A Few Photos

You Hurt

You hurt when you imagine him saying, "I am so disappointed in you that I could cry."

You do not know what to say, so you don't. You see the hurt in his eyes. Dark brown, they tear up a little, but not enough to let you truly see how deep the agony goes. Emotions are not easy for him. You would rip off an arm if it would ease his pain, but his torment is beyond the reach of such feeble gestures. You feel his writhing sadness within you. It has no place to go. It cannot be expressed so you bury it deep. You must not let it escape or else you will hurt him even more. A hurting machine, you turn to leave. He stops you.

"Why have you done this? How can you do this to me, to our family?"

He who was your God has become mere man. Shocked by the transformation, you halt; ready to receive whatever else he delivers, willing to be tortured for your sin, longing for the punishment you deserve.

You say, "I am just trying to be honest. I never meant to hurt anyone. I never meant to hurt you."

His jaw clenches. He watches a murder of crows land in the yard. It is a large yard, big enough for a homestead in many lands. The soil smells of your ancestor's sweat. Ancient oaks rise from earth made bare by timeless mounds of leaves that have devoured every hope of grass. Acorns roll among tiny islands of moss. You long to join the crows and moss; to be free of the guilt and judgment blazing from the eyes of the one who stands before you.

He is right of course. How can you turn away from all that you have been taught to cherish? What perverseness of spirit led you to this place? Certain that you are willful, selfish and sinful beyond redemption; your shame steals your breath. You beg the dirt to cover you, to shield you from the stare that once more turns your way. The dirt ignores your plea. You stand naked as his rages rises.

"That's hard to believe," he says. "You are deliberately choosing this. You want to do this. You have a choice. We always have a choice."

Once upon a time you also believed life was a clear choice between the right and wrong of things. Certainty about good and evil was a cornerstone of the rosy Never, Never Land of childhood. Now, the true north of the good has been dulled. You have seen "the good" sew evil and confusion. You have heard "teachers" twist words of love into hate and judgment. The once certain happiness of Never, Never Land has faded. There is no Peter Pan to whisk you away from it all if you are a "good" boy. Captain Hook is alive and well. He smiles as you hear the tick tock of the alligator's clock. Not content with a hand or arm, the toothy salamander is here to take your heart. You cling to kindness not to be "good", but simply to live.

He that was God, who now is man, speaks again.

"You know the difference between good and evil. You are consciously choosing to serve evil."

There it is; the ultimate condemnation. You are excommunicated, without any hope of salvation - unless of course you repent. Repent for saying the unpardonable. Repent from being the unimaginable. Repent from contemplating the heretical love of both women and men. Return to the fold or burn in the lake of eternal flame.

He stares, waiting for a response. There is none. He walks away.

You watch him leave. Your legs long to run after him. You want to grab his shoulders, turn him around and convince him of your love. Your heart screams.

"I love you. Don't leave me. Please don't turn away from me."

The words of your heart do not pass your lips so he cannot hear. His steps are cast in the path of the prophets. He is certain he knows the immutable truth of God's heart. He can no longer see you. He can no longer hear you. Even if he turned and spoke, he would speak to a ghost, a wraith already in its grave.

His form shrinks into the distance. You sit on a rock and breathe deeply. You exhale love into the vacancy that the God man has left behind. The sun still shines. The wind yet caresses your skin. The trees have no judgment in them; they wave and sing as they have since before there was anyone like you to hear them. You stand. You sing. You dance. Mother earth meets your feet with perpetual peace. You do not hurt. Others may pick up the hurt, but it is no longer yours. It is well. It is. And you are.

 

 

 

 

 

I AM GAY

I may be gay, or I may not be. Mostly I am confused.

