a losing game

o baby!

On Wednesday, July 13, at 10:35 am, my youngest sister gave birth to a baby boy. He was four weeks premature, but still weighed in at 6 pounds 8 ounces. His head was turned the wrong way during birth, so he was kinda stuck, and after three difficult hours of pushing, just as they were getting ready to take my sister into the OR for a C-section, they tried one more time with a suction vacuum device, and he arrived; his head a little bruised from the vacuum device, but healthy, very loved, and beautiful.

I don't have any children. This is the first child in my immediate family. I've always felt very protective of both of my sisters, especially my youngest sister, and as I was watching the baby yesterday; introducing myself to the spirit of this brand new little person - watching my sister hold him and feed him, and watching the baby's daddy do the same, I wanted so badly to somehow insure that nothing bad would ever happen to him - to guarantee that no hardship or evil would ever befall this new and beautiful creature. I want to protect him from sickness and disease, from pollutants, from artificially manufactured industrial foods, airborne toxins, and poor environmental conditions - from bullying, from crime, from hurt feelings, from a broken heart, from poverty, from anger, from alcoholism, from unjust legislative decisions, from natural disasters, from indifference, from stupid people.

How vulnerable. How perfect. Perhaps my awe about this whole newborn baby thing might seem naïve or overly romanticized to any of you who have had children, or who have gone through this numerous times, but seeing this little guy, knowing his family's history, understanding the potential for inherited family conditions, and having had extensive personal experience with the maelstrom of family drama and all-around bullshit that he will inevitably have to learn to maneuver through and endure, I want so badly to protect him - to somehow do everything within my power to filter it out so it isn't able to trickle down to him in its full potency.

I will be the best uncle I can be. I can hardly wait to spoil him, educate him, play with him, drag him through museums and amusement parks, bring him to musicals and concerts, give him delicious treats for his belly and his brain and his soul. Whatever else this kid may have, he will also have me to run to, to talk to, and to be with whenever he wants or needs, and it will be my pleasure and my privilege to introduce him to an abundance of things that most ordinary people find it unnecessary to know anything about. If knowledge is indeed power, then I will insure that he has access to an arsenal of knowledge. Yes little one, welcome to the world, I'm your Auntie Mame!

equality

It's hard to describe the feelings I'm having this morning; joy, relief, satisfaction, disbelief, justification against denial and censure, justice, and surprisingly, even a little melancholy. Last night, after tedious delays and endless yammering on about religious exemption amendments, the New York Senate passed the Marriage Equality Act with a vote of 33 to 29. This ground-breaking and momentous event makes New York the sixth and largest state in the nation to legalize same sex marriage, and ultimately transforms the gay marriage debate nationwide.

The timing is quite serendipitous, as tomorrow is New York's Gay Pride Parade. And as the parade marches down Fifth Avenue, I can only imagine that this year tens, possibly hundreds of thousands of joyful and proud LGBT New Yorkers and their supporters will celebrate like never before.

For the last couple of years I've avoided the parade as the over-sexualization, product placement, celebration and encouragement of unhealthy life choices (drugs, alcohol, prostitution, etc.) presented as an accurate, all-encompassing representation of gay life has made me more than a little uncomfortable. While the Pride Parade has always been a good excuse to don one's feather boa or black leather harness and hot pants, I remember the Pride Parades in the 80s, when it was much smaller and acted more as a showplace for the bravery and pioneer-ism of the community; gay cops, firefighters, teachers, PFLAG, AIDS organizations, etc. And while those groups have never fully disappeared, they seem to have taken a back seat to the more visually sensational groups of leather men, rent boys, drag queens, go-go boys, celebrity DJs, etc. However, my guess is that last night's victory over statewide legislative discrimination will likely bring some political urgency back to the forefront of the festivities.

As for the surprising and nagging melancholy, I can't help but think of those who have been lost over the years, those who weren't even able to see this fight take shape, let alone witness its victory. Those previously mentioned boyfriends, for example - what might they have thought of this historic legislation? And what might it have meant for us as young lovers had the idea of marriage been a possibility at the time? What measure of profound difference would it have made had the state given our relationship the kind of legitimacy that would've allowed us to be viewed as full citizens, whole people. Bittersweet memories mix with pride of country and hope for future generations.

deconstruction

Almost every morning just before eight, a woman rides her bicycle through Riverside Park with a Siamese cat on her shoulder. This morning she rode slowly by me in the rain, and as she passed, the cat turned it's head; its blue eyes fixed on me as they continued north round the path, and disappeared.

