Liquid Dreams.

"Until he extends the circle of his compassion to all living things, man will not himself find peace."

-Albert Schweitzer

Let me tell you about something that I know I am bad at. Love. I can't tell you much about it - but I know that I'm bad at it. I think it is something you have to experience and have to share to describe. And then you've got to battle with the restrictions of language - I hear it transcends words.

Just like lust (though Leonard Cohen is damn close to describing this).

I try my best not to be a smooshy, or sensitive. Its just not in me. I spent a lot of time in high school being immensely emotional as I was dealing with the reality of growing up. And so I have tried to purge myself of so much emotion.

Now when I encounter it, I am paralyzed. Concerned that it will bring back uncontrollable frustrations. Thoughts of suicide. And I never realize that it could completely alter my personage in the opposite direction; that, in some less-than-cliché form, I could be transformed by love. (Note: not Love.)

I have realized in the past weeks that I haven't an ounce of compassion in me.

I have tried to visualize this. If I were turned to liquid, and a chemist thought I was worthy of the effort, I could be distilled into my man different traits. There would be a jug of pride. A couple glasses of jealousy, one more full than the other (of course). A tumbler of anger, with some ice in it just to cool me down. An ounce of compassion.

I wish it were not so.

I have noted that my experience in teaching has made me more conservative. I was recently joking with a former colleague about how some parents should not be allowed to have children because they haven't any idea of how to raise them. Then we continued, saying that some people, particularly those with mental and physical ineptitude, should not be allowed to procreate because their children rarely turn out well.

I had this conversation. And I meant it when I was having it. And it has troubled me ever since.


An ounce of compassion.

I wish it were not so.


I am not the things you think I am.

Under the skin...

"He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you."
- Friedrich Nietzsche

I am becoming that which I admire the least; the monster that I detest, that I fight. I look in the mirror and am increasingly this being. I am evermore filled with the things I find most wretched in humanity. I am not the person you see.

Please, forgive me.

Know that I am weak. That I am fallen - broken - stretched out. And that I can do nothing to remove me from the bondage of my existence.

Please, forgive me.

Fearless?

Did I do this?

Well, there has been far too much happening in my life over the past two weeks to properly share in a single post, but let me try and give you a hint of it. I will surely expand on a couple of these things in the coming weeks, so if you're interested in anything that doesn't get adequately covered this time around, expect it in the near future.

First of all, I've got 6/7ths vegetarian; Sunday night meals are my only non-Vegetarian nights. I'm enjoying it thus far. I can offer an explanation in the near future regarding my dietary choice; but I think it has a great deal more to do with the world I live in that with myself.

Second, I've spent a great deal of time this past week looking at my humanity. Or, my subhumanity. It has been interesting. I don't know if I have learned anything new over the past week, but I can feel as though God is popping up in my life again. As I've said in the past, I don't know if I like this.

Third, New York Marriage Equality was voted down in the senate earlier this week. I don't think anger adequately describes my emotions. I'm so exhausted of rights being denied. On the plus side, some very articulate and powerful people spoke in favour of Gay Rights, hopefully offering some credit to the Gay Rights Movement. But I can sense the "movement" is losing momentum; it is falling to shambles because of disappointment. It is waiting for the opportunity to say that progress isn't taking place, but that we have arrived.

That "we" including heterosexuals.

Unfortunately, the topic of this blog post is none of the above. And there are at least two great opportunities to speak about something other than myself - a goal of mine for quite a while, but never actually accomplished.

Today is about me. Again.

This past week I was asked out on a date. By a man. By an attractive, friendly man, who is in my age cohort (actually perhaps a little young... but that is ok). You see, I've gotten used to being gay around my gay friends to the point that I am confident - confident enough to be desirous to some of these new friends of mine.

I don't wish to be desirous. Yet.

I told him that I needed to think about it. The honest response was that I didn't need any time - I know the answer is, and can only be, no. Despite my immense desire to be in a relationship right now, I can only offer the responsible answer of no.

I told him that he and I are at different stages with this whole thing. I may appear more confident in it, but I am not. I'm broken, confused, and lost in a foreign world - I can barely see my life two weeks from now at this point, let alone involving myself more heavily in somebody else's.

I have not told a LOT of people that I am gay. A lot of these people don't need to know that I am gay. But many do. Like my closest friends in Regina, and Saskatoon. Like my brother. My grandmother. My aunt. My parents and I still have to have a conversation where we mutually acknowledge it. My church has to discover it - and while I don't expect them to be ok with it, they need to know in advance.

I don't want to go out on dates with a boyfriend and be concerned about people discovering me; I don't want to be outed in a vulnerable environment where I have little control and even less confidence. I don't want to be concerned about who is going to "happen upon us" while we are out for coffee. I want to confident and comfortable on my own; and I don't want anybody thinking that they can help me do this.

I told one of my friends that this was a crisis. She laughed at me. I don't think she quite understands...

Time is the bastard here. If I had been asked this same question in six months, I would've answered differently. I would've avoided breaking somebody's heart.

Kicked with a boot meant for a big foot.

I get these moments, every now and then, that are kind of like kicks in the ass. Really swift, painful kicks, probably from an oversized boot; and, despite my sexual affinity for asses, they are actually not particularly enjoyable.

Today, I got two.

The first was in reading an article written by Shane Claiborne. This is a man that I feel I was born to hate - he is a radical lover of Christ in a way that I cannot even begin to imagine. He is a humble man, devoted to the service of the most hated and impoverished people that could be found in America, and he is an evangelical. And, he is doing everything that I find absolutely endearing in Christianity, and doing it loudly so that God is glorified and so that people can be liberated from suffering.

This only hours after mocking the very ideals of Christian worship in preparation for one of my music ensemble's participation in an Advent Service next weekend.

I am a bastard. And I have a tendency to get my foot stuck in my mouth. Usually an oversized foot. And, even in considering my sexual affinity for mouths, this is also usually painful.

The second moment came tonight. I often find myself attracted towards gay videos on Youtube - there is an enormous collection of videos composed by people telling their coming-out stories. These videos have been, at time, my only friend. And they really helped me normalize my homosexuality with my identity.

Tonight I watched a speech given by a high school student to his classmates. This student was gay, he was attending a Christian (perhaps Catholic?) school, and he was speaking, in Chapel, about his homosexuality.

And I claim to have a serious identity crisis in trying to reconcile God and Homosexuality! Here is a man speaking from a pulpit about being gay. Being gay in high school. And looking for a boyfriend, as a gay young adult, in high school, in front of all of his peers. During a Chapel service. Supported by staff and students. And being... proud? In high school?

This just seems entirely unimaginable to me.



But it happened.

This student was a good speaker - and presented a competent, well produced speech. He referenced friends, experiences, and moments in his life where he realized his own depravity and his own potential for great things. He talked about family, as though it was his goal in life to have a family. It seemed familiar, somehow.

And he did this all at the religious school. (seriously, this wasn't staged - this actually happened!)

How do I reconcile God with homosexuality? Is it possible? Do I want to? Can I escape this idea that he even might exist, and am I prepared for what the entails? Is anybody out there that knows about God, that isn't a frightening Christian, and that is interested in battling through this with me? I could name a few... but none of them are gay.

I think I need to connect with this gay community a bit. I just don't know how. And I am kind of... scared.

God doesn't really suck.

I was out for coffee with a good friend of mine a couple weeks ago - he is a local pastor - and he asked me something a long the lines of when I decided to get God out of my life. I think this is largely a response to my "Snake Eyes" post, which you can find below.

I responded saying that it is very difficult to reconcile being Gay and being Christian. The two, as much as I can theorize about their coexistence in a single person, and as much as I see it happening in many gay people, come from different worlds. Being and Gay Christian feels like your playing Baseball with a Soccer Ball - you're still playing the sport, your still playing with a ball, but something seems wrong and the game is messed up entirely.

Over the past couple of months, this has lead me increasingly away from any philosophy that allows for the existence of God. Is this good? I don't know - I see so much in the world that is worthwhile that develops out of Christians. Some of my closest friends are Christians - and wonderfully so. I count this pastor among them. They are examples of this theory that I want to believe in - that Christians and Homosexuality are not exclusive realities.

