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Cauldron of the Weekend: A Man's Healing Adventure

by Jeff Foster

245 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #01-0056; ISBN 1-55212-655-2; US$22.50, C$27.95, EUR18.20, £12.60

Cauldron of the Weekend is the story of how a unique and little known men's organization helped a man heal his emotional wounds, and thereby gain control of his life.

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about the book      about the author      excerpts      catalogue info

About the Book Jeff Foster had led an outwardly successful life, but one that was barren on the inside. "All I knew was that I felt alone, never slept well, couldn't escape the steely grip of addiction, that I had to keep moving to keep from feeling, or otherwise felt shame, or felt nothing at all." In 1995 he was 50 years old and casting about for emotional healing. "I wanted to live without fear, what was the shimmering thing beyond the fear? I wanted to be in control of my life, to lead a life of my own choosing, to be an authentic and healthy human being. I wanted all those things, was at a crossroads, and couldn't have chosen a better time to stumble into the men's organization. And stumble into it I did, one week I had never heard of it, and the following weekend I went through the training." The book chronicles the healing provoked by this powerful men's organization, and does so with detail both intimate and brave. While many sources contributed to the healing -- and all are described -- the story is primarily built around this men's organization. Endorsements This book is not gender oriented. All those wandering hurt and unfulfilled -- whether man or woman, would benefit from reading it. Therese St. Hilaire, Fairfax, VA Family Counselor Foster takes the reader on a fascinating voyage -- from his troubled past to his spiritual holistic present. What distinguishes the book is the directness of its language and the integration of physical detail with powerful insights gained along the way. It provides a useful compass for other spiritual voyagers. Richard Wiener, Washington, DC Holocaust child survivor Head Elder of the Washington, DC Community of The Mankind Project, Attorney Cauldron of the Weekend is the story of one man's unique journey into the shadowlands of his psyche. This compelling book details the author's courageous process of identifying and confronting his life traumas and limiting belief systems, and his drive to reframe them in order to live a more open, healthy, and joyous life. Recommended reading for anyone who wants to learn more about deep inner healing. Brad Wye, Frederick, MD Massage Therapist This is an insightful and well-written book about the author's search for emotional healing. The author is brave, his candor exceptional. The transformation that he ultimately achieved came from many sources, but mostly from an obscure men's organization. Check this organization out -- it provides hope for us all. Marilyn Marchant, Port Tobacco, MD Web Developer, Photographer, Graphic Artist Jeff Foster is a truly good man who has been through a lot. The story of his transformation is both deeply personal and inspiring. Dmitri Bilgere, Madison, WI Author, Trainer I would recommend this book to anyone (I mean anyone) on a spiritual path or who has passion around personal growth. Jeff gives us an inside look as he peels the layers of his onion. In my 15 years of doing men's work I haven't seen anyone share a journey like this... Bruce Lupin, Silver Spring, MD Business Consultant Stunning in its beauty, stunning in its capacity to provoke vulnerability in the reader... Lawrice Dolan, Silver Spring, MD Nurse-counselor, Educator, Artist

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About the Author Jeff Foster was raised in Arlington, Virginia. He went to college at William and Mary where he studied literature, played football for Coach Marv Levy, and graduated President of the Class of '67. About to be drafted, he signed up for navy officer candidate school. Trained in bomb disposal, diving, and demolition, he remained in the navy for 21 years, retiring with the rank of commander. After that he worked as an analyst for six years to meet the college expenses of his two children. He currently lives in Southern Maryland where he canoes and gardens, does carpentry and men's work, and keeps his "shadow" in front of him.