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am as a noisy gong or a clanging symbol.

Love of art -
Or of nature or of food or of style or of form or of goodness.
Is it enough?

I'm guilty of often entertaining a romantic notion of what my life might've looked like had those contemporaries who left too soon still been here to share it with me. Perhaps we'd have drifted away from each other with either indifference or bitterness. Or maybe we'd have grown closer - our mutual fondness increasing with time, even as we recognized in each other the inevitable wear and decay of our earthly vessels - remembering fondly what we once were; taught, virile, urgent - loving what we had become despite age and physical deterioration.

I never got to see Tom with a potbelly or receding hair, nor was I allowed to make amends for the selfish behavior of a youthful fool. I never saw Greg go grey or watch the skin around his eyes go slack and wrinkle - never was able to tell him how much I loved him; too afraid. I never imagined there wouldn't be time. (I miss showering with him. Holding hands. Talking.) They left too early - them and others too. They will always be young - always beautiful. Lucky to have missed their own physical degeneration - unfortunate not to have experienced their own maturity. I'm lucky to hold my youthful loves forever as they were - hapless not to be able to hold them as grown men.

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

I ask to be useful - that my experience might help others. I ask to have my difficulties lifted so that I may be of service. I am willing for this to happen. Sometimes it happens - often it does not. I allow the willingness to wash over me just as I allow the discomfort to wash over me. I sit with it. I walk through it - discomfort, sadness, doubt; a hundred forms of self-pity and self-delusion. I endure it knowing all things pass. This too shall pass despite feeling that it will go on forever. What seems insurmountable will undoubtedly prove frivolous with time. Tuesday - Thursday - February - June.

When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face:

The cat's blue eyes burrow holes deep into me as it recedes into the rainy distance on its mistress' shoulder. All-knowing opals; able to see behind the layers of make-up that's taken years to apply.
"I see you, you self-centered fuck. There's no hiding place down here."

Still, fruitless, I wait with an adolescent appetite for a vampire kiss. Bite me, suck me in and govern me. Always a top, never in control. Swallow me. Steal me. Own me. Bridle my potential as you see fit. Make me all that I could never imagine for myself, all that I am not. Good. Whole. Change me. Not gentle; no time for gentleness - the wait has been too long for gentleness. Times a wasting - swing your partner-dosey-doe. Too much has gone unused, untapped, impotent. Open, willing, unable to manipulate any longer, I've surrendered. Take my hand before it crumbles to dust. The sadness and promise of everything that could have been chokes me with remorse, with loss. Without loss I fear I am nothing.

And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

In tongues of angels and demons and bicycle cats, I blather on the noisy gong, the insistent clapper of a recalcitrant bell. Hear me, hear me, I somersault the antiseptic halls, the blue institutional day rooms and settle in grace. Grace that allows me to be accepted as I am, not the person I imagine myself to be. I may fail more than succeed - again and again and again. I may be weak, messy, irritable, unhappy, sloppy, intensely human. I remain, nonetheless, cradled in the hollow of God's hand - swaddled in unmerited favor. Flawed and forgiven. Encouraged and protected.

rupture

The rapture didn't happen. As far as I am aware, there were no major intercontinental earthquakes, and if Jesus did come and take people away, he didn't do it on a very large scale.

And so the world goes on, and as it does, I still sometimes find it hard to understand even the simplest things. I often ride the subway and notice young men with wedding bands on, and I think to myself 'how does something like that happen?' I look at their clothes, their build, the thickness or thinness of their wrists, their haircuts, shoes, and I wonder how people get into, and then stay in relationships? When did they make that decision? What does it take to want to share one's life with someone else, and how does anybody negotiate the kind of terms that that kind of arrangement would require? I imagine the kind of person that they're married to, or how long ago they might've met. I wonder if they're happy, if they communicate well and talk freely, or if they are uncomfortable when they go home, and perhaps even feel trapped, stuck, locked into a kind of melancholy existence; committed to staying with someone that they've grown apart from - in sickness and in health, till death do them part. Indebted to their word; to an idea of what they believe they should be.

