[CW: anger, roleplayed threats of violence & rape]
(See also more-essay-than-story/on-love-and-clear-sight.txt for a
version of this worked into my experiences of love.)

One of the exercises at the weekend-long workshop I attended in the
summer of 2017, the Authentic Man Program, is an exercise in
groundedness.  We began by getting clear on when we tended to collapse
(for me, a fear that another person doesn't want to remain in
connection with me; a sense of feeling unwelcome; my own anger or
frustration).  What is it like to confront such a situation, and
resist it, and collapse?  What is it like to confront such a
situation, and be open to it, to be relaxed and in touch with how it
impacts us?  We experienced being lifted by two men after getting in
touch with each state of mind.

Then the real exercise began.  We lined up in two lines, and two buff
men walked in.  These men, we were told, would be channelling the
demons of humanity: the ugly, the painful, the confronting.  The
exercise, as demoed, would begin with one of us walking up to one of
them, who would ask: "who's behind you?", meaning, which loved one are
we imagining protecting.

For me, the exercise went thusly:

"Who's behind you?"

"My younger sister, Rachel"

"How old is she?"

"Four years younger than I am."

"Do you love her?"

"Yes"

"Why do you love her?" he asked, and then added, disdainfully,
"Because you're supposed to?"

At this point he was getting into my personal space; about my height,
muscled, full of intensity and anger.  I held eye contact with him,
and felt inside myself.  I had set myself the context of being
absolutely in touch with what was true for me; my center is
non-self-deception, and being with what is.  I had set myself the aim
of remaining in touch with love for my sister, and in touch with love
for the person confronting me, as a human whose life has value to me,
and to open myself to the impact of the way that person was
confronting me.  From this place, there was only one answer that made
sense:
"Because I do."

He backed off half-a-step, impacted.  The actual exercise then
commenced in full.  He would hurl invective, or threaten my sister,
with violence, with rape; I don't actually remember the content of
what he said when I was up.  I would respond with "back off!"  He was
trained to recognize when I was coming from a place of collapse, or
posturing, or hollow anger, and when I was coming from a place of
groundedness, integrity, or alignedness.  For me, the exercise was one
in letting in the pain of acknowledging that I might fail, and that
failure has consequences, and those consequences hurt.  And at the
same time, remaining connected with my sense of purpose, with my sense
of value, with the way I wanted the world to be.  By the end, my voice
was quavering with emotion, with rawness, and my arms, held up in a
"stop" position, began to tingle.

Failure is hard, failure is real, and failure is painful.  If we lose
sight of that, we lose sight of the value of what we're standing for.