When I reflect on it, I can recall numerous instances of being attracted to men; young, beautiful men, older rugged men; men with definite character and the courage to display it fully. Yet, when I have thought of expressing my attraction physically the best I can manage is a hug. When I was younger, sexual acts with men were not one of my fantasies. True I did on occasion envision a soft skinned bottom to be penetrated, but I did not know if it was male or female. When I had such fantasies, the butt typically was disembodied, floating free from any face or distinguishable other body parts. I did see women attached to the bottom sometimes, and when I found out that women had vaginas as well as anuses I was shocked. Having only learned of female anatomy from my cousin’s Barbie doll I thought women only had one hole down “there”. When I first began having sex, I found the female vagina alternatively beautiful and disgusting. In fact I found all sex alternatively beautiful and disgusting. I still do much of the time.

I explained to a friend recently that when I engage in sex it is as if I am an observer. I have virtually no sensations of arousal. I am able to successfully masturbate but when confronted by the real thing my body shuts down; most of the time. When I used to smoke pot sex felt wonderful. I had trouble with premature ejaculation at times but the feeling was there. Unfortunately, hallucinations and paranoia also accompanied my use of pot and alcohol. Once I got sober, sex lost its appeal. I found myself performing because it was expected of me; except for one time. I recall that when I returned from Japan after a failed attempt to become a Zen priest sex was very exciting, every bit as exciting as when I used to be high. I felt free of guilt and fear for one of the first times in my life. I wanted to continue on my sexual high and travel the world forever. Unfortunately, as diagnosed by very knowledgeable physicians, my exuberance was mania. I could scarcely argue since during my entire “episode” of sexual “liberation” I was certain that I was being filmed for a movie. Once my mania subsided, so did my sexual desire.

Today, I have returned to the land where sex is unimportant, or at least much less important than friendship and kindness. I would use the word “love” rather than kindness, but the term is so overused it has ceased to have much meaning for me. Kindness, gentleness, compassion; these seem more real and concrete than love and romance. And, they are much more precious to me than sex. If it were possible to have both kindness and sex I might reconsider things. But, I have not mastered this art. When I engage in sex it inevitably feels as if I am “performing”, trying to make sure my partner is pleased and that I am pleased in turn. The goal of climaxing overrides all else. Kindness seems to be replaced by lust and desire. The result is that I feel very sad afterwards. The same way I feel when I am selfish with money or other material things.

I am not saying that I no longer masturbate. I do. But it is primarily for relief of stress or to counteract boredom. I enjoy it. I truly do. When I masturbate I do not feel like I have to perform or be successful. I can take care of things and go on about my day.

Also, I am not saying I do not feel sexual attraction during the day. The beauty of the human form does not escape me as I engage in my pastime of people watching. I daydream about sexual encounters with both men and women, sometimes both together. Then I return to the reality of my experience. I am open to change. I truly am, but I will not waste anymore precious moments of life “wishing” and “desiring” change or trying to twist myself into changing. I will not hold my happiness hostage. I will not play the “I will be happy when” game. If change comes simply by being open, then it will come. If it requires endless fighting and struggling then I prefer to enjoy the day.

Thankfully, most of the guilt about sex has left me; at least the guilt that can be accessed by an honest attempt to face my fears and review my past behaviors. A friend has told me that I act as if I “were emotionally castrated at some point at life.” I do not know. There may very well be deep seated, repressed unconscious sexual feelings that I simply cannot access. To paraphrase Robert DeNiro’s character in the movie Awakenings, “I cannot tell anyone about the things of which I am not conscious.” I write. I draw. I share. Thanks to these efforts I can confront and discount guilt put upon me by other’s religious and political views. I am very thankful for this freedom. It allows me to candidly ask myself, “Am I gay, heterosexual or both?” I kind of like the idea that I may be both. At least that it is interesting.