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Excerpts

Introduction

    This is a story about a man's emotional healing. The healing took place in the last four years and resulted from a series of different experiences. Satsangs were part of it. These are public gatherings taken from Hindu spiritual tradition. A series of workshops drawn from Cherokee spiritual tradition was also part of it. But the catalyst for most of it was a unique and little known men's organization.
    This organization offers, among other things, a three-day men's weekend that is "transformative" in nature. While sophisticated in structure and protocol, this weekend is similar in ways to ancient masculine rites of passage. The lessons and impact of the three-day experience are reinforced and further developed in continuing "integration groups." These groups meet once a week or every other week and often continue for years.
    The book is divided into five chapters. The first chapter is about process. It describes the emotional healing I was experiencing and the different approaches to the healing. The second covers the workshops on Cherokee spirituality. The next chapter covers the twenty-one years I spent as an officer in the navy. The navy years are included because they add roots and perspective to the story. The fourth chapter discusses some personal things that happened during the weekends mentioned above. The final chapter of the book integrates the healing experiences.
    When a wounded man finally decides to address his wounds, he will find a lot of help available. He needs to try things, be patient, and keep trying until something begins to fit. It will in time. Genuine healing means genuine change and that is hard. If it were easy there would be no addictions, no unhealthy relationships, no shame that lingers. The hardest parts we have to do alone. That's clear enough. Ultimately we have to figure it out alone, too, and that's not clear in the beginning. "There are many paths to the sacred mountain." Probably each path has some uniqueness, we are individuals and our personal truths can vary. And there are universal truths as well, ones that all men share. For example, each man has the capacity to experience the emotions of joy, anger, grief, fear and shame. There are many universal truths and like this one they tend to be uncomplicated. Each man is a sum of the personal truths and universal truths that he has discovered.
    One way that we grow and heal is to share our truth with one another. That's what I have tried to do in these pages. That's different than a "self-help" approach like pushing a list of ways for men to learn to grow and heal -- different with a capital "D."
    This book was written for two specific groups of people: those men living their own healing story, and the men and women who love them.

JF

Table of Contents

Introduction
Preface

CHAPTER I PROCESS
1. Shadow
2. Shadow, Shade Jones and the Little Boy
3. Spirit Guides
4. Spirit Guides and Real Estate
5. Process and the Color Pink
6. Nicotine Addiction, Mother Wounds and Unfinished Business

CHAPTER II CHEROKEE SPIRITUALITY
7. Shade Jones and the Image of Jesus
Shield Building Workshop
8. Synchronicity
Drum Making Workshop
9. Permanent Change
Drumming Consciousness Workshop

CHAPTER III NAVY
10. New Job 1975 - 1978
11. Surrogate Fathers 1978 - 1981
12. Anger 1981 - 1983
13. Fear at the Crossroads 1983 - 1986
14. Come Full Circle 1986 - 1988
15. Transitions 1989

CHAPTER IV CAULDRON OF THE WEEKEND
16. Acceptance, Belonging and the Weekend
17. Fear and the Weekend
18. Synchronicity and the Weekend
19. Spirit and the Weekend
20. Alchemy and the Weekend

CHAPTER V INTEGRATION
21. Little Boy Returns
22. Belonging
23. Joy
24. Addiction, Mother Wounds and the Great Mother
25. Roberta and Pre-wedding Rituals
26. Summing Up
Postscript: Mother

