Author Jay Cradeur shares 5 steps for transforming heartache and anger to love and compassion. It starts with saying three words you don’t want to hear.
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“That Fucking Bitch!”
This is how it starts. It starts with the acknowledgement that I am pissed off! This may not seem like a very evolved masculine response, but it is. We men can not and must not bury our feelings. We need to express them. We need to get them out of our body and mind and heart, and release the toxin. There isn’t a man I know who has not experienced the feeling of heartache that is most accurately expressed as “That Fucking Bitch!”
How do we move on from the experience of having our hearts ripped out of our bodies while some female is laughing and jumping up and down on top of it all the while pouring salt all over the wounds before walking away like nothing happened?
We all know it. We all fear it. We all operate in a way that we can avoid it all together. It is this behavior that closes down our hearts, shuts down our natural self-expression, and limits our prospects for any real love and joy in our lives. How do we move on from the experience of having our hearts ripped out of our bodies while some female is laughing and jumping up and down on top of it all the while pouring salt all over the wounds before walking away like nothing happened? I am not saying this is how women behave. I am saying this is how it feels for the masculine when you start messing with his ego and his ever so sensitive heart.
I can tell you that I recently expressed these words. “That Fucking Bitch!” I spit those words out in rage and anger with as much venom as I could muster. I was hurt. I was devastated. I wanted revenge. I lied awake at night thinking of all the ways I could hurt her back. What could I say about her? What could I do to let her know that I hated her for her indifference? When would I ever stop thinking about my plan of attack? These are the 5 techniques I utilized to bring myself back to center, and arrive at a place of love and compassion. Try them out and see how you fare.
I Did Not Do Anything
Do Not React! Do not attack. Do not speak about it. Instead, breathe it in. It is hard to do but you can do it. This is a wonderful time to resume your meditation practice. Feel the degree of pain you are in. It is a rare space. While it does not feel good now, remember that your greatest lessons come from your greatest pain. If this is a doozy of a pain, then you will be experiencing a doozy of a personal transformation from this experience. Respond to your pain by feeling it. Don’t attack. Don’t eat or drink or drug or sex to ease the feelings. Stick with it while you can. This is your time of profound growth. Don’t throw it away.
I Wrote My Feelings Down On Paper
Get it out of your head. Put it down on paper, or type it into your MacBook Pro. As you start the writing process, you will start to make some general observations, and notice how point A connects to point B, and things will begin to make some sense. In my recent experience, as I started to right things down, I came to realize that the woman’s actions weren’t really personal. She behaved in much the same way I discount a woman in my life for whom I don’t have any feelings. It is not personal. The feelings just are not there. I discovered this by writing down my memories of our last time together, and what I remembered of her final words.
I Put Myself In Her Shoes
The first two steps should have you feeling some distance. Now, either in meditation, or you can close your eyes, put yourself in the woman’s shoes. How was she feeling? Did she display any behaviors that would have given you a clue as to why she ended it? As her, how do you see you? From her point of view, objectively, how did you (the guy) behave. Did you come on too strong? Were you too pushy? Did you make some assumptions that were too big of a leap? Did she really mean to hurt you, or rather was she in a space of self preservation? Did she chose happiness over you? Isn’t that a logical choice? What do you see when you live in her shoes?
I Asked Myself, Who Am I Really Hurting?
By now, your left brain should start kicking in. When you are spewing out extreme anger, who are you hurting? You are certainly not hurting her. If you believe in karma, you must realize all that anger will come back on you ten fold. When you start to evaluate your situation in the harsh light of day, all the anger is an albatross around your neck. Let it go. It only makes sense.
I Choose Personal Growth Over Everything. Period!
I could have written I choose love, or I choose forgiveness, but this isn’t about love and there is no one to forgive. There is, however, a huge opportunity for personal growth, expansion, spiritual liberation, and transformation. She did what she did, and you are reacting and responding to it in your own way. She is a catalyst for you to do some profound personal growth. It never feels like that when it happens. I got it. But as time goes by, you will grow by leaps and bounds because you chose to be vulnerable, and a magnificent life happens when you are vulnerable. You may experience some of the most beautiful feelings known to man in a vulnerable state, and you can also have your heart ripped out of your chest. All of this is so much better than encasing your heart in concrete and never letting anybody in. Playing it safe is for cowards.
Once I went through these five steps, I had only one more thing to do. I communicated with the woman, and told her how I felt. I told her that she hurt me. I told her that I had opened up to her, and felt blind sided and devastated after our final time together. I shared that with her so she would have some awareness around how she is in a relationship. I was not angry or vengeful, or spiteful. I simple opened my heart and shared. This completed the process for me.
Recently, I felt the sting that just won’t easily go away. It touches deep. In the end, it reunites me with me. It is a reminder of my powerlessness.
If I am completely honest, I must acknowledge heartache is a permanent condition. It is not a popular thing to say, but it is true. How can I live in this world and not feel heartache? But I don’t. It’s easier to busy myself, distract with trees and gifts, boardrooms and blow jobs, temples and rice fields, and forget about the gritty real world outside of my home. Starvation, disease, poverty, violence, well, it’s just too much to bear.
However, occasionally, I can’t keep the heartache on the other side of the door. As I have shared, and you men all know too well, a woman elicits very powerful feelings. Recently, I felt the sting that just won’t easily go away. It touches deep. In the end, it reunites me with me. It is a reminder of my powerlessness. I know not to run from it. Soon enough, it will lift and life will resume its Technicolor dream quality. But for the moment, I must surrender to it while bittersweet melancholy breathes through me.
Author Jay Cradeur shares how a night buried in Mother Earth can change everything for a man.
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Death is the greatest catalyst for change. I invite you to think about that. The closer one feels death’s long spindly fingers beckoning you toward a new infinity, the more seriously and focused one experiences this precious life. I have heard people cavalierly say they are not afraid of death. My good friend use to say that. I use to say it too. Four years ago my friend was stuck with breast cancer. In all humility and with death knocking at her door, she acknowledged her bravado had been subdued, and indeed, she did not want to die, and had tremendous fear about leaving this place for the unknown. When death touches us, we are changed. As I get older, and my youthful indestructible and immortal feelings give way to inevitability, priorities change.