But every homosexual with any history with the church knows that people condemn them to Hell in the name of Christ.

I don't even believe in Hell. I don't think I even believe in atonement, if the Biblical story of Christ is true. But it is impossible to forget being condemned to Hell - because it is a philosophy and an idea that includes so much hatred and disgust.

Nobody wants to go to Hell. Not even an atheist.

My last couple posts have focused on the gay marriage struggle that took place in the state of Maine at the beginning of the month. I have shared my heartbreak with you on this already. Let me share somebody else's with you.



The reality is this: Christianity is the leading cause of hatred against homosexuals in North America and Europe. The Islamic faith is the leading cause of hatred against homosexuals in the Middle East and Africa. The Jewish State of Israel only allows homosexual marriage because their constitution and legal precedent binds them to Canadian laws - there is enormous opposition within the state against homosexual marriage. So when I am asked when I turned away from God, my answer can only be that I turned away from God when I first heard about Hell, and when I first recognized the depth of hatred that God's peoples have for homosexuals.

I realize that this isn't a blanket statement, and for those many Jews, Muslims, and Christians who have fought alongside homosexuals to promote legal and social equality I send my gratitude. It is because of your support that my life is changed - I am able to be me, as I was created to be, because you were brave on my behalf.

But please understand how damaging it is to have churches protesting against us rather than for us when they pretend to represent a God that loves us all, equally. It is so difficult to believe in God when his people don't believe you have the capacity to love, or be moral - and when they go out into the streets with signs proclaiming this.

Please understand how hard it is for me to approach God.

I know your angry! I'm angry!

I woke up this morning and with a great deal of immediacy looked for results of the vote on gay marriage in Maine that took place yesterday. What I discovered was far from promising. CNN was reporting that, with 87% of polls reporting, the split was 53% to 47% in opposition of extending the right of marriage to homosexual couples.



I am in shock that the nation of America is not shaking right now. The constitution has been taken to its knees and forced to choke down the bigotry of the majority.



Unfortunately this is a common theme in American history. Women have been denied the right to vote. Black men denied the right to own property. Black people denied the right of religion. All largely by de facto oppression of persons who are "afflicted" with "conditions" over which they have no control.



But really, being a woman isn't a "condition". Neither is being black.



Neither is being gay. And being gay and in love cannot possibly be a "condition".



As Americans became aware of these concerns, the nation and its constitution trembled. The American Civil War was caused, in part, by the inequal rights offered slaves. The Women's rights movement altered the economy, and made every home in the country quiver with concern and tension.



The gay rights movement does not have this effect. It hasn't had that effect in Canada, and has not had this effect in America. We don't start wars. We don't have a face in every home that forces the tension of reality to be recognized by every person in the nation. We hide, and we sulk, and we march down streets - but not all of us. We get beaten, or killed, or told to move out of neighbourhoods or "face the consequences". We get called members of the "b" team. Our ability to have morals is questioned.


Is your sense of hope diminishing? Am I supposed to have some gratitude?

I wish I could pretend that the gay marriage movement in the states doesn't matter to me, as a gay man living in Canada. But I am enormously aware of how important marriage is, having only recently become familiar with the potential for marriage in my own life. Marriage provides an option for a future permanent romantic life that terms such as "civil union" and "domestic partnership" cannot capture. My own late discovery of gay married couples has alarmed me to this possibility in my own life.



And I can't imagine living without this vision of hope anymore.


In Canada this almost happened, and I wish I could share my rage at Stephen Harper's mere mention that it was a possibility in 2006. But it didn't. It has now happened twice in America, in two separate states located on opposite sides of the North American continent. California and Maine both had extended the right of marriage to gay couples only to have that opportunity, and human right, revoked by the populace.



The argument that human rights are extended by the proliferation of democracy is weaker now than ever.

_________________________________________

I'm angry because my personal philosophy and sense of dignity has been challenged once more. My knees have shaken. My foundation turned to dust.

America, your constitution has been spit on - the same constitution for which you have fought many wars, the same constitution that learn about in school. The basic law of your land has been repealed by your own people. Why is your foundation not turning to dust? Where is your anger? Moreover, where is your love?

Mob rule and the right to marry.

Today, in three American states, the question of gay marriage is being taken to the electorate. I doubt that it will find public support in any of the states, but I think there is an immense opportunity for hope. Polls in Maine are particularly close. Tomorrow votes will have been counted and there will be some certainty on if homosexuals in three states can get married in the near future.

In this battle, considerable amounts of hate literature has been produced. They prey on your fears of homosexuals, and of change. Do you fear me? Are you seriously concerned about my ability to love? What about my ability to enjoy the same title as you - husband?

Bryan, from Gay Family Values, wrote this in conclusion to a recent posting about the elections taking place. "If we lose, we will do as we have always done. Pick up our bruised and broken bodies, bury our dead, reaffirm the hope in our hearts and fight on because we know that you won't stop until you have made our lives a criminal offense."

I am so thankful to live in Canada. But not everybody has the same opportunity. Indeed, mob rule is currently preventing marriage from being granted to people who were born just as I was. And just as you were. Only being born 90 miles south of my hometown.

Some of us are fortunate. Some of us are not.

Try living without marriage for a while. Not only that, try living without marriage even if you want it very much. Add on top of that the reality that there is no constitutional basis for the restriction of marriage to heterosexual couples. Add on top of this the sheer enormity of social persecution of homosexuals and heterosexuals who are pushing for marriage equality. Is there room for hope?

I thank God for Americans and their willingness to fight and have hope. I admire you, for your strength and your absolute refusal to give up in your pursuit of equality. Total equality. Don't stop at marriage. Don't stop until the word "faggot" is removed from society, or until you can walk down a street holding your partners hand without any fear of being ridiculed. Or beaten. Don't stop until two men can dance with each other on television.

This is the Canadian fight, and I look forward to having you working on a more equal plain as us. May we find inspiration in your fight, and may we join together to forever alter the way that society understands equality, discrimination, and sexuality.

Americans -you may make a revolutionary out of me yet.

This one's a knee-slapper.

Hey Mom and Dad,

This is going to be an interesting letter, and probably includes a lot of information that shouldn't be shared in letter format. But, despite many urges and attempts in the past to share this with you over personally, I have not yet been able to. So I am trying a new format, and hoping it will lead to some success.
I think all three of us could agree that our relationship has changed considerably over the past year, and largely for the worse. I'm become more cold, biting, and disconnected from both of you. I have caused both of you a lot of frustration, and a lot of pain - and this is entirely unacceptable to me. I'm hoping that this letter can redirect that trajectory that we have been on for far too long.
Mom and Dad. I'm gay.

I know that you already know this, and that I am merely confirming your suspicions, so hopefully this isn't too much of a shock for you.

Please know that, even though I am gay, and even though I am aware of it now more than ever, and even though some of my friends (and you) are aware of it now more than ever, I am still me. One of the most challenging parts of me realizing my own sexuality (and accepting it) has been trying to relate to homosexuals that I can imagine or that I see in the media. This has been largely impossible for me, until quite recently. I've lately come to the conclusion that I am not going to become "gay", but that being Neal Adolph is being "gay." I am beginning to understand that I have not become gay since starting the "coming out" process, but that I have always been gay and I am merely letting people in on the news. This is an enormous part of my life, and an enormous part of my future. I sincerely look forward to a future of being comfortable in my own skin.
I understand that, even if you have suspected this for a long time, this process of learning of your son's homosexuality can be quite difficult. I have no idea what that kind of struggle is like. But I can promise you that my sexuality has not been a simple reality to accept for me either. This would be most difficult for you if you had no idea that my sexuality was less-than-typical. I know that this is going to challenge a lot of your images of what I am to accomplish in life. You may even become fearful. And, though I doubt it, you may react with sincere concern and negativity to this reality. You will react in some way, and I am going to accept your reaction regardless of what it may be.
There are a few things that I would like from you two. First, don't call me right away. Part of the reason that I am doing this in a letter is so that I don't have to face your initial reactions. I want to give the two of you some time to seriously consider this admission of myself. And one evening will not be enough, so, secondly, when I come home tonight, I would really like for it to not be overly emotional. I would ideally like for it to be just as it is every other night when I come home, though I know this isn't likely. I know that this will take time to process, and that it is going to affect our relationship in some way, and I want you two to think about what having a gay son means. I don't want to be barraged with enormously personal questions just yet, because I'm not ready to discuss this with you. Just acknowledge its existence, so that, in the near future, when we sense that it is time, we can have a sincere dialogue about this. Thirdly, I would ask that you not inform anybody else of this. I am slowly releasing control of my sexuality, but I have not done so enough to have knowledge of it widespread. Most people won't be surprised. Most people will respond positively. Some people won't. I want to pretend I have some control over this. In particular, don't tell Keith, as I really would prefer to tell him myself in the near future.
At this point, my fear of your reaction has largely abetted. I trust the two of you immensely, and love you both. My failure to say this to your face reflects the challenge of admitting one's homosexuality to their parents, and nothing more. Please, accept my apology for presenting this information with this format. Writing words is sometimes easier than saying them, and "GAY" is a big, three-letter word that is a little hard to pronounce at times.
I really, really look forward to when my sexuality can be discussed openly with you two (and, much to my dismay, it may be good for you to raise it when I am not entirely ready but you are. I need to start giving up a bit of control over this). I have been waiting 22 years for this.

