Faerie Spirit

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This is the beginning of some ruminations on Faerie Spirit. I don’t feel like composing a finished article, so I’ll just throw out some ideas as they come. These generalizations and perceptions are my personal observations. Ongoing…and perhaps a bit rambling. I’ll also link to other writings on the subject as I find them.

Faerie spirit describes the unique healing attitudes and skills of many gay men. But most of them are unaware of their abilities as healers and seers. They are too caught up in the gay subculture, which mainly tries to fit in, or react to, straight society. Either way, much of gay culture is “dependent” on straight culture to survive. Gay culture struggles with all its energy against straight culture. It often has little of its own tradition or mythology to pass on. And so the spirit is wasted in the paradigm of ageism and sex culture. There’s no room for depth.

Don’t get me wrong. Gay culture has influenced straight culture plenty. The open appreciation of male beauty in every facet of culture is a gift of gay culture. Men are more aware of their beauty, which makes them, well, even more beautiful. Beauty is a feminine quality, and it’s healthy for American men to develop it. Gay culture has influenced most pop culture, and style culture. These are valid but limited contributions. Their real spirit is often repressed.

Most people have some healing abilities. Women (feminine, nurturing, opening) tend to have more healing talent than men. Men (masculine, building, entering) are generally about action, accomplishment, change. Everyone has a balance of Yin and Yang energy. Usually one is favored. Straight men are more masculine, but can have quite a bit of feminine. Straight women may have the opposite balance.

Gay men tend to have a more equal balance of these opposing/balancing energies. This gives them an ability to sense and express energy in ways not available to non gays. I see the two energies as two lenses, the masculine and the feminine, each with it’s own power, and those who have a balance see things in stereo. Or, they could be like two healing stones, which when rubbed together in one person, creates a warm healing energy by the friction.

I’m not saying every gay man is healing and every straight man is not. No, no, no. I’m just saying the ones who have that skill are barely acknowledged, where they should be raised to a position of influence and respect in our community. They are here to heal and should be encouraged.

But that’s not the case. After thirty, most gay men are barely noticed, unless they work their asses off to stay buff. They have to conform to the beauty culture to be respected. The real healers may not compete well in this brutal, judgemental culture. As they mature, they may be ignored, outcast. And their talent goes unused.

I remember one man who I met at a support group. I could see his psychic ability, but he barely functioned in the group, at least around me. I felt he thought I dismissed him, but I was just a bit thick skinned, the way I always am around other gay men, mostly to protect myself from their judgment. I’ll judge you before you judge me, that’s our motto. Not a happy culture. Gay, not happy, sexual, not loving, trendy, not healing. So he and I never connected. Too bad. And part of it was my lack of empathy. My defenses and his defenses.

What are these healing powers I keep referring to? Seers, touch healers, sex healers, mystics, anyone with a valid message to offer the rest of us, whether physical or emotional or political or cultural or spiritual. I’ll try to be more specific as I think of examples. (later)

I sense my un-developed ability. I can see into people, see their weakness, their wounds, and how to nurture them. But I have no training, no mentor, no path, to show me how to focus this crude ability. I know it’s there, but my ego, my fears, my conformity blocks me. Part of the reason for this blog is to explore some of this stuff, in myself and in others.

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Catharsis as Healing Release

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I have been feeling unbalanced. Though I am relaxed physically, finally letting the warm, long days buoy me gently down the stream, I’m still unbalanced at the core. I think it’s the strange evil lurking in politics, among other things for me, the usual questions of who I am, where I’m going.

My housemate is away for the summer. (he really is my housemate, a renter of a room) But he’s about as nice as a housemate can be. I miss his sweet energy. I went into his room yesterday to open a window after a storm. He left the door open when he left. His stuff is there, but the floor is empty because he packed up his air mattress. There is no rug. The late afternoon light came in through his uncovered windows and the hardwood floor glowed, amber lit from within. I felt a pang of poignancy. Ten months had passed since he moved in. Where is my life going?

I don’t want to infringe on his privacy any more than I already have. But you get the picture. He surrounds himself with the things he likes. His room gives off the same sweet energy as he.