I imagine their families and their in-laws, and what holidays look like for them. Are there children? Are there pets? I picture them in their pajamas eating breakfast, or checking in with their wives from the office, or making love in the shower. I imagine that they're probably so used to each other that they can anticipate one another's movements and physical responses, even finish each other's sentences, and it is all just beyond my comprehension. It's not just one particular type of person that I notice that makes me think this way, but all different types from every different classification of imaginable socioeconomic background - good looking ones, homely ones, well-dressed ones, fat ones, young ones; it just seems foreign to me - alien - not like something that other people have access to that I don't (which I guess is true, it is still illegal for me to be married in most states), but actually something that I just don't understand - like calculus - I know it is real, I know that there is probably a practical application for it somewhere, but I can't for the life of me figure it out.

It's not as if these young men are people I imagine myself being with, it's not like that, I'm not sexually fantasizing about them (not usually anyway), or even envying their position, it's that I can't wrap my head around how people work out their lives in this manner; married, sharing everything about themselves, intimate - for me it is implausible, mind-boggling. It's like people who abuse their children or their pets - I just don't get it. Certainly I can understand frustration and anger and lashing out at those closest to you, but only as the occasional, shameful, and much regretted, wrongdoing or outburst, not as a daily practice. For me it's the same thing with marriage, I understand it in theory, but not in practice. And of course, the fact that it happens to most people makes me feel very different and apart from. Even when I'm in a good mood, contented and happily going about my business and enjoying my day, I can see a guy on the subway, notice his wedding band and this thought process starts, and I begin to feel isolated and withdrawn.

Many married people that I know are unhappy, or are at the very least troubled and challenged in their relationships with their spouses. I find this puzzling. Happy marriages are certainly not something I'd ever had as an example in my childhood (apart from my grandparents, who were from an entirely different generation, and who were married to each other almost a hundred years ago). Successful and happy marriages are not even something I've seen a lot of in my adult life, and yet this paradigm of legally and religiously sanctioned pairing-off continues to be the social norm for most everybody despite relative proof to its success being improbable.

Do these observations suggest that I'm depressed? Possibly. Do they suggest that I'm cynical? Probably. And while difficult and often uncomfortable, this introspective, pensive, downward and darkening spiral encourages me to seek spiritual guidance and comfort. These dark questioning moments strengthen my relationship with an ever elusive Higher Power. Interestingly, it is often in these dark spots that I am most reassured of the intangible existence of that Power. It's easy to say that I am being carried and protected when all is light and effortless, but being brought through darkness with an unswerving knowledge that I am cared for and safe, regardless of my recurring feelings of separateness and isolation, strengthens my spiritual connection. In the same way that beauty can be found in what may be dark or disturbing, I often find grace in times of isolation and doubt.

rapture

Well, this is it. The apocalypse is nigh and it just doesn't really feel very different from any other day. In fact, after having a couple of cups of coffee, walking the dog, checking my email, looking at the latest updates on facebook, logging into an online dating site, checking the Huffington Post, taking a few phone calls (all regular morning stuff), the idea of being lifted away in the never ending and loving arms of Jesus seems like a really nice thing.

Yes, my routine can become a little numbing, but lately I'm actually happy with what I've been doing. I'm glad that I'm able to be helpful to others, that I get to play a role in other people's recovery. I went to the Tombs last night, and the men there were grateful that I took the time to bring a meeting to them. I'm currently working with a newcomer who is as scared as he is enthusiastic. I'm also working with a recurrent relapser; frustrated, scared, and teaching me so much. Showing up for these guys allows me to feel useful, gives me a sense of purpose, and feeds my self-esteem. And while I'm not anxious or discontented, I am tired, lonely, desirous, frustrated, and I wonder if I'm ever going to feel like a settled grownup; a responsible adult with healthy relationships. I can understand how fanatical religiosity could be a welcomed reprieve from the disenchantment of daily life.

