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This is a space where men can share their perspectives on their inner journey. The form can be prose, poetry, photographic or handcrafted images. The purpose is to stimulate, even minutely, the transformative process. All art strives to move us to a different place, that place of the soul, that initiatory space, where the call is heard and identity found. Please reverence the space by respectfully entering and sharing.

April, 2000

Photograph by Howard Wells

Distant Light

Too long have I lived in this dry desert

Hollow men talking to hollow men

Encrusted in sun baked shells of stone,

Blind men leading the blind.

Where is the living water in this barren land?

Lifeless shadows grasping for breath.

Too long have I wandered across this lonely

Plain fully clothed,

Eyes shut tight against the storm,

Walking without movement.

Why Oh God, do I cry alone and deserted?

Why Oh God, have I abandoned my brother's pain?

Why Oh God, have I roamed across a dead planet?

Oblivious to cries of suffering?

Indeed I have paid little attention to my kingdom.

Too long have I sat quietly clutching the Wall Street Journal.

Where in this emptiness is the living bread of life?

The white light shines behind the darkness.

The silent, loving mist envelopes a restless soul,

The spirit ceases its endless struggle,

And becomes the light.

Written by James Coleman

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requiem for monster island

the sun sets on monster island as i realize the time has come to sail away.
i've always found comfort in the company of monsters,
a strange sense of brotherhood amongst those that are misunderstood.
the power of belonging to a tribe that has the strength to rule
the world but chooses not to.
sadly i go, though it is necessary if the child is to become a man.
all the toys have broken and i must abandon their joy if i am to grow.
there is nothing left to hold tightly.
there is nowhere left to out stay.
it is believed that one must destroy all monsters
but it is these monsters that have given me life.
so this i will not do.

as i climb aboard a ship of plastic dreams i realize,
man is the only monster that i fear.
yet fear is the only true monster keeping me from becoming a man.
the sun dreams in mourning.
the moon fills up on promise above the seventh sea.
and i bid farewell to monster island.

Written by Charlie Padgett

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All souls are naked.
It is the body that is
its first, and longest
lasting suit of clothes.
When we are young
we are proud of
our primal finery
but somewhere
along the way
fashion sets in
and suddenly
our first clothes
seem too shabby
to be seen.
But there comes
a point when
the soul can
bear the burden
of fashion no
longer and some
of us go naked
once more. Not all
mind you, psychiatrists'
offices are filled
with those who
do not listen to
their soul and
strip away the
fashions to dance
naked in the sun
or moonlight.

Written by Donald Walker