For the men of this lodge.

This irresistable rage tag bunch of seekers, lovers, prayers, doers.

For all the grief we carry

For all the losses logged

For all the heartbreak held oh

so gently down life’s merry, merry stream.

I salute you, from

my deep well of a heart

From the Iron John hairy wild man’s core

to yours

I bow in humble adoration

of your hard won victories

Your sore sore losses

and the hum drum

everyday magic of our sometimes pedestrian, suburban lives.

We find ourselves together in threshold places

We nurse the wound, break open that which still needs Christ’s wounded healer attention.

And all the while - a river of love is where we sit, moving through it’s eddies, staying in the middle of it’s flow - open arms, laying down our weapons and armour - entering into the second half and even finding deep eldership.

You, my men of this lodge. This is for you.