“A hunting party
Sometimes has a greater chance
Of flushing love and God
Out into the open
Than a warrior
All
Alone.”
— Hafiz

There’s something ancient and unshakably true about Hafiz’s words. In a world where the myth of the lone warrior still dominates our ideas of masculinity—rugged individualism, stoic endurance, quiet suffering—this Sufi master reminds us that the most sacred (and effective) things are often found in the company of brothers.

These words by Hafiz have lingered with me, especially in the wake of my recent annual retreat with my Junto group—a brotherhood of men who have become an essential part of my life. Every year, when we come together for a few sacred days of reflection, laughter, challenge, and truth, I’m reminded again of the profound alchemy that happens when men gather with intention.

As someone who, for much of my life, felt a subtle yet persistent discomfort around other men—especially in those environments where masculinity is often distorted into aggression, intoxication, conquest, and bravado—it’s taken years of monthly Junto meetings and yearly retreats to rewire that narrative. To learn to trust other men. To genuinely love them. To see myself in them.

Yes, this particular circle is exceptional. These are men of deep intelligence, emotional courage, humor, humility, and a shared willingness to do the inner work required to grow. They are thoughtful, adventurous, open-hearted—and yes, flawed, human, and learning. And while I hold deep reverence for this unique group, I also know this:

These men are not special in their capacity. They are simply engaged.

Every man—every man—holds the innate capacity, and more importantly, the deep desire, to be this kind of human being. Capable of tenderness and strength. Capable of standing in truth, holding space for pain, and celebrating joy. Capable of presence.

We see signs of this longing all around us. The popularity of figures like Jordan Peterson, Robert Bly, David Deida, or Francis Weller points to a deep collective yearning among men: to understand ourselves, to reclaim what has been lost, and to redefine masculinity not by domination or detachment, but by presence, purpose, and depth.

And truly, this movement couldn’t come at a more important time.

While I can share stories from my own path, my real intention is not to merely speak about men’s work—but to invite you, directly, into it.

There is no substitute for the embodied experience of sitting in circle with other men. Of being witnessed without judgment. Of speaking your truth. Of learning to trust and be trusted. Of confronting your edges and being met with love instead of shame.

If you’ve felt the call—answer it.
If you’ve felt the hesitation—bring it with you.
And if you think you're not ready—you probably are.

Join a men’s group. Start one. Say yes to the work.

You don’t have to walk the path alone. In fact, you’re not supposed to.

In an age of increasing polarization and disconnection, men’s work offers something radical and essential: the path to integration. It’s not just about being “better men.” It’s about being whole. About learning to navigate the tension between strength and tenderness, independence and interdependence, action and reflection.

Many modern men suffer in silence. Behind success, humor, or stoicism often lies a quiet ache—a sense of disconnection not only from others, but from themselves. Despite external achievement, there’s often an internal void: Who am I, really? What do I stand for? Where is my place in the world of men?

Social conditioning has led many men to confuse self-sufficiency with isolation, and emotional resilience with suppression. We’ve created a world where men have fewer close friendships, limited emotional language, and fewer places to speak honestly about the struggles of being human.

This isn’t just tragic. It’s dangerous. The rates of male suicide, addiction, and disconnection from family and purpose speak volumes. But beneath this suffering lies a powerful truth: Men don’t want to be alone. They want to belong. They just don’t always know how.

In men’s work, the unspoken rules are named and dismantled. You don’t have to be the strong one all the time. You don’t have to hide your tears, your shame, your confusion, or your longing.

In fact, your wholeness depends on your willingness to speak them.

In a men’s group, silence is replaced with story. Isolation is replaced with connection. Men begin to experience the profound relief of being truly seen—not for their performance or persona, but for their essence.

And when one man cracks open, he gives permission to every other man in the room to do the same. That’s how the code breaks. That’s how the healing begins.

A men’s group isn’t a therapy session, a locker room, or a casual hangout. It is a container—a ritual space that is held with intention, discipline, and heart. The power of the container is that it invites men into a different kind of consciousness: one rooted in presence, honesty, and responsibility.

Common practices may include:

• Check-ins that create rhythm and trust

• Shadow work that explores the repressed and uncomfortable

• Embodied practices like breathwork or movement to reconnect with the body

• Storytelling to reclaim personal narratives

• Council to speak and listen from the heart

In this space, there’s no need to perform. There is only the raw truth of what is. And in that space, transformation begins.

