Patriarchy

A few weeks ago I found myself defending some statements on my perspective as a man. I was defending this position to a woman. I stopped mid-argument and chuckled at the absurdity of my situation. I was trying to validate my own gender’s perspective. Not only was I giving away my power I was helping give away hers as well. This is the undisclosed side effect of today’s social justice. We are uninstalling the freedom of self-definition.

We bought the idea that it’s selfish to have boundaries. Instead we are left to find them like invisible fencing buried somewhere underground in our culture. Society’s version of a man gathers virtue from flogging his ego in public. This behavior becomes emotionally dissonant, as the ego grows masochistic. How can we reward someone for enjoying humiliation? We are creating a village of starving men busking for virtue instead of hunting.

I was being blasted by a woman for standing outside of a fence she decided I could graze in. She was convinced we live in a patriarchy and I was the reason. The only retribution was for me to hand her the keys to my own definition. She felt oppressed so I should conform to her emotional retribution. For this moment, in this thread, she was granting me the privilege to pay all women shame reparations. This is the three-step doctrine laid out like a school uniform: 1.) Claim I was a sexist 2.) Claim this flaw was so deeply ingrained in me it was not fully self-evident 3.) Follow the path to salvation by publicly shaming myself of my maleness and recruiting others to do the same. Until I did these things I was not a culturally approved modern man. My being was perpetuating the patriarchy.

In college I took a women’s study course. By mid semester I had become an anti-masculinist. If I wasn’t watching my actions through the eyes of a wounded minority I was ignorant, racist or sexist. This was an emotional argument and i believed and felt every bit of it. I left college feeling my perspective was secondary to all others. My paper-thin degree was there to remind me my thoughts would always be corrupted by the voracity of my manhood. I was in a gender prison that kept my spirit crouching. I could walk freely among the people but inside a cage of ribs and phallus. The mountains I could climb would only be cheating.

If we live in a patriarchy why am I missing the tip of my penis?

Circumcision is a culturally approved psychological trauma installed on all men at birth. This trauma happens when man is in a state of pure empathy. He is connected to the world in a state of absolute vulnerability. By this mutilation we are severing the ability to trust and navigate the world in a vulnerable intuitive state. We are shown right away how dangerous the world is and how much we need our protector for guidance. We’ve been mutilated at birth. The cutting of our pagan tail keeps us close to the village. We pass the time with the games of trade and twirl on Shakedown Street. Man’s dreams are so much bigger than his pillow. Restore your altar. Baptize yourself and take charge of your definition.

Let the shame of culture bounce off you. A free man is shame proof. He does this by cutting the strings from his boyhood. No one does this for him. If he leaves them on, anyone can grab a string. Man’s inner force pulls these strings back inside the body. Pinocchio finds his own intuition. Man is a reflection of the weather inside him. Are you navigating a storm of self-rebuke from a bad decision? Fantastic, that means you’re listening. Be as hard on yourself as it takes for you to start pulling your own strings. You are here in this world to create a definition. In this time and this space.

Do emotional push-ups and put yourself out in the cold. Make your definition brave in the face of tribal fascism. Always acknowledge the energy you see. Remind yourself that hiding it is stealing. As you watch your tribe dip into intellectual bigotry stop them. Advocate for anything that feels emotionally unpopular. But don’t do this because you can take it. Do this because you want the group to push back. Feel the power of your tribe pushing against you. Imagine yourself in a circle of brothers as they shake you free of an idea like a football. This dervish of masculine will is the egg of your manhood. A man needs these punches. You want these daggers. How else will you know the depth of your own flesh?

We are here on this earth to feel rejection. Our life is choreography to falling. Mortality is an oboe in our fingers. How does it move you? Do you waste your measures in a heap on the floor? Can your lips feel the tickle of the reed through your breath? Fill yourself with the heart’s warm pulsing. Become more than reptile wrapped in mammal. Your ego is the throne of identity. Be your own king and champion.

A few years ago I was suffering from a deep loss. I was in a place in my head where I was so overwhelmed with grief all I could do was marvel at how epically massive it felt to me. In this feeling I heard myself feeling grateful. I was grateful to the cosmic machine for letting me jack into this experience so deeply and feel this ache with such resolution. That realization did nothing to fix me. That wasn’t the point. The moment became a screenshot on my mantel. It was a trophy. When I finish this game, I can add that moment as a footnote in the Book of Adam.