Have a Happy Halloween.


With love...

_________________________________________

Sometimes you send letters that will change your life.

Snake eyes.

I saw a friend today, and he said he would pray for me.

We were talking about my future after school, and I shared my complete confusion over what to do with my life. I don't know whether to teach for a couple years, or to go to Graduate school, or to move away and figure myself out for a bit. It is a very difficult decision to make economically.

And when he said he would pray for me, I couldn't help but asking myself, "why?"

What is prayer going to do? I have no communion with God anymore, and certainly won't accept any subtle hints regarding my future as being evidence of his existence. So why pray for me?

I can feel my life changing in profound ways. I am figuring myself out, and I will soon let other people in on the game. Do I want God rolling any dice? Probably not. Scratch that... absolutely not.

God often leads to Christians, many of whom have caused me enormous amounts of frustration and pain. And many of whom don't think I should ever be allowed to marry. Many of whom fight for righteousness but not justice. Many of whom are entirely unaware of God's nature, and are not interested in any spiritual aspects of God that conflict with Christianity.

So, not God on my board game. Not right now, perhaps never again. The dice are in my hands, and I think I am getting ready to roll.

With a little help from my friends

Every time I read the word "Husband" on the blog Gay Family Values, I think of my future. I think of happiness, and joy, and feeling complete. And I get this incredible urge to tell my parents, and the rest of the world, that I am interested in finding a husband.

In living my life, hand in hand, with another man.

And I am very, very excited about this possibility.

The sense of danger still exists, but I am becoming more and more resistant to it. It is an increasingly weak sensation. Fear is falling to pieces. I am starting to feel comfortable; maybe even proud about my existence (please note that it is very tempting to go open a discussion of pride right now, but I don't want to ruin the moment, so I don't plan on doing this right now).

Is this what hope feels like?

I like it.

For those about to Rock.

So, the past several weeks have been very interesting for me. Somehow, in some twisted method, I have managed to become a member of a gay group of friends, wherein I am the only gay member surrounded by Lesbians. And I am loving it - I get to talk about the attractive men that walk by as we visit, and get to hear about their past relationships.

I get to be taken to the local gay bar. Be hit on.

Not really hit on by anybody that I would hit on, but it was a new experience anyways.

I think I am starting to get over this gay thing, little by little.


But the reality is that I am not out yet. Unfortunately, I have now established two distinct groups of friends: those that know I am gay, and those that don't (my family remains in the latter). Those that know find me entirely comfortable, with a new excitement and passion for life that does not seem to be overtly stifled. Those that don't know of my homosexuality are finding that I am increasingly cold-shouldered (my family remains in the latter).

I really want to fix this.

I had the experience today of starting to organize a soccer team where my Lesbian friends would be mixing with my friends from Group A (the group of the uninformed). This terrifies me - because I don't even know how to interact with the two groups mutually, and because I am been spending such an excessive amount of time with the Lesbians over the past couple weeks that I may or may not know how to interact with homosexuals anymore. It seemed totally weird today to do so. As though I was putting on a show.

And it is nice to think that this "show" is something that I am becoming progressively more unaccustomed to.


Earlier this week, I sent my friend, Anthem, a message telling him that I plan on having kids. For those of you who are still reading this blog despite the several weeks that have now transpired since my last posting, you may have noticed that I am now following another blog, entitled Gay Family Values.

I try to shy away from anything that is explicitly gay - but am finding this community to be more and more empowering as I become slightly more involved with it, and comfortable with it.

And Gay Family Values is one of those reasons. This is a blog from the makers of a Youtube Channel called depfox - a couple of gay men in California who have children. Their channel is inspiring. They make me hope for having a real life, and make me want to actively pursue it.

It is possible that I can tell my parents that I am gay so that I can do this.

To get them out of this latter group, and into the first.

To no longer give them the cold-shoulder, and just love them with my actions as much as I do with me heart.

________________________________________

In other news, watch this video of Wanda Sykes. Hilarious.

Gone with the wind...

The inevitable has happened; I have once again been black-listed at PCC. This time, I don't care; I don't have any interest in developing the relationships that I have at the church anymore. I'm exhausted of being consistently disappointed by the very people that suggest that they love me.

But they only love me on Sunday mornings; and even then, only on the Sunday mornings when I find myself interested in attending church.

So, I am leaving PCC. If I ever find myself in that building again, it will be a mistake.

And note that this isn't a cry out to the church - I don't want to be "loved" by them anymore. I don't want them to pretend that I am a part of their community. I reject them, and all their lies about our relationship.

And I can only admit that this is entirely about me; God cannot be a part of this because it is a breaking of relationship - it is the most basic of sins, and it has been conducted and orchestrated by a church that isn't interested in reconciliation, and by a man that doesn't want to be redeemed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today I went to church. I anticipated being frustrated afterwards, but not quite to this degree. I did not anticipate that I would be revoking my membership, by e-mail, today at 1:15 pm.

I walked into church, and none of the pastors and none of the youth to whom I have ministered had any interest in having a conversation with me - even when I have approached them. They avoided me. Particularly the children of the pastors.

Today they commissioned the Elders Board, and pointed out that there was a "portfolio" for specialization in member care. I couldn't help but smirk; how pathetic that relationships are relegated to a person's responsibility rather than another person's responsibility. And how ridiculous that we can expect a Baby Boomer woman to be able to care for the members that are of her children's and grandchildren's generations.

Then they prayed to God thanking him for Unity and for the strong Community at PCC. The only part of the community that is strong is the name of the church, which has PARLIAMENT COMMUNITY CHURCH, written in bold letters on the church sign and in the weekly bulletin.
- the church is currently starting a new ministry, called Beyond the Walls. This group is focused on social justice, and how the church can respond to social justice issues in the local and global community. I conveyed my interest in involvement to members of the committee three times: once to the chairman of the group, and twice to the pastoral leader of the group. Neither of them have attempted to connect with me.
- I have gone to the Associate Pastor of the church several times, explaining how I think there is sufficient interest for a new small group in my age group that is interested less in justifying the church and more in assessing the theology of the Bible on its own terms through a much more academic and studious approach. His response was to contact the leader of my age cohort ministry, and convey that he is concerned about how I may disrupt the College and Careers group because of my willingness to question the authority of scripture. Because searching for truth in scripture is equated with questioning the authority of scripture.

I remember when I left youth ministry, the youth pastor said, "Don't you go running away from me." I should have responded with, "Don't you go running away from me." Because now he can pretend that he had no part in this. He put the ball in my court, and I didn't push back to say that I wanted to play fair with the only member of staff with whom I have had a remotely positive relationship.

And I am sure that the church is now concerned with my retention as a member moreso than ever before - except that nobody is actually concerned. They just don't seem to understand that the crisis is over. I am leaving.

And, with great disappointment, I know that I must return on August 7th 2010 for my friend's wedding. Even now I am thinking of ways that I can get out of being at the ceremony.

And, adding to the frustration is the fact that the sermon today was actually quite good. It actually focused on God. I was thoroughly surprised.