Last week I got together again with the fellow I mentioned in an earlier post. The tall, muscular, semi-regular sex partner with an awkwardly handsome nose who I was wondering if I might get closer with. We had our usual urgent and voracious romp, and then in the comfortable afterglow, he began opening up to me in a way that he never had before. He began telling me about himself, his feelings, etc. I welcomed it, but I also noticed myself shutting down. I was scared. And then, he began talking about other sex partners. A clear and loud mixed message of 'I like you but don't get too close.' Is this what I do? It was like a mirror. A painfully fragmented and cracked mirror. No, I don't talk about other sex partners with people I'm romantically interesting in, but I'm certain that I push people away in any number of other ways. Seriously, I'm a middle-aged man who feels like an adolescent (and often acts like one), and finally all this self examination is beginning to pay off. It would really be a shame if the world ended today right when I feel as if I'm on the precipice of some kind of personal transformation or breakthrough. Of course I know that this is all just practice preparing me for the next thing. I just hope that after all this laborious and painful work that the next thing isn't oblivion.

american exceptionalism

It's been two days now, and finally some of the fever pitch hoopla over Bin Laden’s demise has quieted a little. Of course, the media frenzy will continue for quite some time, but at least the shouting and dancing in the streets has stopped. I’m very glad that some closure has been brought to a very difficult chapter in our recent history. I'm proud of our President, our country’s intelligence agencies, and our brave servicemen and women who have struck a defining blow against terrorism. An undeniably evil man has been eliminated, and I guess that that’s as good as a rabid animal being put down. But the euphoric celebrations, and the righteous grandstanding have made me a little uneasy.

National pride, quiet contemplation, and prayer are not mutually exclusive. A sober and mindful reverence for all that has been lost might stand as a greater example of American exceptionalism than triumphant celebration.

So while I understand the knee jerk reaction of singing “ding dong the witch is dead,” I also know that hate begets hate, and rejoicing in the violent death of anyone, even an evil mastermind, might very well highlight the basest of human conditions among us.

dancing with myself

This morning I’ve been reading about the Ryan budget proposal, the President’s response, reality television celebrities posturing for Presidential bids, tornadoes ripping through North Carolina and all other matters of newsworthy events. I might have something to say about any, or all of these things, but I’m feeling more inwardly directed and self-centered today. Really, do my political musings make the slightest difference to anyone or anything anyway? Does anybody even read this stuff? It usually just feels like letting off steam, but that shouldn’t, and doesn’t matter. The strange and beautiful thing about a blog is the false sense of security and simultaneous presumed anonymity in a forum for public self-expression – a paradox of deceptive concealment and full accessibility.

And so, here it is the third week of this, the cruelest month. I sense the brewing and babbling of lilacs, and the unfulfilled promise of desire. Fruit trees are bursting forth with flowering new life, my steps lighten slightly, and my eyes are certainly quicker than my brain (something not exclusive to spring months). Romantic hope springing eternal, however, has previously set me up for disappointment. Just recently I’ve felt especially burned by my own desire and expectation. True, my choices have been... um... questionable at best – to keep doing the same thing and expect different results could be called insane – but I can’t help thinking that something may change, or that I’ve changed, so the results of such folly should at least vary.

I’ve been having an intermittent, ongoing sexual encounter with someone for a while; a dashing, tall and muscular chap with an awkwardly handsome nose, and a seemingly inexhaustible libido. We’ve met maybe once a month or so for the past year. That we’re sexually compatible is irrefutable, and the last few times we’ve been together there has been easy, fun and playful talk. For me, as far as casual sex things go, this should be considered highly successful. But, as rousing and enthusiastic as our meetings have been, I’ve been finding myself hoping that there might be more to explore with this fellow - perhaps something not so casual. Regrettably, the last time we connected, he made it clear (not in so many words) that things are just fine the way they are, and that he’s really not open for anything more emotionally investigative. Alas, a disappointment to be sure. But as fragmentary and emotionally frustrating as our intermittent romps may be, their excitement and animal passion are just too much for me to discard completely at this time.