Christopher Hitchens, one of my favorite authors, who died a few years back, far too soon from throat cancer, had this to say to talk show host Charlie Rose about mortality:
“I think a focus on mortality is a useful thing to have…. You should always know your time is very limited, and that you are lucky to live in a time and a place where you can be healthy until you are 60 as I was. Most people in history have not even had a chance to hope for a thing like that.”
For this reason, death, the fear of death and an awareness of our mortality, is a recommended component of a powerful initiation ritual. I remember sitting in a Native American sweat lodge with 20 other men, pitch black, all feeling the fear of death as the stifling heat from the steam of water poured over red hot rocks enveloped us. Having participated in several hundred such rituals, I have learned a few things.
…during one of my first initiation rituals, my goal was to mitigate my fear of living with an open heart. I was terrified of being vulnerable and sharing myself. I was afraid of being hurt.
First, I must be clear that some part of me is going to die during the ritual. It is important that I choose what that is and speak it aloud. Second, some new part of me is going to be birthed. As a result, I will experience a transformation. For example, during one of my first initiation rituals, my goal was to mitigate my fear of living with an open heart. I was terrified of being vulnerable and sharing myself. I was afraid of being hurt. During the ritual, I felt that profound hurt, and then it was lifted. In its place, a more authentic and real me showed up, capable of greater love and self-expression. It was a glorious moment in my life. This was the beginning of an ascent into my inner life, no longer looking outside of myself for my satisfaction, but rather looking within to understand and know who I was an who I was not.
One tribe in Africa creates a pair of gloves with live toxic bullet ant stingers on the inside lining. The initiate must wear the gloves for a period of 10 minutes, the bullet ants stinging the entire time…
In 2004, I undertook to create a powerful three-day men’s event to speed up this inward search, which would provide an immense opportunity for men to experience a transformation. I researched the term, initiation ritual, and discovered a wide variety of practices from all over the globe. Some I deemed too intense for my liking. One tribe in Africa creates a pair of gloves with live toxic bullet ant stingers on the inside lining. The initiate must wear the gloves for a period of 10 minutes, the bullet ants stinging the entire time, and he then must endure the impact of the toxin and the pain of the stings for the next 24 hours. To be deemed a warrior in this village, a young man must endure said ritual 20 times. I passed on that idea.
In the honeybee ritual, the initiate is laid flat in a deep hole in the ground, and then set up with a tube at his mouth to breathe, and some beeswax to cover his ears, eyes, and nose.
Then the dirt is placed on top of his body, completely filling the hole.
During my research, I read the book Of Water and the Spirit by Malidoma Some. In his book, Some introduced me to a few of the initiation rituals of the Dagara tribe in Africa. I became particularly interested in the burial ritual. In this ritual, the young boys who were to be initiated into manhood dug a hole in the ground. The hole could either be horizontal, like a traditional burial site, or vertical, so the boy could stand in the hole, and then dirt was added up to his neck. In either case, the boy was stuck in the ground up to his neck, unable to free himself of his own accord.
About this same time, I discovered a book called The Shamanic Way of the Bee. This book chronicles the relationship between an initiate and an apprentice. The mentor and those of his group studied and revered the honeybee. The book is a discourse on the value of living one’s life in accordance with the ways of the honeybee. It is a fascinating read, and I recall being fully engaged through and through. Unbelievably, at the end of the book, the initiate leads the apprentice through yet another burial ritual (you wouldn’t think there were so many burial rituals!). This ritual is far more intense than the Dagara ritual. In the honeybee ritual, the initiate is laid flat in a deep hole in the ground, and then set up with a tube at his mouth to breathe, and some beeswax to cover his ears, eyes, and nose. Then the dirt is placed on top of his body, completely filling the hole. The participant has no choice but to lie still over night, unable to speak, move or free himself until dug up the following morning. Just the thought of this ritual sends shivers up my spine. Here is an excerpt:
… “I felt her wrap me in her dark wings, and in the presence of death I saw my life: how petty I had been in my actions, what a judge I was of others, my arrogance, my indifference, my cynicism, and my pride. I was filled with regrets for wasting so much precious time, for putting off so much to a nonexistent tomorrow.”
I searched amongst my network and found just one person that had undertaken a burial ritual. He reported that it was a difficult experience, very challenging, and well worth the effort. Next, I decided to do the ritual myself in order to test its efficacy. I dug a seven foot by four foot hole in the ground, about four feet deep, in my back yard. I lit my sage stick and smudged the area, prepared my candle, wrapped myself in a blanket with my arms at my side, and climbed into the hole. A friend assisted me into the hole and also carefully shoveled the dirt on me, paying close attention to the proximity of the shovel to my head.
As I sat there with my self for 12 hours, I began to ponder what was important and what was a waste of time in my life. The burial ritual made that distinction very clear. People were important. Things were not.
It is quite a sensation to be buried alive. I felt the earth being scooped on me. It is a surreal moment. At first it is OK. Then I noticed the incredible weight of the earth and still it felt like it was OK. Then I tried to move my foot and nothing. It was as if I was in a solid piece of concrete. I had no idea just how heavy and form fitting the earth would be. My heart started racing as I couldn’t find any way out. I told my friend that there was enough earth on my legs as I couldn’t move them at all. In addition to my panic about not being able to move my body, I also began to fear about the end of this process, and would I be able to dig myself out. With what little trust I still had, and after some tears, I took some deep breaths and worked to center myself and remember I was simply in a hole in the earth. But it sure didn’t feel like that. It felt like death and no control and a free fall into oblivion. I failed to make it through the night on my first attempt.
Ah, what a feeling to experience the sun and its warmth after a long cold night in exile. I had asked to have George Harrison’s Here Comes The Sun played for me just as the sun broke over the horizon. It was a moment I will never forget!
My perception was very heightened and acute during the ritual. I did feel very small. I was on the level of insects and weeds. I delighted to see a little bug fly past my eyes, his wings catching the last bit of daylight, and then landing on a shrub not two feet from me. Did you know that when a hummingbird buzzes by, it is very loud? I also soon realized I didn’t have use of my hands. I got an itch on my nose, or felt a bug on my neck, and I was unable to scratch. Instead, I shook my head, or scrunched up my face, to alleviate the little irritants. I was nothing more than a bowling ball with eyes sitting on the ground.
