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Jackson says Sacred Sons hopes to offer a new vision of what being a man can mean. The group hosted 12 events in 2019, and thousands participate in the online “convergences” that have naturally become more central to the organization since the pandemic hit. They initially hoped to attract 30 men seventy-five showed up, and Sacred Sons was born in October of 2018. In 2018 Bastiat (who studied psychology and counselling in college) invited Jackson to co-facilitate a men’s-only workshop at one of his own gatherings, and suggested the idea of a larger men’s weekend retreat at this point, Mackenzie came aboard. Sacred Sons co-founders Adam Jackson, 40, Aubert Bastiat, 36, and Jason MacKenzie first met in 2016 at what Jackson then called his “family gatherings” in Southern California. The truth is, I thought, with the familiar bittersweet pang of passing, I fit right in. I look at my own square and see a bearded white guy in his late-30s with tattoos and glasses. There’s a big age range and a few broad aesthetics-nu hippie, lumbersexual, Dad-but, the faces I can see are primarily white, and I’d put most of us at 30-50.
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“A warrior needs to know what he’d give his life for,” Azuma tells us, as I study the other men-men from El Paso and Kalamazoo and Queens, Colombia and Israel and Mexico-all of us in our square tiles, many with evidence of our messy, human lives on full display: a dirty ashtray, Star Wars posters, a kid who keeps wandering into the frame. Over three days, a $111 pass gets you twelve one-hour Zoom sessions with squishy titles like “Man and Sex,” “Masculine Alchemy,” and “Wild and Wise,” and a two-week pass to the Brothership, an ongoing, members-only community app with message boards, regular breathwork and movement classes, as well as daily “online council” meetings. It’s 8 am-session one, day one of the self-help organization Sacred Sons’ “online convergence,” an all-male virtual retreat with the vague objective of “forging leaders during the storm” who will build on the group’s mission of “co-stewarding the return of the father archetype to this planet through men’s gatherings, circles, and trainings” (an in-person retreat with another 150 men takes place concurrently in San Diego). My wife wanders by, holding a bowl of cereal as I reluctantly follow suit, and raises an eyebrow. With zero hesitation, the other men (several of them also inexplicably shirtless) join him, culminating in a wolfishly distorted chorus. He accelerates the chest beating and we unconsciously follow suit, creating a faster and faster beat until Azuma lets out a howl with such startling force that his dreads shake. He speaks over our drumming with mystical platitudes (“keep the flame alive with every beat!”) and that particular rhythm native to slam poets. Jeddy Azuma, the host of a podcast called The Rising Man, stands shirtless in front of an expensive-looking microphone, leading nearly 100 men on Zoom as we rhythmically beat our chests.