Acknowledging this lack of emotional involvement has prompted me to turn my attention to the idea of dating rather than hook-ups. Now as one who has never had any success in this arena, the prospect is startling. The stakes are so much higher! If a hook-up goes wrong, you can just stop and say, “Ya’ know, this isn’t really working for me” and then you each go your own way, usually with no hard feelings. But dating? Oh boy, I just don’t feel like I’m prepared for that kind of potentially devastating rejection - all before there’s even been any evidence of a payoff. I realize that this is probably a very modern-male perspective, but considering that our society has been frantically rolling forward on the model of some kind of quick-edit-amazing-race-immediate-gratification-how-to-handbook, it’s really no surprise that I just want to find myself in a loving and successful reciprocal relationship without having had to do any of the footwork to get me there. That sex is so readily available doesn't make wanting to stretch my dating muscles any easier either.

And so, again, here I am in this cruelest of months, my birthday month, single, libidinous, slowly aging, lonely and longing for more. I'm not quite ready to give up the easy fix of the non-committed occasional romp, but I am now, more than ever, willing to risk some emotional investment and start learning how to date, even at this more advanced stage of my career. So I'll keep you posted. In the meantime I'll try to enjoy the newly lightened step and the quickening eye. And, as April showers fall, and the city's parks begin to bring forth a bounty of floral loveliness, I'll try not to slip too far into morbid self-reflection. Who knows? with all this blooming new life I may even find some new life of my own, rise to this new challenge, and surprise myself.

birmingham jail

I'm taking a class called Practicing Social Criticism, and in it we've been reading numerous politically charged pieces from various perspectives and viewpoints; journal articles, newspaper opinion pages, three different books on socioeconomic status and race, etc. This last week we were given Martin Luther King Jr's letter from a Birmingham jail to his fellow clergy, and were asked to write a short response to it. The professor asked that we direct our response to King himself. I was very challenged by this assignment. I mean, come on, the man is a martyred hero who will forever remain an icon of the civil rights movement, social justice, and American freedom. He has been sainted by the Episcopal Church, and even has a national holiday in his name, fer crissake! He means so much to so many, and his words have been read, reread and scrutinized for the last fifty years. What did I possibly have to offer that could add anything new to the dialogue about King or his work? It seemed daunting and almost sacrilege.

Well... I wrestled with it for a few days before I finally wrote it. I thought that some interesting stuff came up, so I figured I'd share it here as I haven't been so active online lately.



While I am certain that more judicious men than I have informed you of the importance and far-reaching impact of your recent activities, let me reiterate that your actions are undeniably wise and timely. Revolutions are never convenient, and, as has been observed by the great Frederick Douglass, “If there is no struggle, there can be no progress.” The power and beauty of the words in your letter to your fellow clergy are underscored by the resolute commitment of your carrying forward a gospel of social justice. Your words “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere,” are profound and stirring. As a preacher, I know that words come easily for you, but these are words that linger, and will resonate a message of truth for years to come.

I am writing to you from the future, and it is astonishing and shameful for me to think that only so recently was such marginalization and exclusion encouraged in this country. As I’m writing, I know that I am kidding myself – inequality is still the norm. You will, however, be happy to learn that the world has come a long way; integration is now standard, children of all shades and hues study and play together, just as their parents work together. Mixed-race marriages barely turn heads any longer, and denying someone employment or housing based on race is illegal (though of course, it is still routine). But, the planet, and this country, nevertheless, continue to suffer from regimentally imposed discrimination, and gross disparity between those who have and those who have not.

You will be pleased and surprised to learn that the President of the United States of America is a brown-skinned man. Yes, a man of color has attained the highest elected office in the land. Certainly this is reason to rejoice and measure the strides that have been made toward racial equality. The magnitude and impact of our President’s election marks an historic event and an unparalleled victory for civil rights. But, while our brown-skinned President rode to power on rhetoric that gave hope to both the disenfranchised and progressives alike, his policies have proven to be a continuance of the oligarchic plutocracy that came before him, and which continues to thrive. The disparity between the wealthy and the working poor of our country is greater than it has ever been, and continues to grow exponentially. The current gap between the income of CEOs and that of workers’ wages would make nineteenth century robber barons blush.

Everyday our President sits across from a bust of your likeness in our country’s oval office, and everyday your legacy is abused. The influence of your life and work continue to propel convincing testimony, but as long as we, as a nation, continue to value the rights and livelihood of the CEO over that of the worker, the true meaning of your message will not have been heard. As long as we continue to value the lives of Christians over Muslims your message will not have been heard. As long as we continue to value the lives and rights of heterosexuals over homosexuals your message will not have been heard. As long as we continue to value the lives of Israelis over Palestinians your message will not have been heard. As long as we continue to value the lives of civilians in Libya over those in Darfur, or Bahrain, or Afghanistan, or Iran, or The Republic of Côte d'Ivoire your message will not have been heard. The spiritual life is not a theory – it must be lived everyday. This is something that you know and something that you did.