"don't try and get inside of my head, you'll find a nightmare waiting for your arrival."


I have found myself desiring a boyfriend more and more recently. Somebody to be entirely comfortable with.

But I think that somebody trying to get to know me has to deal with a lot of psychological baggage. It will be like going through Hell; finding the hut of my tortured existence, and extracting me. Bringing me to a fulfilling life.

Just as Robin Williams did in What Dreams May Come for his wife.



Is anybody going to do this, though... For me? With me?

I am not a good person.

They don't really care about us.

Have you ever been illegal, for merely being born?

Unfortunately this is a question that far too many people can answer positively, admitting that, at some point and in some cultural landscape, they have been illegal.

Jews are familiar with this - the Shoah is perhaps the greatest reminder to a broken and redemptive nation. African-Americans are reminded everyday that, at some point in relatively recent history, they were illegal. Muslims, Catholics, Protestants, and peoples from thousands of other faiths have been purged, burned, and forced from their homes merely for being born into their cultural landscape.

Homosexuals are still aware of this in many, many parts of the world. Unfortunately, the reality is that we are not alone.

But I am self-centered, so for a moment, lets pretend that Homosexuals are the only people who still experience hate.

During the second World War, many different groups were targeted by the Nazis and placed in various camps for work, or for extermination. The physically and mentally handicapped, Muslims, Jews, Africans, the Sinti, the Roma, communists, Catholics, political opposition, and Homosexuals were some of the more directly targeted groups, though this list is far from exhaustive.

By the hundreds of thousands these people were boarded onto cattle cars and carried to unfamiliar lands where they would perish; lose their souls, lose their hope. Become a number and not a name. A tool to build for their oppressors rather than a family member.

Each of these different groups of tools were given different symbols when they entered the camps so that they could be easily identified by the guards according to their crimes against the imperial state of Nazi Germany. The Jews were given the familiar star of David. Political prisoners wore upside-down red triangles. Homosexuals wore upside-down pink triangles.

There are many surviving stories about how, when used uniforms were given to new arrivals at various camps, people would avoid have the pink triangles. It was better to be mistaken for a Jew in one of the camps than to be a homosexual - treatment was no notably better, but the society that developed in the camps was not particularly endeared to homosexuals.

Unfortunately, this perception of homosexuals being the worst identifying factor transfered over the Allies; for this homosexuality may be unique, though I would accept some arguments that being a Jew was equally bad during the war in the Allied countries as it was to be a homosexual.

Here, is the story of one British War Hero - Alan Turing, and the discrimination he experienced in the years following the war because he was born Gay.

I don't think they used chemicals on Jews in Germany to turn them into Christians. I could be wrong though...


Thank God that I was born today rather than 50 years ago - that my fortune is to be a Canadian citizen rather than an American in 2009. Thank God that so much has happened in the last 50 years towards the freedoms of homosexuals in Canada; that I can get married, that I can adopt children, that I can enjoy job security.

That I can be relatively certain that I won't ever be given chemicals that will turn me into another gender or reverse my hormones.

Also, thankfully, governments are starting to realize their mistreatment of homosexuals in the past.

Thankfully progress happens over 50 years.

I want to be born again!

The flying spaghetti monster succeeded in finding a meat-ball mate. And, as a celebration, he told a Bolivian priest to hijack a plane. In other religions, we call these people terrorists. In this one, we point out that he is a former drug addict.

It would also receive a lot more media coverage.

What a fascinating dichotomy.

-------------------------------------------

Every now and then I hear about a friend, or a friend of a friend, who has somehow come to the faith. It happened to me twice this past summer. And neither time did I rejoice; honestly, I experienced a serious degree of regret. For a couple reasons:

Firstly, because I am not certain people represent Christianity very well. Mostly because I don't, but also because I know that the Christianity that these people are attracted to is actually based on a sense of security through Biblical story of the Resurrection of Christ.

Secondly, they quickly adopt the ideas and beliefs of Christianity rather than considering what they truly mean. This is perhaps because the wrong people have brought them to the faith; people who claim faith in Christ and what he has "accomplished" through his death, and are generally conservatives with strong beliefs. That are undeniably oppressive. (On a side note, I know several people who would argue that these views wouldn't reflect Christ today. I have issues with this idea, but I probably agree with them).

Thirdly, the version that they get of Christianity is feel good completeness. It isn't the dismay and despair that Christianity can cause in a person's soul. And, almost certainly, it isn't a life of self-administered hardship, where one refuses to live according to the same values of our culture - where the moral concern is global, and real, and pressing. The Christian lifestyle is entirely uninvolved in oppression. In all of its manifestations. And this is challenging, and frustrating, and necessary.

The two people I know who came to the faith this summer had very different "evangelized" experiences. One was told many times about my third concern by a close friend of mine, and still found something appealing, and is trying to adopt the faith and the worldview. When I heard that this was the story of her evangelizing, I felt more comfortable with her adoption of the spirituality.

The second person missed out on all of the lifestyle stuff, and managed to adopt the views of Christianity that I find most volatile. One of his close friends is a lesbian woman - a friend of mine.

He says that this summer he finally began to understand why homosexuality is bad. My guess is that he was told by somebody, who claims to have more experience, and pretends to have everything sorted out in their head.

They aren't close friends anymore. My lesbian friend is broken up over it, the other friend does not quite understand what he has done that has so negatively affected the relationship other than share his recently adopted beliefs.

I have a friend that is going to a Bible School in New Zealand, and he recently sent me a letter that states that he now understands that his friends in Regina desperately need Jesus. My question is, do they?

-----------------------------------------

I read in a friend's facebook today that he feels religion is for those people who are trying to avoid hell, and that spirituality is for those people who have been to Hell and are fighting their way back.

The last engagement

I hope none of my friends ever get engaged again, and ask me to be a part of the wedding, no matter how small the level of involvement.

My best friend is engaged to a wonderful man. I have mentioned her many times in the past. It was her phone call that caused me enough frustration to post openly about my homosexuality on the internet. On this very blog.

Tonight was her engagement party. I spent the entire night watching her and her fiancee enjoy each others company more than anybody else's, and was entirely charmed by the thought of romance. I listened to them talk about each other as though they knew each other intimately enough to order each other's steak variations. As though they could select a playlist for the other for a long trip home.

This past week, my friend has been in town and I have gone out with her a couple times, each moment with the anticipation that I would let her in on the secret.

But I am beginning to get to the point where I feel like my parents should learn before anybody else gets confirmation. So I have successfully put it off by thinking of ways to tell my mom and dad. I have a plan - and will likely put off using it. It involves taking my mom for a walk - and activity she enjoys. She'll know something is up when I suggest we spend time together.

She can tell my dad that grandchildren are going to have to come from my brother.

My friend Brittany would be one of the next though. And I am very concerned. I have spent many hours with her talking about homosexuals and their ability to be moral, and participate in a single relationship for the remainder of their life, and be good people. I am, obviously, on the more positive side.

She, in the past, has not been.

Tonight, somehow the idea of my wedding was brought up into conversation with friends and her family. Awkward. Not only because they managed to bring up many, many embarassing stories, but because I am not sure if Brittany would want to attend it.

Next summer she is getting married. Some time in the next year I have to tell her that I am gay. And then she will associate many judgments with me - or start being challenged in her perception of gay people. Unfortunately, I don't know if it will end well for me. And I am supposed to be the M.C. at her wedding. Which may be revoked, though I doubt it.

The question is, how do I tell her?

Do I ask her, "How would you feel if I brought a boyfriend to your wedding?"


I wonder what it is like to be straight...
I wonder what it is like to have hope...

In the valley of giants.

So I just discovered that somebody that I worked with for a week at Bible Camp is gay. His facebook profile picture is of him and his boyfriend, having taken a professional photograph together. And I have no idea how it is that he managed to come out of the closet, but I wouldn't mind if he could provide me with some pointers.

He is impressive to me. A giant man. Holding the hand of another, giant man.

His image is a source of torment for me.

Because I wanted to finish this sucker up before school starts. Which was on Tuesday, and was likely impossible to achieve. Once school starts, it cannot happen - I won't have time to deal with the extra frustration, and I will always find some method of rationalizing not completing the process.