APPENDIXES
A. Healing Resources
B. "Some Shared Convictions"
C. Acknowledgements

from Chapter One

    I said, "I want to say goodbye to him." I needed to do that, it was so clear that I needed to do that.
    Someone asked, "Is your father still alive?""No, he died six years ago."
    No one else said anything. I was impatient to get started and began to speak out loud, "Dad, I need to say goodbye to you, it's something I need to do. I don't think any less of you. It's just time for me to go."
    My eyes were open. I was looking straight ahead but couldn't see anything clearly, tears were running down my face and I was having trouble speaking. Someone interrupted me and started to ask questions. Then another man said, "No, leave him alone, this guy knows what he's doing."
    I continued speaking to my father. I was aware that some men were talking among themselves. Then one of them came up behind me and asked if my father was on my back? The question made something ring inside. "Yes." Then someone behind me slowly put his arms around my chest and tightened them. Then he tightened them hard, it was difficult to breathe, and he asked, "Is your father on your back like this?""Yes."
    Then a facilitator talked with me and I agreed to get on the floor on my belly and have men get on top of me. Then I would try to stand.
    The first time there weren't that many men on top of me. I struggled and twisted and after a brief time was able to get free to some extent. I was still on the floor on my side but there was only one man left on top of me, he was one of the facilitators. They told me to stop fighting. One man was frustrated and said loudly, "You have to hold him down!" The man on top of me said, "You can't, he's too strong."
    This time when I lay on my belly a lot of men got on my back, many more than at first. I was flattened, I couldn't move a finger, and a man told me to try to stand up. I was able to eventually, but it took a long time. I had to fight and groan and gnash and curse, I cursed them all, "Get the FUCK off me!"
    I played football when young, and if someone took his time getting off me after tackling me I got angry. Go ahead and tackle me, but get off me, don't lie on me while I'm on the ground. Sometimes an opposing player would do that and some dam inside would burst, "Get the FUCK off me!" And I would kick him off if I had to, and here it was again, and the same dam split open, "Get off me, get the FUCK off me!"
    I got to my feet in stages. They were letting me up gradually, the facilitators were coaching them as part of the drama. But I had to fight for every inch of it, every inch, and I got into it.
    I was finally upright on my feet and something crazy was happening. I wasn't yelling in anger and rage anymore, I was joyous, laughing uncontrollably. But my face was still contorted. There wasn't any sound coming out because there wasn't enough strength left to make a sound. But that's what I was doing, laughing uncontrollably, convulsively. It took the facilitators a while to catch on, I found out much later they were expecting a different reaction.
    And I was exultant, I had done it, had freed myself! They gave me time to catch my breath and come back down to earth.
    Then they asked if I wanted to bury my father. They explained that I was in a magical place and could do it if I wanted, it would be a ritual.
    I agreed and they asked me to pick someone to play my father. I looked around the circle. I remembered a man from earlier and looked for him, he was big enough to fill a doorway and very old and walked with a limp. But I couldn't find him and ended up picking someone else. They asked him if he was willing to play the role and he was. They had him lie on the floor on his back, then they covered the lower half of his body with a black sheet. His head and chest were left uncovered. I knelt beside him. If I wanted he would talk to me or I could give him things to say to me. But I didn't want to do that, I just wanted to say goodbye. His eyes were closed and I took his arms and crossed them over his chest.
    So there I was saying goodbye again. I had done it once before in the hospital where he died. He had a massive stroke and massive heart attack at the same time, and we asked them to keep him alive until the family could gather. They kept him alive artificially about 36 hours. I would be alone with him and stand next to his bed and place my hand on his forehead or lay my head on his chest. I would whisper to him and talk and share with him. I would run my fingers through his white hair and thank him for his love for me. I was proud of him and loved him and got to say goodbye while he was still alive. I think some part of him heard me.
    I was lucky to be there and speak with him while he was alive. I was lost in grief, but was there, and that made it easier. And six years had gone by and here it was again. But this time it was different, all the grief came back, but other things came with it.
    Outside a storm had come up and there was thunder and lightning all around the building. We were already up in the sky, the building was on top of a steep ridge that stood between two valleys. The storm had come across the western valley and was centered over the ridge. Men in the building were distracted by the lightning and thunder. I caught my breath, it was like the sky had come to say goodbye to him as well.
    I was sobbing and trying to speak at the same time. "You loved me as well as you could love me. You did as much for me as you could do." I was thanking him and trying to make him understand, and at the same time I was struggling to go. I needed to go. It was time.
    I was full of grief but was angry at the same time. A facilitator came and knelt down, spoke in a soft voice, and asked about the anger. He wanted to know if it had to do with a certain thing regarding my father. I don't remember the details, but it didn't apply, and I said, "No."
    I was angry for me and for the great burdens I had carried. I moved back and forth between the anger and grief, and then the anger and grief started to run together. The thunder was very close to the ground and right over my head, and the thunder began to mix with the anger and grief. It shook me with its closeness and then it seemed to lift me off the ground and hold me there. How long I don't remember, but it was once in a lifetime thunder and they were once in a lifetime feelings.
    "It's time, it's just time, it's my time." I remember saying that. There was still sadness, but I was more angry than sad. When ready, I took the black sheet and pulled it up in jerks and covered his face. It was done, the goodbye was over. I felt bitterness in my chest and stood up and looked away.
    Then more things took place. I was asked if I wanted to talk to the little boy that lived deep inside me. I did and picked someone to be that little boy. I positioned him and sat down close and talked to him. He didn't have any words to say in response, his job was to listen. I told him everything I wanted to hear when I was that small. I smiled at him and took him in my arms and caressed his face. I was talking to him but was really talking to myself, no one explained that to me but it was obvious anyway. Many men were hovering over us, but most of the time I wasn't aware of them. I was in a flow and it felt so easy to talk to him and hold him. I wanted to nourish and protect and love him. It felt so real.
    My real son was in the circle of men hovering there and they asked, "Do you want to bring your real son into the process?" I did. They asked him if he was willing to do it and he was. And they helped me guide myself then and I did the same thing with my son that I had just done with the other young man.
    And then the process was over, but still other things happened, beautiful ritual things. I was the focal point, and was overwhelmed.

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Catalogue Information

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