I hate zombies.

Their slow-stumbling movements, their brainy fixation, their dragging entrails. Euuuuch. But worst of all is their lack of ill-will. Zombies may kill you and chew out your skull, but don’t take it personally because everything looks like gooey cheese fries from their perspective. I hate that. At least with a vampire or werewolf there’s…I dunno…evil banter or malicious intention or something. They CHOOSE and stalk their victims, whereas zombies pretty sluggishly drag themselves towards the closest brains.

I don’t want to die by fiends who use their low-level cognitive functioning to think to themselves, ‘he doesn’t look like he can run very fast.’

I have given this some consideration.

Once a year, I’ll rent a zombie movie to re-horrify myself. And here’s the thing, a commonality between the zombies and the people who die in those movies: they love irony. As soon as a living person says, “my worst fear is to be eaten by zombies naked in a creepy masoleum,” BAM. The movie starts configuring itself to make it come true, like a birthday cake wish. You always mistreated a coworker? BAM. He’s one of the angry rovers who’ll end up gnawing your leg, just like you used to GNAW on him when he was alive. Get it? Get it?

Even a little tiny irony, like, ‘I’ll watch the front gate for zombies; I have good eyes.” That’s a COME EAT MY EYEBALLS kind of invitation. “What a great night to be alive!” is tempting Zombie Irony. Oh you’ll come back “alive,” but what kind of life?

I share this because last night I expressed Zombie Irony and I didn’t regret it. I honestly thought to myself, ‘Wow. This would be a good night to die.’I was definitely tempting fate.

And what makes it worse is that I think after all the Dairy Queen Thin Mint Blizzards I’ve eaten this summer, my brains might taste minty and fresh.

But I couldn’t help myself.

For the past 10 weeks or so, I’ve been co-facilitating a group of new warriors, something we call a Primary Integration Training. When a guy completes the NWTA, he has the opportunity to go through the Primary Integration Training (PIT) which is a way to keep that big bonfire of emotional release from the weekend and transform it into the kind of ongoing fire that transforms the rest of his life. We talk about emotions, boundaries, how to find your inner king. We do exercises that push mens’ comfort zones and dare – DARE men to say the uncomfortable truths about themselves, and their lives.

One of these weeks, each man touched the shoulder of another man in our circle to reveal who he trusted the least. Another week, I watched one man tell another with compassion, “It bugs me that you’re always smiling.” Scary to say, scary to hear. It’s scary, hard work.

And yet those difficult things to say out loud: “I’m afraid” “I’m angry” “This makes me sad” often get transformed into something else: warm, melty love and sometimes a newer level of inner acceptance and outward trust. I watched one man show us how FURIOUS he was with a world that had such FUCKING HYPOCRISY, his fists clenched and his eyes darting around the room as if to blame someone present. A few minutes later, he was weeping and being held, beaming unconditional love from those same eyes that had just expressed his rage.

We played, too. One night we gleefully ate ice cream sundaes with our bare hands, laughing like kids, feeling joy.

Last night, we three facilitators said ‘goodbye.’

The two amazing co-leaders and I have been discussing the group’s evolution for weeks during our private meetings: they get it. They’re stronger now. They’re coming together. At some point during our 10 weeks together, one of us leaders has commented something like, “You know who’s amazing? Did you notice so-and-so tonight?” about each man in our group.

We witnessed their risk-taking, their triumphs, the things that they THOUGHT weren’t triumphs but really, truly were. (Most men learn that being vulnerable in front of other men is a weakness…what a surprise to discover it’s the gateway to power.)

Recently, our facilitator conversations have taken a slight turn towards melancholy: they don’t need us anymore. We’re done. They might THINK they need us, but they don’t. It’s an odd satisfaction and longing to love men who do not need you. We might always be welcome to visit this circle…but they have ALL the talent and gifts they need without us. And they’re beginning to believe that subtle and immensely important fact.