Trust me, I can delay. School allows me too.

I like the idea of spaghetti.

I almost broke a rule today. A young man who was in my cabin at camp a couple years ago posted the following verse in his Facebook status:


Isaiah 57:15 For this is what the high and lofty One says— he who lives forever, whose name is holy: "I live in a high and holy place, but also with him who is contrite and lowly in spirit, to revive the spirit of the... lowly and to revive the heart of the contrite.

I almost responded with this phrase. "Zephaniah, chapter 1, verses 7-18 . Be comforted." (a fellow blogger, The Unwelcome Guest posted this on his blog recently, I recommend going there and reading it if you are unfamiliar with the passage.)

I detest people who use scripture as a method of lifting themselves out of their self-hatred. There is insufficient evidence in the Bible to suggest that we should trust the will of God. Which side am I on? The Israelites, or the enemy? I don't know - by the miracle of birth this reality is chosen for me. I could be slaughtered tomorrow by a fleet of people that God prefers. I doubt it, but scripture tells me it has happened once already, and there is no promise of a rainbow to prevent it from happening again.

My unwritten rule is this - I cannot step into anybody else's spiritual life, particularly those of youth, when my idea is likely going to be harmful to their worldview. Despite all desire to be harmful to that worldview. The rule becomes even more strictly adhered to particularly when it reveals me, a person who has been of spiritual guidance in that person's life, to be a man with a desperate lacking of faith.

But the reality is that I don't believe in a flying spaghetti monster in the sky. I cannot prove his nonexistence. It could be there, shaking its starch-based arms around and searching the universe for a meatball to mate with. But I don't believe in it. And I don't believe in this God, either.

Kind of.

I am undeniably Christian.

But let me explain this idea a bit, because to many the belief in God is central to being a Christian.


I can't get rid of God, despite my attempts. Because somehow I manage to think of God as a good thing - somehow I manage to think that the idea of God is a good thing - and, particularly, somehow I think the social contract that can potentially develop out of God is a good thing.

When I think of God, I think of how puny I am. How entirely unimportant I am. I don't imagine how he could have envisioned the creation of the world, or how he knit me in my mother's womb, or how he allowed the United States to become one of the most successful military businesses in history. Because God doesn't exist. He didn't do all of these things.

But I don't think bad things come out of the idea that I am puny, expendable, and, ultimately, not of specific import. Because this allows me to realize that the world will go on without me. And also humbles me - God is bigger than me, even if he is just an idea. And being humbled is a good thing - because it places me on equal grounding with the rest of the world, makes me more aware of my excesses and pride, and forces me to invest in my community because it is necessary for the things in life that are most important for others. Because, as a result of the idea of God, I am their equal.

God isn't about grandeur, or glory, or providing a hurt person compassion. God isn't devoted to me as a human being, and if he is, then he is no more devoted to me than to anybody else. God is about being tiny and expendable, and about being equal with everybody else.

But ultimately, God doesn't exist, but the idea of God is enormously powerful and ultimately valuable.


So long as one doesn't start talking on his behalf. Because he is just an idea - he has no behalf for which one can speak.



My brother, who presented to me the satire of the flying spaghetti monster, doesn't believe in God because he can rationalize his nonexistence.

I can do the same.

Kind of.

But my belief in God is not because I can rationalize his existence, but because I see that the idea of God - the admission that there is something bigger than me out there - is probably actually good. Because I see being humble as being good.

And I know that I am anything but that which is good.

And thus, I am undeniably Christian.


Now come, let me wash your feet before we worship a spaghetti monster searching for a mate.

Iris

i don't want the world to see me, cause I don't think that they'd understand.
When everything is made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am.

A tribute to fear, and a promise of freedom. Found in a pop song.

We did it!!

I don't understand people who have hope, or who don't see the world through the eyes of a cynic. It does not make sense to me that, when there is so much bad in the world, people can think positively. Even positively for change.

I went camping to Cypress Hills this past weekend with one of my closest friends. We discuss a lot of stuff. He vocalized this weekend that he decided, a long time ago, that he is incapable of providing wisdom in our relationship because he simply can't be aware of what it is like to be gay and the enormous challenges that it demands.

But he always manages to make me think - despite his apparent lack of wisdom.

We often have many topics to discuss. Homosexuality tends to be the commanding theme, but sometimes we discuss concerns about spirituality. This weekend we managed to discuss worship, and Hope. I actually managed to have a discussion about hope.

My friend, eternally wise and positive-thinking, asked me what provides me with hope in this world. The list was small, and focused on the enormously selfish reality that I am gay, but let me try and re-create it here.

- I was able to talk to him, a deeply spiritual and undeniably Christian person, with complete openness despite the fact that he knows of my sexuality. We could go camping together. He trusted me enough to stay in the same tent as me.
- I have many other friends that know I am gay. One had it confirmed through this blog. All but one have remained my friends, and the one who was lost remains an acquaintance.
- I can remember the specific date when Jean Chretien managed to have marriage redefined in Canada to include the union of same sex couples. I was in high school. And I celebrated very privately, and entirely internally. I am certain that I walked around for week with a smile.

Imagine that this part of the conversation took about five minutes and you would be correct. They were quickly segued into reasons to be filled with despair. For an hour and a half.

- I can also remember every moment in my life that I have been told that being gay is something that somebody doesn't admit. Once was in the back seat of my car, trying to tell my brother and father a joke where, because of somebody's dick size, they discover they are gay. They both told me that nobody would admit to be being gay.
- I can also remember the debates that took place when Chretien was putting forward his new law for marriage redefinition. People debating the morality of it. The morality of gay people, and their capacity to participate in a single relationship.
- I know that I have to tell a lot of people still. People that will end our relationship as a result. I can't even begin to presume how my grandma will react. My parents. One of my best friends, recently engaged and just finishing her work term in Calgary, who has often told me about how immoral homosexual people are.
- After I do come out, I will be removed from my church, and there will be suspicions about my relationships with some of the youth in the ministry. Because my conduct as a gay man is instantly more suspicious than my conduct as a straight man. Because we are less moral.
- I won't ever be able to participate in youth ministry again, something that I have a great passion for because of the relationships that develop. I want to go back to camp next year, despite my disbelief, because I have a vision for what that place can become. But I won't be allowed to.
- I can expect to have a harder time finding a job teaching than my straight counterpart. The entire time I will be teaching, I will have to be more aware of my conduct than straight teachers, because I will more easily accused.
....
....
....
This continued for 90 minutes.

In essence, my life from now on becomes a life of defensive strategies. Moreso than ever before. And I have to be more understanding of why I am "oppressed" than the "oppressor" is expected to understand me. I have to know why people will dislike me.


My friend, eternally wise and positive-thinking, at this point told me that he had no wisdom to offer.

And then, on the drive home yesterday, as the residue of this conversation crept in, my friend reminded me of the things that brought me Hope.

Essentially, there is so much in the world that sucks the life out of somebody. So much that can cause despair, and so few things that can lift us out of this despair. Particularly when we are lonely. But we should still remember those things, however few they are, that bring us hope.

And then I realized that I was happy. Happy with somebody who knew me as well, and better, than almost anybody else on this planet. This man knew me, and loved me as I was. I was not just enjoying myself. I was happy.

And if my friend, eternally wise and positive-thinking, can make me happy, maybe he understands hope a bit better than I do.

I'm looking at the man in the mirror.

Have you ever caught yourself in the act of oppression? I have several times in the past week.

One of the less mundane aspects of my job at Wal-Mart involves completing purchase orders for companies, charities, and the government. Today, at work, there were many purchase orders that I had to write up. One of the more recent ones involved two young women, one a mother, both First Nations. They were purchasing school supplies, with money from the Ministry of Social Services.

The first of the women had some money left over, so she ran off to collect some pens and use as much money as possible to fill out her purchase order. This took her about 10 minutes. And my line grew very quickly in this ten minutes to be approximately 10 people deep. My computer was hung up, waiting for her to come and complete the transaction.

And so I began sharing my frustration with my co-workers - "how long does it take to get pens when they are only twenty feet away?" Some of the customers heard me, including the second of the young First Nations women. She approached me, with her child, and said, "Don't talk about my friend like that."

