Hello Hedge School,
The brother in me died when my baby brother left this world.
Being a big brother was a gift bestowed to me. As a shy kid, it was the only role I felt at ease in. A signal that pulsed directly from my heart. I followed that signal often.
Into education.
Into coaching.
Into quiet counsel for those who needed patient ears and genuine curiosity.
My younger brother Aidan and I were compadres. Dressed as always by our mum as twins, we were peas in the pod. The same but different. Close in age. But destined to pull apart in search for our own space to hold. A space to stand eye to eye.
Man to man.
My sister Linda and I have always had a special bond. The podium dance partner. The shoulder to cry on. The test subject for her Doctorate experiments. She is a powerhouse with a heart as big as this world.
With four and a bit years separating us, we grew together. Life milestones charted in close proximity.
And then there was Kev.
Seven years age difference. I had a front row seat to all of his great adventures. He was, as all who met him knew, an old soul. The beauty in my relationship with Kev was that he let me play the big brother role full out.
Kindred mischievous spirits.
I taught him how to shave.
How to use fake ID to get into clubs.
How to play basketball.
How to stick his finger up.
Time well spent I say.
He taught me how to be sure of myself.
How to be fearless.
How to be a big brother.
So when he died, I couldn't hold the weight of being a big brother. Being in that energy hurt too much. Memories too raw so I pulled back. I felt this in all the spaces that I held. As a teacher. As a coach. As a father.
Like a forest burned to ground with wildfire, blackened char crumbled underfoot. Previous growth felled to the ground.
Torched with the ferocity of grief.
I etched this darkness into my skin. Black tattoos, skin etchings of hurt scorch marks of flagellation. Lament, a dark fragile landscape.
But even in darkness, beauty grows. New shoots, a tribute to life's love of cycles. Those etchings have grown into a three quarter sleeve.
New trees. New flowers. New water flow.
A tribute to the cycle.
That cycle has led me back home. Back home to the role that I had previously run from.
Brotherhood.
Grief would lead me to containers where I hoped to find him. And find him I would. In the eyes of brothers from other mothers. Men who reminded me of him. Men with the same cheeky smile. Men who would teach me to stand in the hurt of it all. To let it wash all over me. To not only cry in hurt, but laugh, sing, and, dance.
To sit in the magic that was bestowed upon me.
The only calling I was ever sure of.
Brotherhood.
Being a big brother.
That calling has kept on tickling my ear. His way of nudging me back to standing in my sovereign duty. To be the patient ears that hear the dreams, woes, snags, and songs that we all carry in our hearts.
And so I have crossed that threshold.
And as my feet touch down on the other side, I look back. But I can't see him. I can only feel his love in my heart. A love I'll always carry.
A brother's love.
It is this love that envelopes this invitation.
An invitation to brothers. From other mothers. To sit in circle with me. Leaning into the edges of weight we all carry. The calling we hear in our hearts.
To be warriors. Warriors of the heart. Shambhala Warriors.
No "hardening up."
No "manning up." Just acknowledgment.
And by acknowledgement,
I mean the original meaning,
‘to confess’.
To confess that we don't have the answers. To confess that we feel lonely. To confess that we aren't always present in our lives. To confess that we are anxious about the world. To confess that we need support. To confess that we feel lost.
And all of that truth is perfect.
And all of that truth is not just ours to hold.
Others feel it too. For we are not alone.
I have done this work. For the past two years, I have sat in circle twice a week with brothers from all over the world and confessed. Spoken about my relationships. Spoken about being lost. Spoken about my celebrations. Spoken about my relationship with the sacred feminine. And in this container, I have stood quietly as other men have done the same. I have held the space with patient ears and big brother energy.
I am forever different as a result.
Beginning the first week of November, I open a Circle for brothers. A fractal of the Shambhala Warrior journey that has gifted me for the last two years. This Circle will be a year long journey to acknowledge the truth of where we are in our lives.
It is called the Shambhala Warrior Brotherhood.
The best news is that I don’t lead this by myself. Three dear brothers are also leading a fractal of this brotherhood into the world. The calling is to provide better spaces for men to speak beyond veneers and projections. Spaces for men to speak alive deep truth.
Potent medicine.
For those dear brothers in Hedge School, I invite you to take a closer look if this feel right.
Or edgy for you.
For those dear sisters in Hedge School, please pass this on to any dear brother who you feel would thrive in a container of deep truth and support.
You can find out more information at the below link.
Respond with any questions to this email.
This offering marks the one year adventure of Hedge School. A weekly cadence that reverberates across the world at the same pace every week. I’m deeply honoured to hold your attention for a little while. Deeply grateful.
As always, from my heart to yours.
Steve
An invitation to Brotherhood