Updating my calendar
I noticed
our meetings were still active
live occurrences
three times a week
the pop-up
was unerringly clear
You’re deleting an event.
there’s a dialog box
with three choices
two of them I hate
one is impossible
these empty spaces
the next time
someone clicks
my booking link
there will be more options
I’m trying to imagine
some time from now
when that won’t hurt
buddhas
leave a trail
of broken things
on the way
to the bodhi tree
they
step in shit
they get
un, non, mis
anti-transcendent
raging and throwing
tantrums
like children
tied to their
toys
rapt attention
attached
eventually
their purpose served
things that can break
fall away
all the knots unravel
not now
not yet
not this
not ready
there is always
a contraction
a last spasm
before
the look
of astonishment
settles in
child like
here
open this gift
of empty
perfection
simply put
life
can only happen
right
fucking
now
my friend’s
voice deepens
the moment lengthens
and the thread
connects
to the
absolute
present
he is
an invitation
to
the essence
alive in this moment
“I am not my ego
I am awareness
that observes it.”
nothing is broken
just different
Here I am
now
recipient of this gift
when so long
I thought
I was the giver
thank you
friend
I love you
that’s where I
should have started
I’ve buried the lead
following the thread
that doesn’t change
like Stafford’s The Way It Is
now you
friend
take a ride
through the hills
leaning into the curves
and take a walk
with the one you love
hold hands and kiss
sit yourself down
unwind
under thick branches
among the roots
of a live oak
drop me a line
when you arrive
for Michael Russer
my friend
Dear New Dad,
Your fear is welcome
here is a place where
you can lay it down
just for these few lines
that pain you feel in your chest
is a new kind of love
it is here to open you
there is no way
to resist it reframe it divert it avoid it
stop
don’t run
remember
let it transform you
and shine
magnified through the tears
in your eyes
let it penetrate
and unsettle in you
all that needs
to be shaken awake
to free it more
to burn away
what is dry and ready to go
let it unfold you
in those places where
you are creased and hidden
a seed splitting
in dark soil
let it reveal
in you
something unseen
a latent magic
made for this time
let it set the table
with community
gathering
within and without
green sprouts
and manna
to sustain you
you have a bounty
within you
let this love
bring the feast
Dear New Dad
there is fear
laid aside
just there
but this love
can hold it
let it
©2022 Boysen Hodgson
Congratulations to Brandon, Christine, and Bindi Rose Clift — born November 7, 2022.
In about 3 weeks I will be on staff for a ManKind Project men’s weekend for the first time since 2013. I stopped staffing shortly before my wife and I became adoptive parents. Now … the kids are older and more regularly stable, and our family can handle separation and transition with more ease.
This will be the 12th time I’ve had this opportunity and responsibility. And it’s a serious responsibility. Hundreds of hours of effort by dozens of men across New England.
It was 2004 when I attended this training. It’s changed some since then. It keeps changing. And what continues to amaze me is that I can still feel and remember that weekend in April 2004 in my whole body. The feeling of aliveness, exhaustion, and connection.
I’m sitting with excitement, serious intention, and a healthy dose of fear. There will be men there, like me, who have been hiding out, disconnected, suffering, alone. There will be men there, like me, who are looking for more meaning, passion, and purpose in their lives. There will be men there, like me, who have believed they’ve found all the answers in the books they’ve read and the podcasts they’ve listened to and the accomplishments they’ve recorded. I honor that work.
And I also know what it’s like to be in a living breathing sacred space with men. It’s not only about our physical bodies. Our bodies come in a range of different configurations of parts and hormones, genes and neurons. It’s not only about our socialization. Our socialization looks all kinds of ways. It’s not only about the shared experiences and identities. I know men who have experiences that I can’t even imagine, and identities radically different than mine.
We hold an intention to learn through adventure and experience together what each of us has struggled to learn on our own. And somehow it works. Somehow a kind of magic is created.
I didn’t know that other men felt as I did. Now I believe that every man I meet shares some of the shadows and gold that I carry within. I didn’t know that there are men who can be trusted to hold the grief, anger, regret, shame, and fear of other men … along with joy, gratitude, tranquility, and wonder! Now I know because I have seen it and created space for it.
I didn’t know that there is a way of being with men that is supportive and purpose-filled … that builds each man up and helps him see more clearly the goodness, power, and responsibility he is gifted with in this life.
I didn’t know the joy of connecting and getting to know men so very different than me, and yet the same. Each man’s journey is unique. And that is part of the gift.
We can lessen the burden we carry and we can lessen the harm we inflict. We can forgive and find mercy. We can love better and communicate more fully. We can empower the best in one another, through our bodies, minds, hearts, and spirits.
Doing this has made possible the best things in my life — my relationships with my wife and my children.
That’s why I’ll give a significant amount of time to make this happen. That’s why I’ll be there and assist the men coming as participants.
It was a gift that other men created for me, without ever having met me.
How about you? Is this a gift you would like to receive?
maybe there is nothing new
that can be said
about a haunted house
all men
have one
maybe it’s not the house
but the man
spirits
in spite of best efforts
stick around
maybe it’s worth noting
that when the haunted
thing arrives
unbidden
mostly it wants nothing
but to be noticed
a man
will burn down the block
to not occupy space
with the spirit
when he
did not call it
and so it stretches
up into the smoke
and spreads itself out
pervasive
in every soft fingertip
of ashes
maybe it’s quieter
for a moment or two
in the blackened field
of the razed neighborhood
momentary
relief
then the sirens
what a man
refuses to see
will grow
it’s not the house
it’s worth noting
it’s quieter
when
he turns
and looks at it
the spirit
the thing haunting him
and grieves
and acknowledges
head bowed
usually
a soft rain can wash
the streaks
of ashes
from his face
5/12/2022
I remember
when I was ten
or eleven
being in my room
not mine really
I shared with two of my brothers
there were three mattresses
on the floor
and two battered dressers
and a closet
it was on the second floor
up the narrow steep stairs
the ceilings were
low on either side
sloped under the roof
covered in ancient wall paper
crooked farm house
anyway,
I remember
crying
wailing
I want to die
I want to die
I want to die
and thudding my head
against the glass
I think my Mom
had told me
we were moving
again
I don’t remember
motivations
were plentiful
the window looked out
over the front yard
there were maple trees
shading the whole front lawn
150 years old
planted when the house was new
I do remember
the glass in that window
there were ripples
in the surface
I didn’t know then
glass is still a liquid
even if it feels solid
slowly, so slowly
it changes
I didn’t hit it
hard enough to break it
I’m 51 now
and the maple tree in our yard
is 7 years old
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