As I left the room, I noticed a sheet of paper with an excerpt from Middlemarch by George Eliot. It seemed to be placed right where it could be noticed. He had been reading it for the third or fourth time before he left. We had discussed it’s subtlety and depth, and I said I ought to read it. Now it spoke to me.

“But I have a belief of my own, and it comforts me.”
“What is that?”
“That by desiring what is perfectly good, even when we don’t quite know what it is and cannot do what we would, we are part of that divine power against evil– widening the skirts of lights and making the struggle with darkness narrower.”
“That is a beautiful mysticism– it is a –”
“Please do not call it by any name… It is my life. I have found it out, an cannot part with it. I have always been finding out my religion, since I was a little girl. I used to pray so much– now I hardly ever pray. I try not to have desires merely for myself, because they may not be good for others, and I have too much already…”
“God bless you for telling me!”
“What is yourreligion?” said Dorothea. “I mean–not what you know about religion, but the belief that helps you most?”
“To love what is good and beautiful when I see it,” said Will. “but I am a rebel: i don’t feel bound, as you do, to submit to what I don’t like.”
“But if you like what is good, that comes to the same thing.”

Something about that moment triggered a release. The amber light, the sweet, soft air, the aura of his room, the spiritual simplicity of the excerpt, like beams of pure cleansing light through my soul. I broke down and wept openly for a few minutes. Everything seemed alright. It was all OK. Much needed catharsis. Poetic moment.

The Write Way

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I like to play with words, especially bad puns. But I’ve never been good at writing cohesive thoughts. Ideas come fitfully and are often clumped in numb knots, which take patience to unravel, or disappear before I grasp them. Sometimes words or phrases show up unbidden, as if to say, “here I am, where do you want me”.

I begin again with this plea for patience from anyone who reads this. I think I write here to practice writing, to carve an opinion out of words, to whittle away the drivel. But maybe it’s really to find myself, to use a well worn cliche. Constructive feedback of all sorts is welcome. Really, it is. If you think something is too vague, or pointless, let me know. (especially in my poems) I believe focused writing is focused thinking. I want to learn (or find myself) the “write way”.

Green Eyed Lady has indulged me generously with her comments. Thank you, GEL. Your perceptions have helped me dissect some of my entries.

I recently got off an anti-depressant I’ve been on for years. It’s more of a change than I thought. I feel more focused, though less able to sleep through the night. But I feel less creative. That surprised me. Good news is I’m not depressed, just more aware of my feelings. I don’t have much to say right now, but I’m sure that won’t last. My brain is probably still trying to balance after another shift in chemicals. Watch out, here I come.
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This morning I got my first hate comment, on yesterday’s post, Emptiness. It was a laughable bit of rhetoric, but clearly intended to offend. I was about to delete it, when a response to it came in from Weez. So I dug in and backed her with my own retort. It was fun.
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Along a different tangent, here is a proposal to claim some of Justice Souter’s land for a hotel. (in response to his decision to allow eminent domain foreclosures on private land in a recent Supreme Court decision)

Emptiness

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Nothing in my mind but drivel. It’s too humid to think.

The trip to Bethesda, MD was a success. Sonya and Mom bonded nicely. From what Mom said in her update since I left yesterday, they’re better off without me there. Sonya’s original devotion to me was interfering with her getting to know Mom. Sonya is a pretty amazing little dog. At one point I took her out alone to do her duty, and she just stood there staring into my eyes for the longest time. She never flinched, just waited and watched. Very intense little creature.

I am outraged by most of what I see and hear in the news these days. I’ve always hated politics, but now I feel obligated to inform and defend myself. I think Carl Rove is evil. I think the Supreme Court should be fired. I think Bush should be impeached. Facts no longer matter. Truth is whoever speaks the loudest. Religion is a weapon. The holy wars are beginning. Sounds like a story line from Dune.

I want to go to a remote Greek island with beautiful men, aquamarine water, a diet of fruits and veggies, where I can space out, worship the sun and feel the timeless rhythms of the sea.