The burial ritual is very beautiful in that it simplifies things. We are asked in the ritual to imagine that our life had ended. How would you feel if you did not have a tomorrow? As I sat there in Mother Earth, alone with my self for 12 hours, I began to ponder what was important and what was a waste of time in my life. The burial ritual made that distinction very clear. People were important. Things were not. I also put a focus on those things in my life, that if I did not do, I would feel deep regret. World travel was on that list. Writing my first book was on that list. Being a good Dad was on that list. Doing more men’s events was on that list. These feelings all erupted out of my close proximity to death.
On my second attempt at the burial ritual, I did make it through the night. I made friends with my pain, the plants, the insects, and the slow moving stars in the sky. I was still in the ground when glorious sunlight hit my face. Ah, what a feeling to experience the sun and its warmth after a long cold night in exile. I had asked to have George Harrison’s Here Comes The Sun played for me just as the sun broke over the horizon. It was a moment I will never forget!
As a result of sharing my experience with my band of brothers, men asked me if they could participate in a burial ritual. I created an event called The Bridge, and men paid me to bury them alive. You may ask yourself, why would a man want to be buried alive? Let me give you my three best answers:
“Most guys just want to be in the game, not sitting on the sidelines watching.” This ritual put me and every man who did it, in a very special game. Truly it was a game of life and death.
Men Love Challenges
We do! When men see something that looks challenging, most men want in. When a man hears about the burial ritual, he instinctively asks himself, “Could I do that? Could I make it through a night?” When I hear about something, and I am not sure I can do it, then I want to do it and give it a go, just to see if I can. I heard an interview with actor Mark Walberg, and he said something that stuck me as true: “Most guys just want to be in the game, not sitting on the sidelines watching.” This ritual put me and every man who did it, in a very special game. Truly it was a game of life and death.
Men Crave Self Knowledge
Every man I have ever known has a profound depth to his being. We think. We figure things out. In general, women are more feeling based creatures. Men are more thought based creatures. We men want to know just what this life experience is all about. Why are we here? What is my purpose? As Walt Whitman famously said:
“Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.”
Consequently, when we have an opportunity to put ourselves is a situation that will be a catalyst for wisdom and self knowledge, many men will jump at the chance. We want the multitudes of which Whitman speaks. Being buried in the ground is a profound transcendental experience. Since your arms are by your side and the weight of the earth so great, you are not able to move. You are, in fact, helpless. It requires dramatic surrender, and supreme peace of mind. The men were witnessed and cared for throughout the night by the other men. The bats were flying about. The full moon was there to keep everyone company. And the journey of each man’s soul was rich, multi layered and textured.
Men Are Drawn To The Flame
We men have a love affair with the unknown. Many men enjoy the feeling of fear, trepidation, of dancing with uncertainty. I refer to this as living at my edge. It is not comfortable, but very enlivening. We brothers feel most alive when we are extremely challenged.
“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”
No one wants to live in quiet desperation. Therefore an opportunity to participate in a life altering, rigorous, physically demanding experience such as a burial ritual is very attractive. When a man does not know if he is up for the task, that is a good sign he is ready to undertake the task. The possibility of real failure is where men find the juice of life. It is not the sure thing we want. We fear and want the unknown and the wisdom that comes with the experience.
It was a privilege to be with courageous men in that vulnerable state, holding space while they dealt with their own mortality and sorted out their priorities in life. It was very gratifying to see men humbled and focused on what was important, and painfully clear on what was not.
I stopped doing the burial ritual events 2 years ago. It was too difficult for most men. Being that close to death brought up deep old wounds. I set my sights on travel and writing. Still, the memories of those events are as strong and potent as any memories I have. Men were real. All the social facades dropped off in the face of a night in the earth. It was a privilege to be with courageous men in that vulnerable state, holding space while they dealt with their own mortality and sorted out their priorities in life. It was very gratifying to see men humbled and focused on what was important, and painfully clear on what was not. Death, thank you for your profound alchemy. Life just wouldn’t be the same without you.
Author Jay Cradeur shares his most influential masculine movies that you probably have not seen. Each of these hidden gems grossed less than $30 Million.
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“I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”
“I love the smell of napalm in the morning.”
“There is no spoon.”
“Freedom!!”
“The things you own end up owning you.”
I love movies. Throughout my life, movies have provided me escape, knowledge, excitement, drama, and exuberance. The quotes above come from my five of my favorite and most influential movies of all time. The Godfather, Apocalypse Now Redux, The Matrix, Braveheart, and Fight Club all have informed me as a man. But you have all seen those movies. I dug through my list of all time favorites and found nine that haven’t really seen the light of day. Personally, when someone recommends a movie to me and I have not seen it yet, I feel like a giddy boy on Christmas morning. This happened recently when a friend recommended Mr. Turner, which was a remarkable and powerful character study of a creative force of nature. So now, for your reading and viewing pleasure, ranked in reverse order of box office gross, I present some potent opportunities for masculine pleasure and wisdom.
Anthony Hopkins stars in this film. Hopkins is one of my most bankable stars. If he is in a movie, I will most likely enjoy the film. Titanic masculine films such as Meet Joe Black, Silence of the Lambs, Legends of the Fall are all in his filmography. In The Edge, we observe a very smart man, a wealthy man, in battle against a bear and the foibles of his fellow man. He uses his intelligence to survive. I revere this movie for the line “What one man can do, another can do!” Alec Baldwin co stars.
You will never forget the scene of Pierce Brosnan walking through a five star hotel lobby in only his underwear and cowboy boots.
Pierce Brosnan stars as a Julian, a middle aged hit man going through a mid life crisis. As Julian skills degrade, he begins to lose his focus. Greg Kinnear, a down on his luck businessman, plays the straight man. They forge an unlikely friendship that develops throughout the film. This movie is funny, and insightful, and is a study in trust, brotherhood and compassion. You will never forget the scene of Pierce Brosnan walking through a five star hotel lobby in only his underwear and cowboy boots. For those of us who have rounded 50, and are heading into the final half of our lives, you will appreciate the humor and irony of this film. The Matador reminded me that it is ok to say “Fuck It!”once in a while and do what I want regardless of what other people may think. Actually, as a writer, I am reminded of this quite a bit.
I was surprised to see that this film only grossed $10M. This movie is a siren song for the white collar working man. With Ron Livingston as Peter, the quintessential bored, under utilized office drone who has a transcendental moment and figures out a new way to survive and thrive in his Initech corporate world. Instead of going back to work after his experience, he stays home for a week, sitting on his couch and watching Kung Fu. Staring Jennifer Anniston as a flair wearing waitress and Peter’s love interest, this comedy is funny and biting at the same time. Gary Cole plays Peter’s boss, Lumbergh, to our joyous delight. Riiiiiight!
