A drummer sits by the sea
listening to the hollow, holy undulation
of his mother’s clock
breathing against his face, his heart-
beating a different rhythm, a
syncopation, a duet.
He calls to her and
she answers.
She answers as he calls; he listens
to his own voice in the waves, her
rhythm,
his heartbeat, their duet…
the drummer hears
a whisper inside his ear,
(He took his inner voice to be
Hers.)
"Why," s’he said, "do I feel so lonely?
We haven’t been together in a long time.
Why, in order to be together
must we first be apart?"
S’he listened and heard and relaxed and
came together and came apart: together, apart.
S’he felt the swelling of their breath,
rising, falling, like the waves on the beach,
like the rising and falling of
their body,
the air,
the day,
the night,
and their rhythms;
soothing,
drumming beats,
of the sea, of the waves,
the waves and the foam,
and the crunchy, cool sand
and their feet titillated by it,
on it, off it, on, off.
billions of grains, ancient mountains,
crumbled empires,
fallen spires,
and the timeless sea, giver and taker,
and the dark lurkings underneath,
fear giving breath to joy.
Category Archives: Gay Spirit
Thank you, Jack Nichols
If you enjoy “Will and Grace” or “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy”, you have somebody to thank for that freedom of gay expression.
A few weeks ago Jack Nichols, a significant figure in American gay history, died at the age of 67. I am 45 and I’m embarrassed to say I had not heard of him. Reading the obituary of Nichols made me aware of how little I know about those who fought for gay rights, for my rights, in the decades before Stonewall (1969) and after.
How did we get where we are? Most of us take for granted the rights and acceptance we have today. Yet 40 years ago society’s view of us was all negative, and the laws reflected it. We were considered
- mentally sick, according to psychiatrists
- sinners, according to religious groups
- criminals, according to legislators and lawyers
- deviants, according to everybody
We had no rights as gay people. There are still many areas where we are not accepted, but we have come a long way.
We have Jack Nichols to thank for many of those gains. He helped organize some of our first civil rights demonstrations. He was a founder of “Gay”, the first gay weekly newspaper in the US. He led the first gay rights march on the White House, in April, 1965. Wow! That same year, he helped organize a July 4 demonstration at Independence Hall in Philadelphia. Remember, being gay was illegal in every state. Gay men and lesbians could be jailed or stuck in a nut house just for being open about their sexuality. And of course, back then, gay bashing was pretty much accepted as perfectly justified.
In 1967 he went on national television and spoke as an openly gay person in the CBS documentary, “The Homosexuals” (Sounds like a bad horror movie) I’m sure he feared for his life in those days.
Perhaps his most significant contribution was to lobby the American Psychiatric Association to change the official definition of homosexuality as a mental illness. It took awhile. Finally, in 1973, four years after Stonewall, the language condemning us as mentally ill was dropped.
But he also contributed to the spiritual growth of our culture. When he restarted the Mattachine Society in NYC in 1961, he knew of the spiritual and philosophical tradition of Harry Hay, who created the original Mattachine Foundation in San Francisco in 1950. And he also continued the older gay spirit of Walt Whitman. He tried to close the gap between religion and gayness. More about these efforts here.
Starting in 1963, he chaired the Washington Society’s Committee on Religious Concerns and initiated the first organized dialogs on America’s East Coast between LGBT activists and clergy representing various denominations. Nichols himself is not a member of any church, but instead calls himself a “philosophical child” of Walt Whitman’s.
You can learn more about this remarkable and attractive man from his web site, Jack Nichols.
So next time you’re out holding hands with your beau, or kissing on main street, or buying a house with your lover, or venting to a gay counselor about the trials of gay life, or even just reading a gay novel, or posting to your gay blog, think of Jack Nichols. He’s gone now, but he helped make all those things easier to do as an openly gay person.
Flat Sex
I’ve never been a big fan of pornography. Ok, Ok, yes, I’ve used it plenty, especially when I was squished in the closet, and when I first came out. Oh, those sweet days of blind lust. Like, yesterday, for example. But it always left me wanting, kind of empty. Fantasizing about a real guy, now that’s fun. Maybe it will lead to something. Maybe hot, passionate sex, or a peak up a pant leg. I’ve thought about it a lot. (porno and pant legs) And I’ve seen changes in myself. Porno hollows my self-esteem by falsely building it up. Does that make sense? Bait and switch. In a vicious cycle.
I admit submitting to the Sirens call of porno. After I use pornography for my pleasure, I feel more lonely. If I stop to think (that is after mindlessly "enjoying" it) I realize I’ve been duped. That dream, that imaginary interaction, that fantasy depletes me psychologically. Maybe it’s because there’s not a hope in heaven of really meeting that guy. Or even really wanting to. It seems to tell me I’m nothing without them to boost myself to pleasure. In a way, I disappear during the fantasy. I mean the real me, the one with imperfections, needs, limitations. What replaces me is a flat, unreal, featureless creation to match the image in the smut.
Sure, it serves the purpose. But what else does it do?