Forty-three years ago this week you were gunned down and killed in Memphis, Tennessee. Painfully and ironically you were in Memphis supporting worker’s collective bargaining rights, an issue very much currently at stake, as a new breed of far-right conservatives attempt to strip union workers of their collective bargaining rights in the name of corporate greed. While today the issues of race are not central to the fight, an oligarchic institutional structure continues to oppress and intimidate the working poor as they threaten to lock inequality into law.

How prophetic too that your letter was addressed to clergy – today the Western world suffers from a spiritual malnutrition. Prejudice and hate continue to be preached from pulpits across our nation. Certainly there are men and women of faith who are committed to interpreting the teachings of Jesus as a call to social justice, but many who call themselves “Christian,” and claim the gospel of Christ also demand their own privilege and superiority. These Christians-in-name-only pervert scripture to further their own twisted agendas. Recently, one of them has publicly burned the sacred scriptures of our Muslim brothers and sisters, and many others continue to regularly incite hatred towards our lesbian and gay brothers and sisters, as well as provoke sanctimonious anger at immigrants who have come to this country in pursuit of the promise of the principles that our great nation was founded on.

“‘Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me.’ (Matthew 25: 40)"

Oh, how this most fundamental law of all sacred teachings has been squandered!

From as far back as Rabbi Hillel’s interpretation of the Torah: “"That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow. That is the whole Torah; the rest is the explanation; go and learn.," up until today, the golden rule has always been the most vital and principal seed from which all religious teachings have blossomed.

Unfortunately today, many who claim him rarely follow the example of Jesus too closely. I would much prefer to see a sermon than to hear one, and your diligence and sacrifice have shown the world what it means to be Christian; not just on Sunday mornings, bowing one’s head to empty dogma and reeling in sentiment, but by living a life that was the manifestation of the living God of Love – a daily practice of advocacy, decency, courage, and compassion as basic values.

The fight to expose hypocrisy and injustice proceeds, and your actions continue to stand as the benchmark of personal accountability to virtue and benevolence. The unending resolve that you’ve demonstrated stands as a testimony to the fact that the life of one man is equal to that of any other. And your example of civil disobedience echoes the empowering message that a man’s back can only be ridden when it is bent – this message transcends time and resounds to the downtrodden, the disenfranchised, workers, or anyone else who suffers unnecessarily under a corrupt authority. Your work and your life are a living extension of the Blood that was shed on Calvary – Blood which was shed not solely for Christians, but for the extended family of man.

liz

The passing of Elizabeth Taylor saddens me. Few people have led more interesting or privileged lives than she did. True, she hadn't worked in front of the camera in years, nor had she been very active recently, as she'd been ill and infirm for the past few years. When she left this world yesterday morning she was wealthy, world famous, and surrounded by her family. Certainly, sadder and more tragic deaths happen every day. However, Elizabeth Taylor's death stands as a reminder that time is passing and the world continues to change.

Celebrity is everywhere, yet it seems to have less and less meaning. Elizabeth Taylor's face will forever remain iconic, just as her name will remain synonymous with the words Movie Star. Yesterday the world lost one of its brightest shining stars. In a time when reality television makes celebrities out of contestants, and anyone, anywhere has the ability to follow a “star’s” twitter feed, or watch movies on their hand-held devices, the era of the larger-than-life movie star is gone forever. Taylor was the product of another era - a woman who grew up in the spotlight, and lived under the weight of the enormity of her fame since childhood. When mediums and tastes changed, she didn’t recede into obscurity or use her celebrity for personal gain, rather she wielded her celebrity like a weapon, bravely and unwaveringly speaking out for people with AIDS when no one else would do it - when it was wildly unpopular. She fought tirelessly for AIDS awareness, leaving AMFAR as her legacy, an organization that couldn’t have happened without her. She was a beacon of glamor, humanitarianism, and compassion. She saved lives, she made people feel loved, she made a difference.

