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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.

March, 2001

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Before chaos was oblivion,
the first mother,
the dark mother,
the mother seductress
that wriggles herself
and allures,
safe as the womb
dangerous as first love.

She sings a song
the Sirens only echoed.
No beeswax can stop the song
it is heard with the soul.

The singer knows me by name
and sings to me
her timeless torch song,wheedling me,
ordering me to stand and take
just one step, the smallest
of steps, into the lie of her caress,
enfolded by the harsh darkness
where love fails
and even despair is impotent.

Donald Walker
3/3/2001

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the trouble with grieving is,
sometimes you have to
do it twice; once when
you thought you meant it,
once again, when you do.

Don Walker
3/9/2001