion tying them together, using them separate. What would that look like, or better yet, how would it feel? You’ve done it before, you’ve bared your soul and felt uncomfortable, unsure, but you did it. There was a glimpse of something a feeling of calm before your man brain over ran your deepest desire to be truly real.

What if there was place where you could show all of your feelings without retribution, a place so safe you could be you, the deepest you, the child who felt?

The ‘no fear zone’ of giving hugs, real ones you feel, and you’ve felt them– to women, to men. Not those man chest bumps, shoulder hits– but truly, heart to heart. 

I’ve got a secret, this place exists and it is so easy but so hard to find. It’s a turn on to others, its sexy, it’s strong, it’s alluring. It’s very close to you. You use it, but you don’t– you ready …

It’s part of your mind,… the quiet mind. The place where it all begins. When you slow down you can access the part of you that is free and un-tainted. Just as a child, free to show it to all. A remembering process starts it, breathe and remember those things so pure. The smile starts on your face, slightly on the corners and rounds upward as you remember. Climbing your favorite pine tree to the top, cresting the horizon, seeing forever swaying with the wind, your a bird and a plane, looking at the sky with no cares. Riding your two wheeled spaceship, handlebar tassels streaming with the g-force. The velocity propelled you back in your banana seat, head grazing the sissy-bar as the flashing of driveways of the downward flight, no hand trip accomplished for the first time. You remember.

Gentlemen, time to be, the word wrote first in line. We have beaten and have been beaten, minds and bodies. Time to realize that there is something calling us to be better, the inner knowing wants to come out to play again. We have to go to the root of it all, digging deep, searching and finding our definition of what defines us.

Run in the woods,

Walk in the rain,

Build your fort in the dirt and sand,

Empty the moat,

Leave the drawbridge down,

Your heart grows.

Be AWESOME      “.”

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