Now, I'm a prideful prick. And when I am in a situation where I have the power, my prideful prickness pops up at an extreme.

So I said to my co-worker. "I think this woman is threatening me. I can't imagine why. Does she actually expect me to redeem her purchase order when she does that?"

In that instant, this woman was reminded of what it is like to be Indian in a world where white people have the money and power, and where men are not to be questioned by women. This woman was reminded that she was powerless. She was reminded that she was poor, and that she was accepting charity from somebody else (the government) in order to purchase something as simple and everyday as school supplies. This young woman, with child in hand, was reminded of her everyday existence, in the midst of a moment of excitement - the purchasing of school supplies.

And this was because of me.

The events that took place afterwards were of no. I was able to fulfill my duty, and feel charitable in doing it. She was able to fulfill her duty, and feel ashamed for being dependent. She was reminded, because of my body language, because of my privilege to have a job, and because of my willingness to "help" her, of how much more power I have than her.

Not that she needed reminding. Or that I needed reminding. We both know it, we just call this existence, "reality", and make it acceptable because it is "the way things are."

I have felt the scar of oppression - it is because of this scar that I am still in the closet and protecting myself from more direct attacks upon my identity. I rage about oppression - it discusses me when I can dissect interactions and recognize it. But I am an agent of it; I have been contracted out to oppress the poor, the women, the racialized, and the "other". I don't know it, but I am complicit in it.

My behaviour must change.

And everytime that I write about and discuss the oppression that I experience, I must be reminded that I am an oppressor. If my sympathies are limited to superficial ideals that don't affect my behaviour, or to the protection of homosexuals from social harassment, then I am not worthy of any protection or kindness myself.

Desmond Tutu says this: "A person is a person because he recognizes others as persons."

The audacity of hope, and how to become immortal.

The title of this blog is Reflections on Majdanek, a reference to one of the most unbelievable moments I have ever experienced. Let me share this moment with you, and then offer some reflection on it.

Majdanek is the site of death incarnate. It is the home of despair. If there is a hell, it is one of its many manifestations on earth. I have visited three of these manifestations with the intention of finding Hell, many more without realizing what hell was; of them all, Majdanek stands out. It is a particularly dark place in hell.

Majdanek is the last place I cried.

Majdanek, pronounced My-donn-ick, is a Nazi concentration camp on the outskirts of Lublin, Poland. It is incredibly preserved, with few signs of destruction as the Soviets "liberated" the camp before the Nazis could destroy the camp and its many records. Lives were not as fortunate as the buildings that once housed them.

I was there at the end of June 2008 with my brother and many friends from across the vast country of Canada, all of teachers, all of us eager to learn. We had spent days in Poland and Germany, attending ceremonies, visiting Polish Jewish graveyards and memorials, entering the gates of death at Aushwitz-Birchenau. Walking until the rotated "B" of Arbeit Macht Frei - work will set you free.

If there is a hell, it has many manifestations on earth.

But Majdanek is where I cried.

Right next to the burning chambers of Majdanek, which could be once again functional in 24 hours, was the image at the top of this post. Only in three dimensions; it could be walked around, it could be scaled. If the rain fell, it could be smelt in a new way. This building is called the Mausoleum. In it are the remains - ashes, bones, skulls, teeth - of some of the camps more than 70,000 victims. It is located on the site of death; where, on 3 November 1943, 18,000 Jews were killed by their persecutors. This event was known as the Harvest Festival to the Germans, as Bloody Wednesday to all else. It was the largest, single-event of mass killings of the entire Holocaust.

Majdanek is where I cried. And where I sang, with friends, a Canadian folk song of hope.

That as sure as the sunrise
As sure as the sea
As sure as the wind in the trees
We rise again in the faces
of our children
We rise again in the voices of our song
We rise again in the waves out on the ocean
And then we rise again

A message of hope. A daring message of hope, at the site of death, in the heart of Hell. Where 18,000 single lives, stories, masses of experience, of knowledge, were ended. Audacious.

Majdanek is where I cried; it is where I sang. It is where I was comforted. It is where the story of Hope transcended understanding and became a belief, despite all evidence otherwise.

Hell does exist. It is humanity at its worst. God is debatable. It may also be humanity at its worst.

Here is my reflection - how dare I feel overwhelmed, lacking in hope, when the nations of Jews can encounter Hell and survive, and then call themselves, Israel, the "home of Hope." How pathetic of me. Self-serving, human.

Go read Halina Birenbaum's Hope is the Last to Die.

Shame

Shame.

It is one of those few words that we all know, and we all understand. Everybody I know can associate some experience, some memory with this feeling. And we all know how entirely inadequate the word is in expressing the moment that one feels it. Shame; it is far too small, easily said and easily forgotten and we only know the reality of it when we are reminded of its existence. And that doesn't happen with the word, but only with experience. Five letters is nothing. Shame is everything.

Tonight I had an experience of shame, developing out of extreme confusion and anger. Intense shame, that has lead me to this bottle of Millers Genuine Draft.

I received an e-mail from a close friend; a man that I love a great deal. I admire him for his love of humanity, of people, or the possibility of hope - he is a man of inspiration. In the e-mail were contained the following words:

"Do you really think I didn’t know?

I’ve known for a very long time and I’ve been waiting for you to tell me."

My 8-hour response process has involved intense shame. I have asked myself so many times what gave me away. Was it a glance? I glitter in my eye, revealing something that my mouth would never admit? Was he uncomfortable, and did he want to confront me on it? Did it distract him? Did he enter every dialogue with me as frustrated as I entered them with him, wondering if the time of confession had arrived?

Most of my shame developed out of a sense that I made this friend immensely uncomfortable with my dishonesty and my lacking integrity. I was ashamed that perhaps he felt, in any way imaginable, even remotely violated by me - had I ever "checked him out", and had he ever caught me doing it? Had he ever seen me admire other men, been urged to ask me, and then stopped himself?

How many times did I deny him of a conversation he may have wanted to have?

Who else am I doing this to?

Is this why people want to talk about homosexuality around me? Do they want me to step out of a dream and stop pretending?

Are they actually ok with it, or are they just accepting the idea of it?

Maybe that is a question I need to ask myself more often.

My parents don't know. But they do. They are just waiting to be told.

Enduring success

Royal Sporting Goods

Frisbee: $7.95

Taxation: $0.80

Total not going to Wal-Mart: $8.75

Channing Tatum concerns me...

It is amazing the things that can happen when you encounter magazines.

Wal-Mart. This past week. I was working. This magazine was brought to me as something that had been misplaced on a shelf somewhere by a customer. These things get brought up to me all the time.

Just not with Channing Tatum on the cover.

It is my responsibility to reorganize these items (hundreds a day) so that they get taken to their proper departments.

But I didn't do that with this magazine, because it had Channing Tatum on the cover. And there is a rumour that he is bisexual. And I am like a 12 year old girl whose dream in life is to marry Justin Timberlake. Or Channing Tatum.

Back to Channing Tatum being bisexual.

A co-worker comes behind my desk and we start hanging out. This woman is middle-aged, but definite a sexual prowler. She says I wear nice pants. She isn't the only person at work who says it, but she is the oldest. And maybe I do wear nice pants. They get the job done.

I tell the co-worker that this guy on the cover is bisexual.

She says, "Thats too bad. He's going to die young."

My response. "Huh?"

She says, "He'll get AIDs from the guys."

Moments like this hurt more than I can show. Not only because this is a completely secular person who has shown some degree of prejudice, but because I know that once I am "out" people will still have these feelings, and have them about me. And they won't tell me about them, because they don't want to hurt my feelings.

Moments like this make me more aware of why some First Nations want to be white. Why some women wish they were men. Why the poor wish to be rich. And why the Quebecois never want to be English. Why I wish I was straight, but never like that.

Its easier to be powerful. To relate to the people who are powerful. You just don't want to be like the scum of the earth.

One day I am going to have to give up this false power that I have, and have people talk about me behind my back.

for the Bible tells me so...

I've come to the conclusion that revolution is necessary. I'll feel differently tomorrow. But revolution can be nothing but good. Right?