Andy Garcia plays the every man who finds himself bored with life, and willing to give a few new people and opportunities a chance to generate some excitement before it is too late. He is proud to live with his wife and daughter in a little strip of land near New York City called City Island. With Juliana Margulies as his wife, we see painfully well the malaise that can envelop a marriage, and the potential for destruction that lies at the heart of ennui. This movie has some great scenes that you will not soon forget. Garcia’s movie audition scene will give you chills.
Elegy also features Dennis Hopper who plays Kingsley’s best friend… I feel many men will ask themselves if they have the same kind of friendship and intimacy and honesty with another man in their life. It is a question worth asking and a relationship worth seeking out.
Ben Kingsley nails his resistant middle aged character to perfection. He plays a very successful author, lecturer and professor who falls in love with one of his much younger students, played decadently by Penelope Cruz. Here we see self-sabotage at its most painful. If you can imagine Penelope Cruz loving you absolutely, and you love her, and still, and you push her away, then you may begin to feel the self-loathing we see in Kingsley’s character. It seems idiotic and non sensical for such a brilliant man to behave so irrationally, but such is the power of our own mind, and wounds of the past. This guy can’t get out of his own way, even with Ms. Cruz waiting for him to show up. The end of this film is heartbreaking. Elegy also features Dennis Hopper who plays Kingsley’s best friend. They share some brutally honest conversations, the kind men live for. Through this relationship, I feel many men will ask themselves if they have the same kind of friendship and intimacy and honesty with another man in their life. It is a question worth asking and a relationship worth seeking out.
Epic. Locke, played by Tom Hardy, spends the entire film in his BMW driving from work to a hospital some two hours away. As we watch Locke and listen to his conversations with his workers, his children, his wife and his superiors, we begin to realize this guy has to make a decision not a one of us would want to make. Locke is a fascinating character study of a man and his evolving definition of integrity, and his willingness to destroy his family and work life to finally, for once in his life, do the right thing. This movie will have you asking the question, what would I have done?
Oh my. Warning, this movie has some graphic scenes. It is a tough watch for men. This is one of the first Ellen Page movies before she hit it big with Juno. Here she plays an sexually abused young woman, who has captured and confronts her abuser. Not only does she confront him, but she feels what is good for the goose is good for the gander. She is not one to turn the other cheek. In this movie, we see feminine rage, and the impact abuse, both masculine and feminine, can have on human beings. Powerful stuff if you have the stomach for it.
Our final two movies grossed less than $500,000 combined. Both deliver powerful bravado performances. Brit Marling stars as Maggie, the charismatic leader of a small cult. Members are heavily vetted, must bath before every interaction with the female leader, and are asked to believe that which seems unbelievable. She confronts her members with her truth and asks them to believe or leave. Maggie tells her followers: “When you are quiet and really still, you will be able to hear the sound of my voice.” The male character, Peter, played by Christopher Denham, is a documentary filmmaker, intent on exposing the cult leader as a fraud. As the film continues, and we see and hear more from Maggie, Peter must decide for himself what is reality and what is not. It is a wonderful study of a man living with a question, a man lying to himself, who is in constant dialogue with his woman partner, unsure whether he should walk away or take action. If you are looking for answers, you won’t find them in this movie.
Jake Green finds himself in a an elevator, by himself, claustrophobic, confronting his ego, battling his ego, and ultimately transcending his ego. I recall watching this the first time and thinking, “Is this going where I think it is going?” This movie is one of the few I have seen that shows a man going through the painful death of ego and birth of awakening.
Remarkably, Revolver, which grossed the least, is the most influential of the movies on the list. This movie lives on my top five of all time list, knocking Fight Club to number six. And as you can see, absolutely no one has watched this masterpiece. I have read reviews of the movie, and no one seems to get the significance of the film. Maybe you will and maybe you won’t. Jake Green, played by Jason Statham, has just been released from prison and has some old debts to settle. He meets a few unusual characters along the way, and while we are following the story, theories of chess and gamesmanship are presented to the viewer. It is mental candy for the masculine. Ray Liotta plays the main nemesis in the film. As the movie concludes, Jake Green finds himself in a an elevator, by himself, claustrophobic, confronting his ego, battling his ego, and ultimately transcending his ego. I recall watching this the first time and thinking, “Is this going where I think it is going?” This movie is one of the few I have seen that shows a man going through the painful death of ego and birth of awakening. It is powerful if you can see what is there. My hats off to Guy Ritchie for the courage to make a decidedly non-mainstream film that delivers such a powerful message.
There you go. Let the downloading begin. If you watch a movie on this list and liked the movie or have something to say about the movie, be sure to come back here and make a comment. If you have seen any of these movies and have a different take than me, please share. I would love to hear what you have to say. Movies, especially in this time of overwhelming information deluge, give us an opportunity to escape into a new world, a world in which we can be passive, receptive, engaged, surrendered, educated and entertained. Most movies are not up to the task. These nine movies which have been hand selected for you will, I believe, hold your hand, lead you across the river, and deliver you safely to the other side.
Can men expressing rage prevent violence and foster wisdom? Author Jay Cradeur shares his experiences with a Hay Bale and a Big Stick.
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In 1999, I began a two-year apprenticeship with author Stuart Wilde. If you are not familiar with the work of Stuart Wilde, you can find his twenty books on Amazon. I first read Whispering Winds of Change and was hooked. I have noticed how some authors seem to literally grab me by the throat with their words, as if to say “This is true!” Hemingway, Thoreau, Whitman, Jed McKenna, Bukowski and Castaneda all had the same impact on me. Stuart passed just a few years back driving the winding bucolic country roads of Ireland, an apt departure for a remarkable being. Back in 1999, Stuart was very alive and fully embodied his mystical, magical, powerful, take no prisoners self. This is when my journey with Stuart Wilde began.
On the fifth day of the event, after spending most of our time training on the subtleties of meditation and energy, Stuart asked me to go out into the local woods and find a big stick.