I also get frustrated that these images are calling to me, yet not really there. I want the touch; of rough hands, of smooth butt, of fur rubbing me; the smells; faint cologne mixed with sweat, mild BO, feet; the close ups; of everything!; the detailed exploration;of everything!; the warmth, the vibration, the friction. Sex is a unique flowering of all those perceptions and interactions. Pornography and sex are not the same. Related, yes. Connected, yes, especially in gay culture. But sex, even if impersonal, has some depth. While, pornography, like a really good drug, takes you far away from reality. These packaged images mock me. Keep your distance. Window shopping only. Look but don’t touch. I start to believe that’s the way it should be; that’s all I deserve. It wakes me up. Dignity.
When at a bar with friends, one of my favorite things to do is people watch. Is that different from porno? After all, these are real people, in the flesh, not acting. And yes, I look at the beautiful one (or ten). I usually pick him out quickly. I watch his gestures, the nape of his neck, the way he stands, the way he fills his jeans, the way he laughs, the way his legs flex when walking, the shape of his hands and fingers as they bring a glass to his lips, the spark in his eyes. But even here, seeing real people, I basically disappear. It’s more real than porno, but still, the pleasure is not about me. It’s me enjoying watching them enjoying themselves. They are not in my world. You’re probably thinking, "This guy thinks too much." Yup, that’s what I do. My specialty.
So what do I really want? Do I enjoy sex? Hell, yes! But the connection with anther person is what I’m really after. Sex is a wonderful byproduct, but not the goal. If I get naked with a sexy man, I might go through the motions, and perhaps get off, but it’s still a robot running me. However, if I am really comfortable, I could hang around naked with a sexy man and not really have sex. Just play, tease, talk, laugh. You might just call this "dating". But that’s different again. No, sex is not dating. But a brief, poetic moment of sharing mutual pleasure is high on my list. It’s self affirming and sharing.
When I was in Budapest one summer I went to the Turkish baths. These places are ancient structures built by the Ottoman Empire during their reign in Hungary. And they have seen countless couplings between men. This one had a huge, windowed dome. Piercing shafts of light sliced through languid humidity down to enormous, round, wading pools where men lounged in sulfurey smelling mineral water.
There was a young man whom I watched for awhile; thin, very cute, pouty, wearing a modest, loose bathing suit. He seemed to know people, but floated free. He came up to me at closing and asked if I wanted him to go home with me. (Yes, he was for hire.) Though I was flattered and interested, I was also wary. He might be a thug. I put him off a few days. That increased the desire. And somehow also increased the comfort. We spoke on the phone several times before he came over. We spent the better part of the night playing, being silly and adolescent, eating pizza, napping. Sex was all that, but orgasm was only a small part. Maybe that’s what I’m trying to say. It’s more about the pleasure of someones company and connection than orgasm. Perhaps you think that’s just expensive pornography. Yes, but I’ll never forget that specific man and that night.
All of the above has been affected by pornography. Men are hard wired to want perfection, whether it’s physical beauty or raw power or perhaps, like me, a certain level of playful comfort. Porno seems to feed all that. One is encouraged to buy the fantasy, hire the professional advice on desires, pay for the unattainably perfect dream partner, cater to every whim. And this is all fine with me. I’m not complaining. Just thinking. I just like to think about how it has changed me. And whether I’ve lost some of who I am to all that packaging, lost something subtle, personal and unique.
(Technorati Tags pornography,sex)
Spirit Fuel
There’s a quiet part of me that doesn’t get to speak up very often. It’s the part that tries to find some spiritual identity, an awareness of the importance of an inner life, balance, centeredness, love, and thinking beyond my own life and problems.
Spirit. I don’t really like names for things so complex and abstract. But what else do you call something as big as our whole inner life? These days many of us are trying to figure out who we are deep down. I thought I’d share some of my thoughts, since I was so bold as to put spirituality in the description of my blog. So who am I deep down?
I’m not religious. I have read a lot about Buddhism and it’s thinking. I was really into Zen for awhile, probably because of its quietly passionate detachment. And more recently I’ve learned about the thinking, spirit and practice of yoga. One of the main yoga texts is the Bhagavad Gita, which is an amazingly universal and powerful spiritual text, and it’s centuries older than Christianity. But I don’t really practice any of these regularly. I like to think I don’t need to lean on any religion or spiritual practice. That I can manage by my own wits. But a little voice, a very quiet one, manages to whisper to me once in awhile, “Please don’t ignore meâ€.
It’s a voice that exalts in beauty, wonders at rainbows, falls in love, is thankful, really thankful for what I have. It’s the calming voice of a soothing mother, comforting me in times of doubt. It tells me that if I did my best, I can feel good about it. But it also tells me when I could do better. When to forgive myself. When I need to change a behavior, when I need to apologize for something. I guess the conscience could be a spirit of sorts. But so is the wind.
