What Happens at the Men's Wisdom Council

From Menletter April 2003

By Tim Baehr

It should be obvious by now that I have a special fondness for the annual Men's Wisdom Council held at the Rowe Camp and Conference Center every June. Many of you subscribers have been to it, some of you for multiple times.

Men's work of all kinds, but especially the deeper work, is hard to talk or write about. For one thing, some consider our work sacred, not to be lightly bandied about. For another, most men don't talk much anyway (I know that's a stereotype, but it comes from reality, and besides, not talking is sometimes a virtue).

But I think there are some useful things to be said, by an ordinary participant. Not just useful, but important. Men are in trouble, in many ways, and have been for many decades. One crucial aspect of "men's work" is that it celebrates men and manhood in a time when our life choices seem to be between irrelevant buffoon and brute/abuser/corrupt tycoon, with a brief nod to the image of superheroes (including soldiers and post-9/11 police and firefighers) that most of us couldn't begin to live up to.

What is Wisdom Council, and who is wise?

Wisdom Council is an annual retreat for twenty to forty men and seven leaders. For five days (Sunday evening to Friday noon), men eat, meet, and sleep almost exclusively in the company of other men. Delicious, mostly vegetarian meals are provided by Rowe staff, presented lovingly and with flair. The Council participants do cleanup and KP.

Most of us stay in rustic, unheated cabins dotted around a hillside. Each cabin holds eight to twelve men; however, there are enough cabins so that there are rarely more than six men to a cabin. Bathroom facilities are in a central pavilion among the cabins. More traditional, heated quarters are available for men who need more privacy or comfort.

The meeting space, called the Rug Room, is a large carpeted area in a huge barn-like conference center up the hill from the cabins. We don't spend all our time in the Rug Room, however; many of the activities take place outdoors, weather permitting. There may also be field trips to other places for some of our work and play: another camp, the magical and picturesque Tannery Falls, a swimsuit-optional swimming hole.

As far as I can tell, there are only a few "rules." Among them: No violence (physical, psychological, or verbal); and "radical freedom" (all activities are optional; no man is ostracized or ridiculed for sitting out). Oh, and trying not to overload the septic system (with no women around it's no big deal to take a leak in the woods).

But what do you guys actually do -- run around naked and beat drums, do touchy-feely stuff and cry a lot -- what?

Well, not exactly. One of the main purposes of the week is to build a community of men based on trust, humor, honesty. The week has what I've come to think of as a narrative "trajectory" beginning with getting to know each other and at least a small part of our stories. This may include trust-building exercises (nothing frightening or gross) and simply sitting in a circle and sharing our thoughts. The leaders almost always begin a story -- a myth or fable -- that will carry us throughout the week and provide some language and concepts with which to interpret our week's work and our lives in general.

From there the week unfolds. I can't say what specific activities we do, partly because they change from year to year and partly because it would be impossible to do them justice out of context. If you've ever done any group work, however, some of the kinds of things that happen may be familiar: blindfold trust walks, movement to music, work with clay, writing poetry, and so forth.

But I can't sugar-coat all this either: We do work on grief and sorrow in our lives. There are tears. There is the potential, at least, for emotional intensity, including rage. But this is done only after building a community to contain it all.

As we come to trust each other, we are comfortable in going deeper into what it means to be a father, a son, a husband or partner, a man in an often hostile society. Although this is not a "therapeutic" camp, some men may find themselves better able to confront their inner demons after having gotten acquainted (or reacquainted) with them in the company of men who have, over the course of a few days, become their brothers. I've seen, and experienced, real healing.

Again, all activities are optional, and no man is required to act in a particular way or reveal his feelings in a particular way, if at all. [At my first Council, I intended to lay back, get some rest, and not participate much. I was heartsore and discouraged about life and just happy to be away in the woods. Basically, I wanted to be left alone. If I had followed that plan, it would have been OK with everyone. But I felt drawn into the activities within hours of arriving and had a blast for the rest of the week. It was the beginning of some life-changing experiences, all of them good. Your mileage may vary.]

If I attend, this will be my first experience. Will I feel out of place among the "old hands" who've been here before?

No. Obviously, some of us will remember each other from past years and greet each other joyfully. But we were all first-timers once. And as "veterans," we know that the week cannot possibly succeed unless everyone feels included and a part of the community. In my four years of attending Wisdom Council, I have never felt like an outsider.

So, what about the wisdom part? You didn't answer "who is wise"?

I've seen several kinds of wisdom at the Wisdom Council. The leaders have done men's work for many years -- in some cases, decades. They may not have conquered all their demons, but they know how to engage them in battle. The men attending are wise, and become wiser -- knowing themselves better; gaining perspective on their place in their family, community, and cosmos; learning how to help and be helped by other men. And there is a sacred wisdom, a wisdom that transcends our indidividual efforts, and our group efforts, and blesses them.

Sounds pretty heavy.

Parts of it can be "heavy," but one of the main things I've gotten out of Wisdom Council is that it's just plain fun. We're outdoors. We're with other men. Someone is feeding us. We can fart and belch, tell dirty jokes, talk about sex or anything else, wear old clothes, sleep in a sleeping bag, run around at night with a flashlight, go skinny-dipping, skip a shower. Shit, it's like being twelve again.