I’m not sad because a dazzlingly beautiful academy award winning movie star died. I’m not sad because the death of this great lady is a reminder of the impermanence of beauty and of the inevitability of decay. I’m sad because without the presence of this unique, shining spirit – the world is a little less vibrant today, a little less hopeful.

prayers for japan

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shame

I haven't written anything in a while because I feel like I'm really at a loss for what to say lately. It's certainly not that I don't have opinions about what's been going on in the world, but I'm so disheartened by the state of my country that I feel I might only be venting my anger and frustration if I took to the blog with my feelings.

The anti union bill that was illegally pushed through in Wisconsin last night not only wages a class war on America's workers, but is a travesty to American democracy. The Macarthy-istic hearings of Representative Peter King in Washington beginning this morning is an embarrassment in the face of our country's commitment to the freedom of religion and is no more than a legally sanctioned, thinly veiled witchhunt against Muslim Americans. The commitment of House Republicans to defend the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA) is a giant step backwards in terms of civil rights. I've signed numerous online petitions, posted countless articles and links on facebook to try and educate all my friends to these recent injustices, and yammered on with like-minded folks about how these transgressions of the right plan to strip our nation of the very principles on which it was founded. Heck, I've even emailed the White House! My feelings of powerlessness have almost overwhelmed me to the point of wanting to put my head in the sand, or at the very least overeat, and hideout in movie theaters all day, every day.

I am infuriated by the unjust, back-handed, and short-sighted moves of the "new breed" that have recently been elected to power. I'm also embarrassed and ashamed of my country. I am, however, holding onto the slightest sliver of hope that these recent sociopathic overreaches of power by the far right will backfire in their faces, and that the working poor who were suckered into supporting them by having their anger exploited will wake up to the fact that they've been used as pawns, and see these heartless creeps for what they are - criminals. Perhaps their anger and resolve, as witnessed these past weeks in Madison Wisconsin, will be properly directed and make a difference.

Well, I've broken the silence and I've gotten a chance to express why I've been so quiet lately. I don't want you to think I'm apathetic, just terribly, terribly frustrated.

don't be mine

Several months ago I flirted with a guy in an eyeglass shop. He was handsome and playful, and surprisingly, he was responding to me, so I gave him my number. Pretty bold move, I thought. At least it was the kind of move that I hadn't made in a long time. Well, he didn't call and I thought nothing of it. Then several weeks later I get a text message from some number I don't recognize. You get the picture.

So he starts texting me and sending me suggestive photos of himself periodically. Certainly I'm interested, as I've already mentioned, this guy is really handsome. But our schedules never quite work out and for one reason or another it doesn't happen. Earlier this week he gets really serious (or horny, as the case may be) and sends me a couple of photos that are more than suggestive, along with a few very specific text messages.

Up to this point, we haven't had anything more than the most cursory phone conversation; what's your work schedule this week?, This cold weather is way too much for me, stuff like that. So I call him. I tell him that I'm definitely interested in carrying on further, but that if we're going to be entering into an arrangement of this nature (notice how I can't bring myself to use the word relationship - interesting) he needs to know that I'm HIV positive. I'm very healthy and this isn't really a great concern, but for myself, I need to be honest and up front about my situation, and if this is a deal-breaker, I totally understand.

There was silence on the other end of the line - just long enough for me to be uncomfortable. So, I tell him that he doesn't need to say anything, I totally understand, I didn't mean to make him feel awkward, there are no hard feelings. But he stops me and says, no, he's positive too and he can't believe how honest I was being and that he's really surprised and really appreciates it.

Well, needless to say, I'm getting pretty excited at the prospect of this; handsome, playful, also HIV positive, appreciates honesty, libidinous. We arrange to meet during his next day off. I show up at the agreed upon spot at the appointed time, and he's not there. I give him about 15 minutes, then I text him. He's on his way. Fine. He shows up and tells me that it turns out he has to work after all. (huh? you couldn't have told me this earlier?) We sit down for a quick coffee. He doesn't seem to think that his last minute change of schedule, or the fact that he's possibly inconvenienced me at all is worth more than the most superficial apology, but he nervously rattles on about himself, his work, how he hates New York winters, etc.