I just watched the recently released documentary "for the Bible tells me so." It felt like the story of me - a story that I want to share with the world. I cannot recommend it enough. If you want to view a copy, let me and I will get it to you - I've e-mailed the maker and asked for a digital copy. If that doesn't go through, I will get several copies.

Then the revolution can begin. It has to. The church cannot be a part of hate, hate that leads to suicide, suicide that leads to death and pain. This is not God. God cannot accept this. As I have said before, this is because God is everything but Hate.

If he exists.

I wonder what my life is like in a post-gay existence; where it is simply part of me rather than the central aspect of my thought. My everyday, simple, natural existence. I cannot wait for the fact that women don't make sexual sense to me to be open.

But it isn't going to happen right away. Can you imagine this conversation? This is the conversation parents know is coming, that parents don't want to have. This is the conversation that children know is coming, but that children know they have to have - this is the moment at which one admits that one is NOT the same. For biological reasons. For reasons that cannot be recognized by sight, but for biological reasons.

A couple nights ago I couldn't sleep. My parents had been out of town, and coming home the day after. I was crippled with fear, feeling that the moment for this conversation had come. (I realize this moment has been coming for 22 years, and still hasn't materialized. I'm working on that. Give me time, and a couple shots of tequila at a coffee shop.) I stayed up late, writing a series seven of spastic poems. I don't do this. Write, or write poetry. Music is my method. But words tortured me.

This is intimate stuff. It can get intimate. But I am going to retype it here for you. You may not like it - I'm not Leonard Cohen, William Blake, or Shakespeare. I'm only Neal Robert Adolph. And I don't really know what I am saying, except that there is truth in it.

I. Misery makes sense to a gay man, because nobody knows his name unless they read his birth certificate.
And even then they only know his name.

Happiness confuses me.
It is unfamiliar and frightening.
Misery feels like home.

II. I'll sit around my home, reading about God,
and wishing that my friends were not so inspired by him.
Because I am impressionable and lonely.
What inspires them can temporarily inspire me.
Because I am lonely.

Even when I am inspired, I know God doesn't exist.
Why would he want to.

III. I am so capable of allowing fear to paralyze me.
I can't imagine what it is like to feel somebodies lips on yours.
I propose it is like encountering God for the first time.
Like heroin. So damn good. So false. fleeting. Never to be captured again.

I want somebody to play with my arm hair.
Caress the hair on my thigh.
Is it actually electrifying? Does it paralyze? Will I even like it?
These thoughts arrest me. Why be something that I am not convinced I will enjoy?

IV. A confession is always on one's mind, but never on one's lips. The fear of rejection prevents words to form in the mouth that they have lived in for years.
They are nesting.
They aren't interested in learning how to fly.
Because escape from prison is only tempting when the sun is out, and a rainbow is in the sky.
And even then the nesting cage is familiar. Safe, dark and lonely, but familiar. It makes sense. Just like misery.
Misery makes sense to a confession.

V. Nobody hates a gay man quite as much as he hates himself.

VI. I've written novels about myself a dozen times. The first one was written in 2003. I was 17, and I was about to commit suicide. The words never materialized, but the novel was written.

In the style of a disappointing romance novel. Lots of lust. No sex.

VII. I say to you, O protector of children from freedom their parents do not desire,
to you, O protector of adults from freedoms their God does not desire,
to you, O protector of mine, sitting in your fortification north of Saskatoon.

You are bastards for letting me lie.
I'm sorry for blaming you.



I may have fallen in love with Bishop Desmond Tutu. A man, across an ocean, and of elderly blood. He says this, and it is sexy. "I can't, for the life of me, imagine that God would say, 'I will punish you because you are black. You should have been white. I will punish you because you are a woman. You should have been a man. I punish you because you are homosexual. You should have been heterosexual.' I can't - I can't for the life of me believe that is how God sees people."

The God of Desmond Tutu is sexy.

Hugh Jackman inspires me.

I won't deny my vanity, though I think I try to cover it up with no degree of success. I work at Wal-Mart, as a customer servicer nowadays, and sometimes it gets really boring. Sometimes when this happens, I grab a magazine to read. Once I read a magazine specifically for the reason that Hugh Jackman was in it, and I was getting really excited for the upcoming Wolverine film. In the magazine, he was asked about his perspective on homosexuality, because apparently he has played roles in theatre where his character was gay. He said this:

"Homosexuality is only a part of the whole. I like to think that sexuality doesn't determine the entire person."

Ok, that isn't a direct quote. Don't go searching for it - you won't find it. But it was similar to that. And I loved it. I probably wrote it down and lost the piece of paper at some point.

I like the idea that this blog can act in some format as a venting piece for my interactions with my emerging homosexual existence. I want it to exhibit the dialogue that I need to start having with the world around me. But, as per Hugh Jackman, I need to include other parts of my dialogue with the world.

Thus, this post, where I begin to share some of my concerns with the world, responding to events. Maybe you'll get a better sense of the whole of me. I am more than just gay.

I was at a friends wedding last weekend - a wonderous event, as weddings always are. This friend is an inspiration amongst men; an intelligent man, who is passionate about God and God's people. He is also a communist. I cheer for him.

And he hasn't walked into a Wal-Mart in 3 years.

I work at Wal-Mart, as a customer service desk employee. And I am well aware of why this man refuses to shop at Wal-Mart. They treat employees poorly, choosing to understaff stores and giving people insufficient hours or wages to allow for a living. They don't treat customers well, because there is not enough staff to care for their needs. They don't have expectations for how the employees of their producers are treated. They encourage people to spend beyond their means by making purchasing easy. They have poor environmental policy. They direct enormous volumes of money from the communities where money is earned to a head-quarters and into a corporate bank account. Money leaves communities because of Wal-Mart.

I don't like Wal-Mart. I enjoy my job though. And I enjoy the people that I work with; they are good people, with great humour, great hearts, and great intentions that just have the unfortunate experience of working at Wal-Mart.

And so I have plans to never shop at Wal-Mart again. Which is hard, because I tend to buy a lot. I am a Wal-Mart consumer - impulsive, dangerous, unconcerned with my bank account or how my purchases are affecting people around the world.

So I am going to start a system, online, with this blog, displaying my non-Wal-Mart purchases.

Canadian Tire. 2 Items

- A Key cut. $2.99
- A Hidden key kit. $2.99

- Taxation. $.060
Total not given to Wal-Mart: $6.58

I'm looking forward to living out my morals rather than merely discussing them.

What Israel can do to a man.

"I would like to buy $3 worth of God - not enough to explode my soul or disturb my sleep, but just enough to equal a cup or warm milk or a snooze in the sunshine. I don't want enough of God to make me love a black man or pick beets with a migrant. I want ecstasy, not transformation. I want the warmth of the womb, not a new birth. I want about a pound of the eternal in a paper sack. I would like to buy $3 worth of God, please." (Wilbur Reece)

My discussion last night with Joel made me realize how little faith I have in the world that I live in, and how little faith I have in the inspiration of God to change the world; to make it an environment of love.

Joel suggested that there are people in my church are much more capable of love than I want to give them credit for. I have my doubts. But Joel said that there are people in my church that are aware of the radical love of God's kingdom, and try their hardest to live it out. People that know that God's love is far too radical to allow for hate - not just because they are a dueling opposites, but because God is not hate.

I want to be able to afford that radical love to the people of my church. To the pastors of my church. I want to have faith in God for change. And I should be so inspired by the change that has taken place for the gay community at large.

But then shootings take place in Israel at a gay community center for teenagers.

And I hide in my closet. The revolutionary in me dies down. I am quiet. I stumble in the dream of being straight.

Damn my fear. Shit on my cynicism. I wish to dispose of them and become a good person again. The person I want to be.

Joel is a good friend.

So you say you want a...

Revolution.

This song, a Beatles classic, comes to mind tonight for two reasons. Firstly, I was listening to the Across the Universe soundtrack, and I quite enjoy this scene from the film. Secondly, because of a discussion I have with a friend tonight. Maybe I should get it tattooed to my body or something.

I was discussing frustration in my church with my friend. If anybody is reading this blog at all, then they would have have read my recent post on why I attend my church. Well, I should perhaps inform you that this reasoning is not particularly sustainable - though ideal, it doesn't last long. I was on the verge of collapsing today and asking my pastor for an exit interview. I may still do it.