Last night, Chad, Hunter, and I hosted a BBQ at my home. Hunter brought the wild excess of vegetables from his backyard including skunk turnip, which has a real vegetable name, but even after hearing it four times I refused to hear anything but ‘skunk turnip’ because I am so tickled by that name. Chad was our Happy Chef, grilling our burgers and he set up the dinner so efficiently that I was able to sit in the yard and discuss Eckhart Tolle. I had blown up balloons and wrote ‘WELCOME KINGS’ with sidewalk chalk in front of my house. (Plus, not to brag or anything, but I scrubbed out the toilet, which really, that was quite an achievement for me.)
We ate in the backyard as the sun set and laughed, shared stories. Any remaining boundary between ‘facilitators’ and students had fallen away. We are equals.

The evening’s only formal activity included putting each man in the center of my living room in a chair – the Hot Seat – and each of us telling him what we most love and cherish about this individual in the center.

“I love your courage.”

“The way you make me feel welcome.”

“Your gift for me is that your peacefulness, it touches me.”

With each man, I blessed the thing that my heart said to bless, which was often a quality that might go unappreciated. I blessed one man’s gorgeous anger. Another man’s bitter grief. I blessed one man for being “glue,” even though it was hard for me to articulate what that meant, but the word kept popping to mind. I blessed one man’s love for his wife and his daughter because week after week, he kept showing up and asking himself, ‘how do I take this stuff and make THEIR lives better?’

It’s humbling to see such powerful men. Since May I have sat with them in a circle and watched them be strong, eager, soft and so full of ridiculous, overwhelming love. For life. For themselves. For each other.

And then it was my turn; I sat in the Hot Seat.

Despite the fact that only blessings were permitted, it was actually harder than it might sound. I have witnessed this phenomenon before in myself and others. If the agreement were that each man offered pointed criticism, I might handle that better and say, “Yeah, I agree. I should work on that.” But to sit still and watch a man’s eyes as he pours out his love…to not make a joke, to say only ‘thank you…’ it’s harder than one might imagine.

Luckily, I had assistance.

One of the men had brought his dog, a dog I have only seen twice but now love. I have threatened to steal this dog even though dog-napping is really NOT warrior-like behavior. The dog has a sweet temperament and when I saw her quietly licking green bean stubs off the paper plates in my backyard (hoping nobody would notice), I thought, “I think she and I could be best friends.” If I wasn’t absolutely convinced her owner would notice the empty leash when he left last night, I may have been tempted to hide her in the bath tub and say, “Gee, I dunno. Are you sure you BROUGHT a dog tonight?”

As I sat in the Hot Seat, this adorable woofer sauntered over and plopped down next to me, so I scratched her head, her ears.

The men around me spoke in turn, soft, warm voices, speaking their love for me in different textures, and colors, almost physically tangible expressions. In the moments when it was hard for me to drink in this much love, I scratched my dog friend as if she were grounding me to the earth, preventing my electrocution from all this power.

And that’s when the Zombie Irony raced through my minty brain: Tonight is a good night to die.

I don’t want to die. I’m not looking for it, particularly. I’d really like to see watch Season 3 of My Name is Earl on DVD and that doesn’t come out until mid-September. Ooo – and then there’s October, my favorite month. So honestly, I have stuff to live for.

But being so loved by such strong men in my own living room. Seeing the joy and love through the eyes of my friends’ Hunter and Chad. To scratch an adoring dog and think ‘this is my incredible life.’ Well…it’s hard to not think. ‘Wow. I hope my life ends on a night like tonight, while I am wealthy with joy.’ (And this joy was BEFORE the chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting.)

I’m not sure if it’s the Zombie Irony or that I have just always thought it might be dangerous to feel happiness.

Maybe that’s why I’m afraid of zombies. They do the things we all have to do: stagger through the day, respond to physical body demands, chase life. But that’s only going through the motions, imitating life.

I don’t want to be a zombie; I want to live.

Last night was a night of joy with a tinge of sadness.

It was a night for being fully alive.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, July 23rd, 2008 at 11:55 am and is filed under Gratitude. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.