After reading several of his books, I felt I had found a kindred spirit. Therefore, I searched for live Stuart Wilde events and found him at a presentation in Sipapu, New Mexico in the fall of 1999. Following that experience, and feeling Stuart’s immense energy and charisma, I knew I had found my teacher. Consequently, my wife and I flew from San Francisco to Sidney, Australia a few months later to attend a more intimate intensive weeklong gathering of 20 spiritual seekers at his large castle like home in Milton. On the fifth day of the event, after spending most of our time training on the subtleties of meditation and energy, Stuart asked me to go out into the local woods and find a big stick. He gave me very specific instructions: Five feet long. Two to three inches thick. Smooth surface. Stuart handed me a saw, and off I went. Two hours later, I returned with the perfect stick. I had no idea for what purpose I had found the stick, but I was proud of my stick. Stuart carefully examined the stick, accepted the stick, and that seemed to be the end of that.
Equally important, Stuart instructed us to yell out loud the target of our anger and rage. This would make the experience more real and more cathartic. Immediately, upon hearing these words, fear started to settle in amongst my newfound band of brothers.
The next day, mid morning, Stuart asked all the blokes to meet him outside at the driveway in the front of the house. There we found a big hay bale. “Hmmm. What is that for?” I thought to myself. There on the hay bale rested my stick. Stuart had wrapped a white cloth around one end of the stick to create a protective handle. He proceeded to give us instructions for what was going to happen next. One by one, we were going to approach the hay bale, grab the stick, and take massive whacks at the hay bale. It was important, Stuart said, to use all of our body and strike with everything would could for as many times as we could until we felt complete, or totally exhausted. Equally important, Stuart instructed us to yell out loud the target of our anger and rage. This would make the experience more real and more cathartic. Immediately, upon hearing these words, fear started to settle in amongst my newfound band of brothers.
Allow me to step back from the story and address the fear. Having now experienced and led men in several hundred of these hay bale rituals, I have observed that the primary fear is “how will I compare to the other men?” “Can I do this?” “Can I truly let go and allow rage to consume me?” I am often surprised by how difficult it is for men, even when given full permission and group agreement, to let go and fully express their rage. I have no doubt that every man does the best he can. However this ritual demonstrates the self imposed barriers we place on ourselves. The great majority of men walk away from the hay bale experience feeling they did not give it everything they could. All men experience a breakthrough, however the little voice in our head whispers we could have given more. Fear stops us. In the end, this was a huge lesson for each and every man who did the hay bale ritual. It opened up each man’s inquiry into his own relationship with fear and self-expression.
Then I took my first swing. Oh, it felt good. After a few tentative whacks, I forgot that anybody else was watching. My whacks at the hay bale became more intense. My target was god. I cussed at god.
One reason Stuart became my mentor for two years, the thing that always impressed me, was that he showed no fear. He never asked anyone to do anything he would not do, and he did everything full out. So when we started the ritual, Stuart was the first to go. He grabbed the stick and swung it over his head and hit the hay bale hard. He yelled out “Stuart, you fucking wimp!” and then again “Stuart, you fucking piece of shit!” and on and on, taking it out on himself, and all the lies he told about himself. Stuart had kicked the door wide open, and now we were to follow.
I was inspired. I went next. I apprehensively walked up to the stick, grabbed it and felt the weight of it in my hand. Then I took my first swing. Oh, it felt good. After a few tentative whacks, I forgot that anybody else was watching. My whacks at the hay bale became more intense. My target was god. I cussed at god. I yelled about how he had lied to me. I yelled about what an asshole he was for creating a planet with so much death and pain and misery. I called god a fucking hypocrite. I continued to whack the hay bale until I was ready to collapse. I gave it my all and felt complete as I walked away. When I returned to my place in the circle around the hay bale, I felt changed. I had never expressed my full masculine presence in that way. Never had I been given permission to fully self express, and speak aloud my deepest anger and rage. My body continued to tremble for several minutes, the effects of the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I felt like my balls grew in size. My inner warrior had been released. But I was not done, not by a long shot.
Then I watched as each man, one by one, took the long walk toward the hay bale. I observed how each man had his own way of striking the hay bale. Some whacked it as if with a baseball bat. Others, like me, raised the stick way over my head and brought it down with all the force I could muster. As it turned out, I was not the only one who had an issue with god. He was definitely the number one target. On and on it went. One by one, I saw men transformed from my friendly workshop mates to rage filled creatures who had quite a bit of rage to express. Over time, I relaxed, feeling complete, and ready to resume our more subdued and subtle mystical activities.
Whack. On and on it went. The second round allowed me to go to a much deeper place of hurt and despair. With each whack, I was releasing the pain and freeing myself up of that gut wrenching memory.
Next, Stuart said, “Now that you are all warmed up, we are going to do it again!” “For fuck’s sake,” I thought to myself, “what’s left?” This time, Stuart did not need to go first. I wanted to lead, and see what I had left inside me. I walked up to the hay bale with absolutely no idea who or what was to be the target of my rage. I picked up the stick, my stick, and started to hit the hay bale. Whack. Whack. Whack. And then, the name of an ex girlfriend that had broken my heart started to erupt out of my throat. “Carol!” Whack. “Carol!” Whack. “You fucking bitch!” Whack. On and on it went. The second round allowed me to go to a much deeper place of hurt and despair. With each whack, I was releasing the pain and freeing myself up of that gut wrenching memory. The second round was longer, more rage filled, and far more self-expressive. I found a new energy that sustained me, even when I thought I had given everything during the first round. Finally I was complete. My body trembled once again. I threw the stick at the hay bale and walked away. As I returned to the circle and I saw Stuart smiling. My buddy said to me, “I don’t know Carol is, but I hope I never meet her.”
Many men had a similar experience. The second round was much deeper, and more profound than the first. Once I had gotten the fear and self-consciousness out of my system, a whole new level of self-expression opened up. The superficial Jay had to take a back seat to a more authentic and real Jay. No longer was I a sensitive new age guy who discounted his masculinity. Now I was feeling like a real man. Jay meet Jay.
Over the years, I have led the hay bale process in my own weekend workshops. The hay bale ritual is powerful in its simplicity. Men are given permission to rage and fully self-express. I have seen men take whacks at god, their wives, their mothers, their fathers, their girl friends, that childhood bully, and at themselves. I have seen men in the depths of fear, take that long walk to the stick, and let it all go. It is liberating to see such courage. It is inspiring to see men take full responsibility for their fear and rage. It is enlightening to see and begin to understand the dynamics of our own fear and rage.