I was having a conversation with somebody that I have been "out" to for about a year. I kind of forced myself out to him on the eve of Heath Ledger's death, in a kind of shock response to his death, and a ode to his incredible acting ability in Brokeback Mountain and pretty much everything else. He was locked in my car. For about 2 hours. Playing word games with me while I imagined methods of coming out to him.

If you've been reading, you'll know that I have moved onto e-mailing distant cousins and close friends. Perhaps a poor policy. I'm still in a state of no-response limbo. I hate this.

Anyways, on to the point.

I shared my frustrations with my friend, Joel, who listened. Recently my church's senior pastor has decided that young adults are not prepared to ask questions regarding the complete validity of the entirety of Christian scripture. My best friend from high school (the first to hear of my sexuality) is in the role of leading this group of young adults, and had his heart destroyed when this took place.

I was thoroughly unhappy with the result, or the process. This pastor is horrible at resolving conflict, and making people uncomfortable, and providing people with opportunities to be challenged. And this is the church in which I must find solace once I go through the process of "coming out" publicly.

Which I think I am nearing. Joel could turn me into a revolutionary.

I attend a Mennonite Brethren church - which is Christian talk for conservative central. We aren't particularly well known for changing our ways, or our thoughts and approaches to social concerns. We are known for helping those in need around the world, but keeping to ourselves locally.

And just to avoid the questions - I drink alcohol. Regularly. I dance. Regularly.

I don't take a horse-drawn cart to church. Ever.

I think I am normal.

My friend Joel is telling me that my church needs to change - that there is no way that the old-school way of viewing Christianity will survive another 50 years because there are very few youth that are interested in carrying the torch anymore. We have been inspired and infected by social liberation theology.

Me being gay could make this obvious. It is a decisive matter. The church would be separated on it - they would confront the disunity and have to respond. The young and the old would disagree.

But I hate that part of revolution - where people don't agree or get along.

But people shouldn't get along while others are oppressed. Ignorance is bliss, but unacceptable.


So do I start a revolution? It is damn tempting.

But it isn't quite so simple, just as it never is. And if a book is ever written about the gay Mennonite that changed the world, I don't want it to present it as simple.

I help out with youth ministry. Children.

And I am gay.

Special questions arise. None of them are valid questions, but they arise. Have I touched little boys? Have I convinced other boys that they are gay? Have I turned others gay? Maybe these are questions that need to be confronted so that we can become aware of how barbaric our image of gay culture is.

But do I have to be the person who is hurt throughout the process?

“Abba, Father,” he cried out, “everything is possible for you. Please take this cup of suffering away from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine.” (Mk 14:36)

What is there left to say?

Below is an e-mail that I just sent to one of my closest friends and cousin. I'm blotting out his name. This is kind of an OH SHIT! moment.



Hey XXXXXX,

I don't know why the hell I am sending this to you. Perhaps in the hopes that I can stand before somebody naked, stripped of a dream and encountering reality. Read on, if you are still interested.

I'm finding myself entirely crippled in discussion recently. I live in a world entirely alone, it seems. I cannot relate to other people's discussions, and I find them fleeting and entirely uninteresting. The content is fascinating and relevant, but they demand a discussion for hope, a phenomenon which I find myself having in decreasing numbers in the adult world and in my own heart.

I hear about how you, Tyson, Joni, Jenna, and Kyle and Andrea are protesting the expansion of foreign industry in the community, and I am jealous. You are people who are using your morals and operating in the world with them.

I haven't felt this freedom for a long time, and even then I have only felt it in limited amounts while working with youth ministry. As I am no longer involved with that at church, I do not know if I will be able to change the world, or even hope to. I get frustrated by trying, and I am so thoroughly conflicted that even my most exciting of ideas seem to be flawed by imperfection.

I don't think I can call myself a believer anymore, or if I ever could. Agnostic - certainly. Trying desperately to believe in something as sexy as God, but always finding myself restricted and incapable. Disappointed by those who claim to follow Him, and frustrated by the being himself.

I am also immensely lonely. I feel like I live on a continent entirely alone.

I have no friends who fulfill me anymore. Nobody who challenges me, or who is interested in the same things as I am. Nobody who will discuss politics or religion and do so with interest, or immense, blunt, and painful honesty. Nobody will listen to my compositions and provide proper critical feedback. Nobody will actually become a part of my life - exist with my existence. Befriend me with any consistency. I am on the backburner, in a locale called Regina, alone in a sea of 200,000 souls that move like giants. My continent is shaken by earthquakes and I do not respond. And I know that i have done this to myself.

You talk about Meadow Lake and it sounds sexy. Fulfilling. As though you don't really want anything more.



I have recently come to the conclusion that I am developmentally and relationally retarded or immature.

The disgusting part is that I know that only people who care about themselves have self-esteem issues. And I want to be able to put down my concerns and pick up a cross for somebody else - to die to myself so that I may live. But I am at an impass that I cannot overcome; I stand at a cliff alone and insecure. Unfortunately I must jump off in order to go anywhere.

And so I leap, with a question I thought of while we were discussing my relationship with Danae on Tuesday night.

XXXXXX, what would you do if I told you I was gay?

Untitled

I hate these nights when I come home having had a bit too much to drink. My mind races to realities than dreams. And the reality is that I live in a dream.

Constantly.

For the past 22 years of my life. 23 if you are from Korea.




I am gay. This is the reality. The dream is that I am straight - and this is the dream in which I live. My friends are relatively convinced of this dream, and I am more than prepared to live in it.

Kind of.

Tonight I got a phone call from one of my best friends, saying that she was engaged to this wonderful man that she met in University. I am enormously happy for her - this man is gold, as best as I can tell, and I am enormously happy for the two of them.

The problem is this - I was part-way through partying with a good friend of mine, as he was celebrating the last few nights of his bachelorhood. And in the very near future, my best friend from high school is getting married.

Perhaps I am not making myself clear enough just yet.


It seems that everybody that I know is in love with somebody. Is permitted to be in love with somebody. And is moving beyond just being in love with somebody, and I am merely existing inside of a dream that I know is reality but that I kind of want to be reality. But I know that it isn't a reality that I can exist in.

And so I have to ask myself whether or not it is time for me to starting the process of declaring another piece to my puzzling existence - my homosexuality. And if it isn't - have I already missed the time? And if it is - how do I go about it, and how do I find counsel in doing it?



Now, I shouldn't pretend to be entirely alone. I have told some friends in the past that I am gay - and they have all been relatively supportive, and many have remained very close and reliable friends. Good people that I have been blessed by.

But the fear of rejection from everybody else is enormous.

Let me say that again.


The fear of rejection from everybody else is enormous.

Where else?

I recently quit my involvement in youth ministries at my church, for many reasons.

I am now confronted with the question of why I attend church. And I find myself entirely incapable of providing an answer, because I find the word "church" so limiting.



I go to church. Not regularly, but I go.

When I attend, I sit in a row of conference chairs rather than pews. I sing contemporary worship songs, filled with contrived music and poor theology. I listen to the words of somebody else praying and close my eyes thinking that something good is bound to be said. I listen to thoughtless, sentimental sermons that are based on the Epistles rather than on the Gospels. I hear announcements which keep the community more interested in itself than the outside, changing world. Then I enter the foyer and visit with friends, where I often wish that a strong wine was served for communion rather than juice to ensure the scars of the past hour and a half could be more easily forgotten.

And I spend a lot of time wondering where God is in our church.

Next to me in church, in an equally uncomfortable and equally transportable conference chair, is a person. Usually a person of my age, who seems to have this all make sense, or who buys into it more than I do. It is wonderful to watch this person communicate with their living God. Wonderful. And entirely foreign to me.

Why do I attend? Perhaps for the hope that something worthwhile and inspiring will transpire, that suddenly God will make some sense, or that I will somehow find the missing link that will convince me that Christ died for me. None of this has happened. And I'm not sure if I really want it to.

So why do I attend church? And perhaps, why do I attend my specific church?

I spend a lot of time wondering where God is in our church.



And I spend a lot of time wondering where God is outside of our church.



And I haven't given up on the world outside of the church, so why should I give up on the church?