Now, I don't know where or when I've acquired this skill, but I managed not to say much of anything. I actually listened, and while I was listening I realized that this guy is a completely self-centered flake, and not the kind of person I need to complicate my life with by entering into an "arrangement", no matter how casual.

I am very much aware that Monday is Valentines day, and I would very much enjoy being the object of someone's attention and romantic fantasies as much as the next guy. But at what cost? I'm so glad that lately I am able to notice my own personal growth. When after this rather rushed and disappointing coffee date (was that really a date), I experienced a wave of disappointment and self-pity, it was as if I had walked through a curtain, and once I realized what it was, I had already passed through it. This is a new and most welcomed phenomenon. There was a time, probably not too long ago, when I would have used this episode as self-pity fodder for weeks. The simple truth is that drama of that nature just doesn't interest me anymore.

So I may not be getting any flowers next week, and I'm not jewelery shopping for that 'special someone,' but things seem to be shifting, and my heart seems to be opening in ways I previously couldn't have imagined.

re entry

It's been almost two weeks since I've been home, and I'm finding that readjusting to my normal life is more challenging than I would have expected. Perhaps I wouldn't find it to be quite so troublesome if it weren't the dead of winter, but the relentless cold and ice isn't making my transition any easier.

I got back into town last Monday afternoon, and had my first class last Tuesday afternoon - the very next day. This is what I would call hitting the ground running. I'm glad that I didn't have a long period of downtime with nothing to do. This forced me to get over any jet lag I may have had, and also made me feel like I had some sort of purpose for braving the persistent bad weather.

I'm trying to hold on to some sense of the serenity that I found on my trip. Not that I was blissed-out the whole time, but I do feel that I did achieve some modicum of spiritual connectedness that had previously evaded me. Even though I continue to mindfully pause, breathe, and ask for Divine guidance, the challenge of finding a practical application for this practice in the face of everyday life seems, at times, almost insurmountable. When I fail, I try to forgive myself, and promise that I'll do better next time.

Being back in the daily swing of dog walking, school, homework, phone calls, meetings, service commitments, speaking engagements, and other people's drama could derail the most serene of Yogis, let alone someone with an imperfect and sloppy spiritual practice, like myself. I know that there are tools that I can add to my daily practice that might help me better maneuver my way through these difficult days.

I haven't located a yoga class yet, like I promised myself I would do, but that promise still stands. I have, however, continued my daily meditation and prayer practice, and I know that being of service to others always - ALWAYS - helps me to get over any personal hump I may be experiencing. So with this in mind, tonight I'm going to speak at the locked-down detox unit of a hospital, and a few days ago I went downtown to the Department of Corrections offices, in lower Manhattan, and spent a couple of hours filling out forms and getting fingerprinted for my new corrections commitment at the Tombs (the colloquial name for the Manhattan detention complex).

I recently read a quote that I thought was rather provocative and relevant to this topic of service, by the 20th century Taoist philosopher, Wei Wu Wei:

Why are you unhappy?

Because 99.9 per cent

Of everything you think,

And of everything you do,

Is for yourself —

And there isn't one.

pickles

After parting company with my Auntie Swamiji, I had few opportunities to socialize with wealthy Indians or Indians of the higher classes. Of course, young people and teenagers from all social echelons will go to parks, beaches, coffee houses, etc, but for the most part, wealthier and higher-class Indians do not go outside in the heat, or sit around in public places. Unless I was attending a special function or eating at an upscale restaurant, the majority of my encounters were with working class or poor Indian people.

I did have a most enjoyable encounter with a lovely lady from Andhra Pradesh. I was eating at the Saravana Bhavan in Munnar, when this lovely lady, who was traveling with her family, began sharing her delicious homemade pickles with the other diners at the restaurant. (Tomato, ginger, and gooseberry pickles - the ginger was especially delightful.)

Another time at another restaurant, a heavy-set woman in an ornate saree approached me and said,
"Where are you coming?"
Confused, I didn't answer, only caught myself staring at the cinnamon colored rolls of her belly peeking out from the side of her saree. She repeated herself more loudly as if I were deaf, "WHERE ARE YOU COMING?"
"The United States," I responded.
Satisfied, she said, "Obama," and turned away.