Crying profusely, he was literally unable to lift the stick up and take a whack. I cannot begin to imagine how conflicted he must have felt. As boys, our dad was our hero. However in his case, his dad was also the devil.
Two incidents stand out amongst the many hay bale rituals I have seen. The first took place in Santa Rosa, California. During our morning circle, in which we introduce a topic and each man is required to speak as open heartedly as possible, one man shared a gut-wrenching story about how his father has sexually abused him. Tears rolled down his eyes as he told his story for the first time to another human being. This often happens. Men, in a safe and confidential environment, inspired by the vulnerable sharing of others, often release painful experiences for the first time. No one who heard his story remained unscathed.
As this man approached the hay bale, we all knew that the target of his rage had to be his abusive father. He grabbed the stick, and placed the end of it on the hay bale. I had never seen this before. Crying profusely, he was literally unable to lift the stick up and take a whack. I cannot begin to imagine how conflicted he must have felt. As boys, our dad was our hero. However in his case, his dad was also the devil.
After a few minutes, as the leader, I instinctively took action. I asked him if I could take a few whacks to get him started. I was definitely feeling the rage towards his dad, especially seeing the devastating impact on his now paralyzed son, so this all happened very naturally. I began whacking the hay bale, swearing up and down about how horrible he (the dad) was to betray such a sacred covenant as father and son. I was so enraged that I began gouging the stick into the hay bale, as if I was stabbing the abusive father with a lance. Suddenly, the stick bounced back and hit me in the face, putting a nasty gash above my right eye. Blood flowed. Everyone looked in terror, concerned I may have lost an eye. I told everyone I was ok and headed off to the bathroom. But before I did, I said to the man, “Kill that fucker. Do it and free yourself!” I understand he was able to begin whacking the hay bale and the healing had begun. He was a man finally becoming free from the grip of horrible events from his past.
“What if this is your last chance on earth to get this shit out of yourself?” That seemed to light a fuse, and he proceeded to take his whacks.
The second incident took place in Sebastopol, California. We had one participant who was very reserved and quiet. He was the last of the group to go. Everyone else had taken their whacks in the first round. We all looked at him. He expressed that he felt he did not have the same kind of rage living in him. He shared that in his family, he was never allowed to fully express himself. Then one of the participants spoke directly to him: “What if this is your last chance on earth to get this shit out of yourself?” That seemed to light a fuse, and he proceeded to take his whacks. Afterwards, he too was a man transformed. You could see it in his face, and in the way he confidently walked around and interacted with us all.
Do I hate god? Do I hate my ex girlfriend? Do men hate their wives? Do men really want to inflict physical harm to any of these people? No, of course not. However, we do often have conflicted feelings. The hay bale process is a powerful technique to release painful memories, and allow more energy for love and appreciation. I know when I carry around pain and hurt feelings; it is hard for me to be present with another person. These experiences I have shared are a safe and very effective way to purge those feelings. I would liken it to taking your car in for a tune up. Over time gunk builds up, and it is good to get a regular cleaning. Otherwise, these feelings may be expressed in far more harmful and often violent ways.
My two-year stint with Stuart Wilde, in Australia, in America, in England, and in Ireland was a time of profound learning and personal transformation. You could not hang out with Stuart and not be changed. Stuart was a tough teacher. Many of the lessons he shared with me had a very hard edge. He exposed many levels of what he called my dark side, those qualities like competitiveness, female objectification, and dishonesty that I had never had to the courage to look at and claim as my own. It was a hell of a ride. And it all began in earnest the moment I picked up that big stick and started whacking away at my own painful memories that early December morning in Milton, Australia.
Author Jay Cradeur shares how Ayn Rand, Carlos Castaneda, and the mystic poet Rumi influenced his masculinity.
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Exuberance is defined as being full of energy, of being ebullient, of growing profusely. Feeling this way is a tell tale sign that I am on a path toward greater freedom and knowledge. I have often felt exuberance while reading a book. I remember reading Carlos Castaneda’s The Teachings of Don Juan and feeling so full of energy, life, and expectancy. I was exuberant as I realized I had discovered wisdom that spoke to me, and inspired me, and in some degree, woke me up. Over my lifetime, I have had hundreds of such revelatory, exuberant reading experiences. However as I look back, there are five that have stood the test of time, and continue to speak to me and guide me on my masculine path.
During the summer of 1979, I took a job selling books door to door in upstate New York. I had just completed my sophomore year at UC Berkeley. The owner of the Southwestern Book Company had given a very persuasive presentation just off campus, and I said Yes to the bold adventure. After driving across the country with three other collegiate dare devils for one week of training in Nashville, Tennessee, we headed to the Finger Lakes region hamlet of Seneca Falls, New York, our new home for the summer.
This book initiated me into the world of visualization as a tool for creating my life that way I want. It was the first book to stir my inner masculine magician.
During our training, we were handed two books, The Greatest Salesman In The World by Og Mandino, and The Magic of Thinking Big by David Schwartz. Being lonely and quite isolated in upstate New York, I found solace in my books. The Magic of Thinking Big began my masculine search into the capacity and power of my mind. This book was the first book in a long line of personal development books and cassette tapes, cds and videos, and now podcasts and MP3s. The Magic of Thinking Big was the first book to express the concept that thoughts become things. This book initiated me into the world of visualization as a tool for creating my life that way I want. It was the first book to stir my inner masculine magician.
“Look at things not as they are, but as they can be. Visualization adds value to everything. A big thinker always visualizes what can be done in the future. He isn’t stuck with the present”
This book also taught me how to deal with fear. At an early age, I learned that only action diffused fear. At that time in my life, I had applied and been denied acceptance to the Business Administration major at Cal. With my door-to-door experience and newfound knowledge from the summer, I committed to persevere and apply again. I did, and I did again, and I was accepted on my third attempt.
“Then how could you feel sorry for those children?” he said seriously. “Any of them could become a man of knowledge. All of the men of knowledge I know were kids like those you saw eating leftovers and licking the tables.”
In 1985, I read my first Don Juan book. I can remember it like it was yesterday. This was the first book that spoke to me in such a way that I could not think about anything else. There were so many concepts, and ideas, and truths presented in this first of the Carlos Castaneda series of books. The first concept I related to was the idea that I was arrogant and felt superior over those that had less than me, and I had absolutely no right to be so. I found humility in this book, as does Carlos, the student, who makes judgments about a few poor Mexican boys.