My own group mentioned earlier— my "Junto"—is modeled after the original Junto founded by Benjamin Franklin in 1727. Franklin’s Junto was a bold experiment in structured mutual improvement. A dozen men from diverse professions—printers, merchants, artisans—gathered each week to discuss moral, political, and practical questions. Their goal wasn’t debate or ego inflation—it was growth, accountability, and the betterment of self and society.

Franklin designed the Junto around a fixed set of questions to provoke thoughtful conversation and personal reflection. Members would explore topics such as:

• What instances of self-improvement or public service have you observed this week?

• What have you read recently that has broadened your thinking?

• Is there anyone in need of assistance or mentorship in your circle?

• Have you noticed any injustices in your community that should be addressed?

The genius of Franklin’s Junto was its simplicity and intentionality—it created a consistent rhythm for men to sharpen one another intellectually, ethically, and emotionally. It wasn’t therapy, but it was profoundly therapeutic. It wasn’t religious, but it was deeply spiritual in its orientation toward purpose and virtue.

We’ve adapted that legacy to modern men’s work. Our contemporary Junto framework includes monthly meetings and annual retreats that weave together Franklin’s spirit of inquiry with the emotional depth and embodiment practices that today’s world demands. We bring in breathwork, meditation, storytelling, music, ritual, and challenge—all anchored by the same core values: honesty, humility, service, and growth.

But it doesn’t have to start there.

Some men’s groups begin as something very simple—just a monthly check-in. A handful of men gathering for an hour or two to speak openly, without performance or pretense. In that circle, perhaps for the first time in their lives, men are given permission to share their struggles, successes, fears, hopes, and heartbreaks in a space free of judgment or fixing.

Sometimes, that’s all it takes.

When a man is truly heard and seen, something ancient stirs within him. The simple act of honest speech in the presence of compassionate witnesses can unlock years—decades—of numbness or shame. The transformation doesn’t come from complexity. It comes from presence.

Whether you’re gathering around a fire, in someone’s living room, or at a local community space, what matters is the container—a commitment to truth, to confidentiality, and to calling each other forward.

"I think a really good message of our show is to get rid of this macho mentality and the unhealthy masculinity where men don't cry, men don't speak about their feelings." - Cristo Fernandez (Dani Rojas), Ted Lasso

The healing of the masculine won’t come from isolated self-improvement. It will come from brotherhood.

True brotherhood is not about agreement or comfort. It is about depth and presence. It is about loving a man enough to challenge him when he’s out of integrity—and being willing to be challenged in return. It is about sitting in fire together and not flinching.

This is where we can begin to understand the esoteric truth embedded in the Buddhist prophecy of Maitreya’s Return. Maitreya, the future Buddha, is said to return not as a single individual—but through the awakening of collective humanity. In the context of men’s work, we might say: Maitreya returns in the circle. In the eyes of each man who chooses love over fear. In the courage it takes to sit with brothers, dissolve ego, and step into the sacred task of becoming human—together.

Maitreya is not coming to save us. He is coming through us. Through men willing to embody kindness, wisdom, and presence in a world that desperately needs it.

In nearly every traditional culture, boys were not left to stumble into manhood. They were initiated—often through ordeal, ritual, and mentorship—into adulthood. These rites marked the death of the boy and the birth of the man. They weren’t easy. They weren’t comfortable. But they were necessary.

In our modern world, we’ve lost these rites. As a result, many men drift through life uninitiated—grown in age but still operating from the wounds of adolescence. Men’s work offers a path back to initiation, not through cultural appropriation or artificial hardship, but through authentic challenge, sacred accountability, and soul-rooted purpose.

To be initiated is not to be perfect—it is to be claimed by something larger than the self. A mission. A set of values. A deeper knowing of who you are and what you’re here to do.

We are not meant to do this alone. We never were.

The warrior alone may be strong. But the hunting party—the circle of men walking shoulder to shoulder through fire and shadow—has a far greater chance of drawing out what is sacred, what is wild, and what is true.

This is your invitation.
Not to spectate.
Not to theorize.
But to join.

Join a circle or start one. Return to the fire. Bring your wounds. Bring your wisdom. Bring your longing to become the man you were born to be—not for yourself alone, but for your family, your community, your world.

The path is ancient.
The need is urgent.
And the time is now.