Once upon a time not so very long ago, there was a man who longed for woman’s beauty and smell and sensuality in his life. He ached to bury himself in her arms and breasts. He longed for her caress. He wished to make a beautiful and comfortable home with her. He wanted to f-k her til she screamed. He wished to caress her so lightly she trembled all over with her own desire and passion to be penetrated by him.
And one day somehow on a day he had forgotten to want her anymore, she appeared in his life. So beautiful, so exquisitely sensitive, so tuned in to life’s currents. Her light seemed to shine into every cell of his body. It showed him the possibility of his own greatness, his nobility. His resourcefulness and brilliance.
They fell in love. So romantic those beautiful days and nights they spent together. He wondered whether life could ever be any better than this. He knew he had never been happier.
And yet…..her presence, so soft, so beautiful, somehow shone light also on his own ugliness. His darker desires. The ones he dare not speak of to her. His darker fears. His sense of not really being good enough for her, for life, for anything. His own incapacity to love and take care of himself well.
His rage, as past memories of not being loved well by mother, by exes, and perhaps worst, by his current love, nudged at his awareness. Her blame of him for wanting too much from her, for wanting it all, terrified him. How could he be losing his lifeline to all that was good in life? to the feminine he adored?
And so…..he hid himself from her. He hid his lust, his rage, his jealousy, his selfishness. As she hid herself too. And the light of their love dimmed and grew faint and dull. But he hid his secret life not well enough.
His raw nature leaked out when they least expected it. In irritability. or withdrawal. She knew and she senses what was uncontainable underneath. It shocked her, it repulsed her. It angered her. She simply had never known this real, raw life in any man who had courted her before.
She had never, before this love, allowed herself to get close enough before, perhaps.
In the blitz of her rage or iciness, and her rejection of his rawness, the man’s balls seemed to disappear.
In her withering scorn of his vulnerabilty and smallness, his penis shrank and became soft.
And he was very glad of that! He still had her love. He was again acceptable. Perhaps the problems would disappear for good. if he became more like her. if he was ‘a good bloke’, ‘a nice man’, ‘ a conscious, sensitive man’. Perhaps he could ignore his gnawing sense of being less than he really was.
But then the horror and impossibility of it was, she wanted a real man she said. Give me a real man not this pale version of him …anyday. I don’t want a small, needy man who doesn’t tell me the truth, who doesn’t live all he is.
How did he find his balls again? Well that’s quite a story, a rich unfolding journey up hill and down dale in consciousness! All I will say for now is he had to stand his ground.
He learned to be more courageous than he had ever been before. He began to tell the truth, realising that true vulnerability never needs any response or acknowledgement because it is free and pure. He realised he needed support from those who loved his balls, his maleness, from those who valued his uncompromising clarity. He became more and more clearly defined and purely alive.
He shed his armour, his defences and relied on his awakeness.
He stopped being an empty vessel to receive all her blame and contempt and emotionality. He drew some lines, some boundaries. He grew, he felt lonely at times when she didn’t like him so much as before.
He risked losing her in the quiet telling of his truth, he came back to her with love in his heart anyway over and over again. He grew some more. he felt like he had become all he truly was. An ordinary yet extraordinary man with balls and feelings and heart and voice.
One day, his beautiful balls appeared again. His penis was softly erect, yet never greedy, a glowing sword of consciousness. She loved to take him inside her and have him love her into the death of everything she thought she knew or was.
They both realised that love, their apparently ordinary yet extraordinary relationship, was nature’s healing, nature’s secret way of growing them to be bigger versions of the man and women they were.
And they both lived happily ever after.
The above could be seen as a fairy tale….or not! An archetypal and inescapable alchemical journey perhaps. Secret Garden exposes fairy tales for what they are. AND it facilitates men to find their balls yet have woman in their lives, the way they happen to choose.
Bring your balls here, your f-ing here, your rage here, your heart here, your self- perceived inadequacies here, your fears & frustrations here, your penis here,…..don’t let the women be alive for you. Speak for you and about you. Your life is about you, man. It’s yours. You are – simply – life.