“Do you feel sorry for them?” Don Juan exclaimed in a questioning tone.
“I certainly do,” I said.
“Why?”
“Because I am concerned with the well-being of my fellow man. Those are children and their world is ugly and cheap.”
“Wait wait. How can you say their world is ugly and cheap?” Don Juan said mocking my statement. “You think you are better off, don’t you?”
……
I argued my point for a while longer and then Don Juan asked me bluntly. “Didn’t you once tell me that in your opinion man’s greatest accomplishment was to become a man of knowledge?”
….
“Do you think that your very rich world would ever help you to become a man of knowledge?”, Don Juan asked with slight sarcasm.
….
“No!” I said emphatically.
“Then how could you feel sorry for those children?” he said seriously. “Any of them could become a man of knowledge. All of the men of knowledge I know were kids like those you saw eating leftovers and licking the tables.”
It was through this book that I also developed my appreciation and respect for the impact of death on my life. I began to see death as a great leveler and teacher. As a man, I found a larger peaceful center, a wider place that I could call home. I became more comfortable in my own skin once I accepted the inevitability of my own death. I found myself less concerned with the superficial aspects of my life. The inevitability of death grounded me. Don Juan spoke of this is some detail:
“… How can anyone feel so important when we know that death is stalking us?”
“… The thing to do when you are impatient is to turn to your left and ask advice from your death. An immense amount of pettiness is dropped if your death makes a gesture to you, or if you catch a glimpse of it, or if you just have the feeling that your companion is there watching you.”
“Without the awareness of death everything is ordinary, trivial. It is only because death is stalking us that the world is an unfathomable mystery.”
“You have little time and no time for crap. A wonderful state! The best of us always comes out when we are against the wall, when we feel the sword dangling overhead. … I wouldn’t have it any other way.”.
In 1989, my life was in chaos. I was raised a Catholic, however I discovered I no longer believed anything I had been taught. I married early, had 2 children, and was miserable and depressed. I found solace in the arms of another woman, and soon divorced. My work life was also in transition. I was selling television time for a firm in San Francisco. I was on a fixed salary, and soon realized that no matter how well I did my job, I would earn the same as everyone else with my position. Then on the advice of a senior co-worker, I read Atlas Shrugged.
It is a long book, and I consumed it within a few days. Never had I felt so validated as a producer rather than a taker. I was a guy who got things done. I am wired to produce results. Consequently, I began to obtain some clarity around my work life. If I was going to be fairly compensated for my results, I would need to take on a commission sales job. In January of 1990, I began a 100% commission sales position selling advertising on shopping carts inside of grocery stores, and made more money in my first year than I had ever made before. The words of Ayn Rand provided the nudge I needed.
“A man’s sexual choice is the result and the sum of his fundamental convictions…. He will always be attracted to the woman who reflects his deepest vision of himself, the woman whose surrender permits him to experience a sense of self-esteem.”
Atlas Shrugged also showed me the importance of personal responsibility in everything I did. I still remember a scene in which John Galt makes an impeccable meal of scrambled eggs. This book also reinforced the importance of not settling for mediocrity and going for my dreams. And of course, as the title suggests, I learned there are times when I need to back down, reassess and walk away. I developed the ability to shrug.
“Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark in the hopeless swamps of the not-quite, the not-yet, and the not-at-all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustration for the life you deserved and have never been able to reach. The world you desire can be won. It exists.. it is real.. it is possible.. it’s yours.”
“If you saw Atlas, the giant who holds the world on his shoulders, if you saw that he stood, blood running down his chest, his knees buckling, his arms trembling but still trying to hold the world aloft with the last of his strength, and the greater his effort the heavier the world bore down upon his shoulders – What would you tell him?”
I…don’t know. What…could he do? What would you tell him?”
To shrug.”
As a result of my affair and the phenomenal sex I was experiencing for the first time in my life, I began to think about relationships, women, and my preferences. What did I like in a woman and what did I dislike in a woman? This is a question all men need to ask themselves. Up to this point in my life, I never thought about it. Atlas Shrugged has several relationships of note, and each one gave me a bit of insight into the masculine feminine dynamics. As I read the following excerpt some 30 years ago, the failure of my divorce, and the desire for a new woman began to make some sense to me. I did not feel like a failure in the face of these words.
“A man’s sexual choice is the result and the sum of his fundamental convictions…. He will always be attracted to the woman who reflects his deepest vision of himself, the woman whose surrender permits him to experience a sense of self-esteem. The man who is proudly certain of his own value, will want the highest type of woman he can find, the woman he admires, the strongest, the hardest to conquer–because only the possession of a heroine will give him the sense of an achievement.”
In 1995, I stumbled across this little book, which still travels with me everywhere I go. The mystic poet Rumi speaks to my masculine heart. This is a book I can open to any page, read the poem and feel a wave of beauty and delight wash over me. When I first read the poem, To Clutch At Madness, I knew I had read the words of a Master:
Conventional opinion is the ruin of our souls,
Something borrowed which we mistake as our
own.
Ignorance is better than this; clutch at madness
instead.
Always run from what seems to benefit your self:
Sip the poison and spill the water of life.
Revile those who flatter you;
Lend both interest and principal to the poor.
Let security go and be at home amid dangers.
Leave your good name behind
and accept disgrace.
I have lived with cautious thinking;
Now I’ll make myself mad.
After reading this, I realized I had diverted off a traditional path of the masculine. Fame and fortune were definitely not my end game. Inner wisdom and knowledge have been and continue to be my senior goals in life. Carlos Castaneda pushed any ideals about money leading to happiness out of my head. Rumi here says the same thing, albeit far more poetically. But Rumi goes farther, inviting the reader to embrace insecurity and go a bit mad. This raises a seminal masculine question, how far does one go to seek redemption and reclaim his soul? If you go this route, as Rumi suggest, you will be alone like a salmon swimming upstream.
Woman is a ray of God.
She is not that earthly beloved.
You could say;
she is creative, not created.
Rumi also spoke to me about women, and once again, I divert from the standard masculine path. In all my work with men, I still find that, in general, and very subtlety, men do not take women seriously. Most men, in general, do not fully appreciate and honor the power and wisdom of the feminine. Having worked closely with strong and wise women over the last decade in the production of weekend men’s events, I have seen the incredible energy of the feminine. I stand in awe, as does Rumi in his poem Woman Is A Ray of God:
“Woman prevails over the wise and intelligent;
while the ignorant dominate over her.”
