I am met in a deep longing that seems to stir an ancestral memory: this is brotherhood. We look at each other with eyes of mutual recognition. The other men shift their fierce restraint into a masculine tenderness, many of them touched by emotion as well. The man on the ground roars again, raw powerful rage, before bursting into heaving sobs and collapsing back to the floor. Where does it want to go? Don’t use words this time.” “You’re safe, brother.” whispers the main facilitator, Jason MacKenzie, who is gripping the man’s hand and hovering close to his ear. He’s not directing his tirade at any man present, instead he looks beyond them at an unseen other. He struggles against our weight, veins bulging along his neck, eyes brimmed with tears. I’m one of seven men holding down another as these words escape his throat in a guttural roar.
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