This soft voice is at times much more powerful. When I allow the time to dwell upon it, muse on it, it tells me I am timeless, that all history passes through me, that I am a part of something magnificiently huge. It tells me I am connected, all the time, with and by something I will never understand. That I am safe no matter what happens to me. That my weaknesses are forgiven, that my strengths are gifts, but are not mine to own. I believe there is a scientific explanation for all of the above. A great read about that is “Concilience” by Edward O. Wilson. But the mystery will always remain as to who made the science, who came before the egg or the chicken. In my humble opinion, the more we know, the less we know, and the smaller we get. Humbling.
It tells me that all things, living and otherwise, are mysteriously interwoven, that our planet’s health is crucial, that helping others is not charity, but duty. That compassion is the key. That any power I have is a tool to benefit all. These thoughts are known to be patterns of survival for humans. We all benefit from nourishing our surroundings and ourselves and each other. It worries me that this common sense is lost in all the ideological shouting that seems to go on about religion.
In a nasty and chaotic world, I often feel torn. How do I reconcile so much need in the world with my own self fulfillment? I seek balance: between action and inaction, between self fulfillment and selflessness, between inner and outer life, stress and relaxation. I my case it means flowing toward forgiveness, especially for myself. I often feel I’m not doing enough, for others or the world, but if I get sick over it, the unbalance doesn’t help anyone.
I’m starting to realize that a certain amount of selfishness is not a fault, but fuel to get to the core of our true self. To a place where the fire burns close, where the inner and outer lives feed off each other, rub together, warmed by friction. Personally, I have trouble getting close to the fire. I protect my inner-self, mostly to keep from getting hurt, but it really imprisons me. I only limit myself by keeping my soft self hidden from the outside. Maybe that’s because it’s terrifying to be vulnerable. Does anyone else feel that way?
So if we force ourselves to help others, we are denying that devine friction to fuel our goodness, and we begin to resent those we help. If we cultivate our inner voice and listen to it, we may not find a particularly charitable spirit inside. But through gentle, forgiving honesty with ourselves, we find natural goodness, which hopefully will reach out in some way to benefit others. This can be family, friends, neighbors, strangers, even enemies. That depends on how much you’ve opened your heart. It can’t be faked, really.
I used to feel alone when alone. Now I feel connected, infinite.
My God, Sex!
I’ve been thinking a lot about all this God stuff. I was inspired by LargeTony‘s thoughtful post, “Just as I am”. It’s obviously one of the more hot topics in the world these days. Who’s God is THE God, who has the hotline to God, who’s going to heaven, who’s going to hell, what God wants. It’s like we don’t want to think, just do whatever God says. But no one has any proof of the validity of any of God’s rules. It’s mind boggling when you think about it. Here we have this incredibly violent history, mostly inspired by this God who supposedly “tells” someone or other to go kill as many of some other group of people as possible. Don’t think, just DO it. Or in more peaceful times, one may be encouraged to marginalize and judge whomever doesn’t agree with your God. Yet, no one really knows what this big Guy wants. Who really needs medication here?
I don’t like being told I don’t deserve to love and marry whom I want. Seriously, God knows, it might even help settle gay culture down a bit if marriage were encouraged. I know this has been discussed ad nauseum, but there’s a lot to discuss.
On the sex side of gay culture, I actually agree with some more conservative folks that sex can corrupt, but sex doesn’t discriminate as to whom it corrupts. I happen to think impersonal sex can be incredibly uplifting, too, as long as you don’t think it’s gonna solve all your problems, in other words, don’t expect a call from whoever was “prince charming” last night. I guess impersonal sex is great as long as you don’t read anything into it. It’s its own reward, nothing else. Sex is the most amazing thing in the world… until it’s over.
But the underlying issue of sex is dicey. If sex is only about physical pleasure, it leaves much to be “desired”. We are complex creatures. We create subtle meanings for almost everything we do. That’s how we survive. We create myths and stories and meaning everywhere. Life doesn’t have meaning, it’s given meaning. So if sex means something to you, and you’ve thought about it, and know the risks, go for it. If you’re just doing what everyone else is suggesting, you’re nuts. People make choices. Gay culture may be promiscuous, but gay people are not. There is a difference.
So, back to God. Well, soon. According to David Brooks in his op/ed “Public Hedonism and Private Restraint”, kids behavior is much less promiscuous than a decade ago, despite their embracing a hedonistic pop culture. I thought that was interesting. So people are capable of have fun and not fucking up. It may be tricky to do, but it’s possible. Give freedom a chance. Mr. Brooks credits the growing influence of religion in public life, and I can’t disagree. Learning right and wrong in paramount to a healthy society. I think a loving, moral, spiritual, even religious upbringing can only make the world a better place.
But scapegoating a minority under the guise of “higher morality” is bogus. It smacks of the devil, in my opinion. I may have messed up my life from lack of direction, a few too many forays into “experimental” activity and believing that sex holds the secret to everything, but my behavior, though misguided, is not evil. I can’t imagine a God who would smite me for occasionally choosing poorly in my own life. And I certainly can’t imagine a God who thinks my love for another human, a man, would award me a one way ticket to hell. Nope. Don’t think so. That kind of connection to God has too much static. The line needs to be updated.