They lack tenderness and affection
because their animality prevails.
Love and gentleness are human qualities;
aggressiveness and lust are bestial.
Woman is a ray of God.
She is not that earthly beloved.
You could say;
she is creative, not created.
“Enlightenment isn’t when you go there; it’s when there comes here.”
In 2004, I was living in a room in my friend’s home in Oakland, California. While my financial situation was challenging, my inner world was bursting forth. I was leading a weekly men’s group. I was attending a weekly Native American sweat lodge ritual. I was organizing and leading weekend men’s events. I was writing and posting on my blog. I was making an impact. I was heading toward something, compelled to keep moving forward, although unsure how it would all turn out. Then I read Jed McKenna’s first book in his epic trilogy. My roommate suggested I read it. I started at 6 PM and finished at 6AM the following morning. I don’t think I have ever felt such simpatico with an author. My experiences began to have a context. I now knew where I was going. The nebulous topic of enlightenment now became tangible and obtainable. Here with Jed McKenna I had found a map and a guide.
“Enlightenment isn’t when you go there; it’s when there comes here.”
“All fear is ultimately fear of no-self. “And what is enlightenment,” I ask Sarah, “but a swan dive into the abyss of no-self?”
This book, as much as any other, also reinforced the importance of writing in my life. I was not much of a writer in school. I showed flairs of competency at university. It wasn’t until I started blogging about my journey and the journey of men that I found my voice. However, Jed McKenna’s book also pointed out the profound impact writing had on my personal and spiritual development. No wonder all my heroes are writers!
“writing it down on paper or on a computer where you can see it is because the brain, unlikely as it may sound, is no place for serious thinking. Any time you have serious thinking to do, the first step is to get the whole shootin’ match out of your head and set it up someplace where you can walk around it and see it from all sides. Attack, switch sides and counter-attack. You can’t do that while it’s still in your head. Writing it out allows you to act as your own teacher, your own critic, your own opponent. By externalizing your thoughts, you can become your own guru; judging yourself, giving feedback, providing a more objective and elevated perspective.”
What a ride that was! These are the seminal books that influenced me not just as a man, but also as a spiritual seeker bent on enlightenment. I found it difficult to narrow this list to just five books. Honorable mentions go to Walden by Henry David Thoreau, Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman, Whispering Winds of Change by Stuart Wilde, The Book of Secrets by Osho, and Siddhartha by Herman Hesse. I have great respect for anyone that looks at a blank piece of paper, and then proceeds to create a book. It may be a compulsion. It may be a job. It may be therapy. Whatever it is, it takes courage to speak your truth and share it with the world. How fortunate we are today when we can think of any one of millions of books in print and within minutes, read that very book on our phone, tablet or computer. It’s a great time to be alive.
Author Jay Cradeur shares why our culture still breeds female objectification and mysogyny. Look in the mirror.
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I recently saw this image online. Big tits and how powered guns. The breakfast of champions! Is it just me that finds this somewhat disturbing that all of this voluptuousness is at young boy’s and young girl’s eye level in a convenience store? Can’t we do better? I now wonder how many times I passed such a display as a young boy, and what impact did all those viewings have on me? How could I not see women as an object for my pleasure? Let the mysogyny begin. Before we harangue the storeowner, we had better take a good hard look in the mirror. If adult men didn’t buy these magazines, the storeowner would not put them out for display. It would not make business sense. When I look in the mirror, I have to ask myself, what is lacking in me that I think I can find love with porn and a smoking gun?
Thinking about holding an AK-47 in my hands gives me the opportunity to feel dominant over anyone who walks in my path. Why do I feel the need to dominate?
Truth be told, I may not find love in those magazines, but I can find sex and power! That is two out of the three three pillars of the masculine holy trinity. Only money is missing. The porn magazine gives me sex (and power over women), and the gun magazine gives me power. As I look at what might be lacking in me, I have to acknowledge I have a dark desire to dominate. Masturbating to a magazine picture gives me the opportunity to dominate over any of the women on the page. Thinking about holding an AK-47 in my hands gives me the opportunity to feel dominant over anyone who walks in my path. Why do I feel the need to dominate?
In my experience of diving deep into my dark side, the core feeling always and absolutely appears as self-loathing.
As I keep unpeeling the onion I see deeper and deeper levels of my own dark side issues. This is the stuff nary a man wants to admit to and accept as his own. However it is essential to our growth and integration. Let’s continue. Domination unchecked by a healthy conscience leads to tyranny and horror. History bears this out. We must work to tame our inner tyrant. Unless we do, magazines like Club and Penthouse will continue to thrive and send a pernicious message to our youth. Even worse, domestic violence and rape will continue to be a plague on our society. It is time to look deep within each of our souls and ask, Why? Why do I do the things I do? What is driving me? Why would I buy the porn magazine? What gaping hole in my soul does it fill?
In my experience of diving deep into my dark side, the core feeling always and absolutely appears as self-loathing. As Rumi said, the elixir is in the poison. The elixir is self love. Somewhere during my youth, someone told me I was a piece of shit and I believed it. This is true of all the men I have worked with over the past 15 years. We brothers are hard on ourselves! Self love is one of the toughest feelings for a man to breath to life. When I break it down, and understand how the self-loathing came into existence, then I can begin to heal. When I don’t love myself, I find destructive activities to validate my feelings. I do things I don’t want to share with anyone. I hide. I am embarrassed. I play in the dark.
This requires a whole new level of strength and discipline and surrender. I assert vulnerability is the new black. Live uncomfortably at your edge. Do the unthinkable and walk away.
If I know I will feel shame for my actions, then I am better off walking away. Instead of jerking off to porn, can you and I close our eyes and ask, what is it that I think I am getting out of this? And more importantly, can I get what I am looking for without the porn? Can I feed my soul by being quiet and contemplative and looking deep within my self? This requires an entirely new level of strength and discipline and surrender. This is the path of the good men. This is the path of Osho’s new man. Vulnerability is the new black. Live uncomfortably at your edge. Do the unthinkable and walk away. Say No to the distraction and stay home with yourself. Be vulnerable. Let’s help the storeowner make the right decision by reducing his magazine sales. Let’s protect our youth and break the cycle of female objectification and mysogyny. I hope you accept my invitation next time you want to buy the MILF magazine. I know you can.