Regardless of the fate of my genitalia, of one thing I am certain - whatever sexual activities or fantasies I engage in (or choose not to engage in) my first motive must be kindness. I can celebrate. I can fantasize and play roles. I can even be a little bit “kinky” in my dreaming – sometimes this is the most fun. But I must never force anyone to do things they are not comfortable doing. And equally important, I must not force myself or allow myself to be forced into doing something sexually that is uncomfortable to me. When I do this I give up all hope of seeing sex as a cause of celebration, and turn it into nothing more than a duty. I do not know how to enjoy sex, and perhaps I never shall. But I am fairly certain that any hopes of sexual enjoyment must begin with honesty.

So, I guess I AM GAY if the definition of gay is that I can think of men who are sexually attractive to me. Some of them are very attractive. But I can think of women who I find very attractive as well; many of them. So I guess the real truth is that I AM GAY, I AM HETERO, I AM BISEXUAL, I AM A REPROBATE – A CELIBATE BISEXUAL REPROBATE. I may be celibate for the rest of my life, but I still am Dale even if my sexual status is ambiguous. Perhaps this is why my Grandmother Hankins wanted me to have an ambiguous name, a name that could be male or female, pink or blue, but in the end mostly just purple. Today I am content with this thought; very content, because I am speaking from my heart as clearly as I know how to speak. I know there are family and friends who will not be comfortable with my words, if they ever happen to read them. I do not know what to do about that. My words would be true even if I had never written them. I hope that anyone who is offended will forgive me for any pain I may cause them. I certainly mean them no harm and I wish them well. Perhaps they can do the same for me.

I Will Fight No More Forever

I woke this morning with a stuffy head. I blew my nose. My nose cleared but my head remained stuffed. I had made the mistake of turning on the TV and listening to the 24 hour chatter about politics, the fate of our nation and the state of the world. The calm of sleep was quickly replaced by the turmoil of fear and anxiety. One well coifed pundit claimed that all the evils of the world are due to governments and regulation; that unless we return to unconstrained free enterprise all of us face a future of perpetual poverty. Another claimed that large greedy corporations are the root of all evil; that unless we constrain greedy businessmen we will soon find ourselves in chaos. Neither side seemed willing to claim any accountability for the world's condition. Each claimed to be the victim of the other; loudly proclaiming how others were making their lives miserable. I barely managed to pull on my clothes and stumble out the door without losing consciousness.

The rhythm of my strides and breathing restored a little serenity. As usual questions came. Why did such things disturb me? Why was the world the way it was? Why do people scream at each other? Why does each side believe their path alone is best for the world? The only answer I could find was that people are afraid and that I am easily infected by their fear. I have been infected by fear so long that sometimes I believe my natural condition is to constantly fight to survive in a dog eat dog world. When in this state, I can easily justify seeing myself as a victim, a prisoner in a cruel and heartless world – a world that requires me to hate and even kill others before they have a chance to kill me. In such a world I can easily justify hating and fearing those that look and behave differently. In such a world I can easily justify preemptive wars. In such a world I can easily hate myself for not thinking the way that I am "supposed" to think. In such a world I can soon find myself wondering if life is worth living.

Thankfully I know that my "dog eat dog" model of life is based on false assumptions. While it is true that I can easily find "dogs" to fear in life. It is equally true that I can face these "dogs" without being ruled by fear. I know this is true because I have done it and I have seen others do it. Most people are terrified of the "dogs" of poverty, loneliness, illness and death. These things cause me fear as well. I take action to avoid them, but I try not to be ruled by them. I have lived alone and still been surrounded by many friends. Before I die I may be very poor but I have lived on very little. I certainly will face the pain of illness and death, but I do not need to let this fear poison every moment of my life.

Some people claim that we may soon be able to eliminate virtually all illness and that we may even be able to "live" forever. Perhaps they are right, but I see little evidence that we would know how to live free from fear even if we lived forever. Others claim that there is no need to worry; that a supernatural being watches over all creation and will save the "worthy" ones, taking them to a special place of eternal and joy. Perhaps they are right. I see little evidence of supernatural beings who place man's wants and needs above all else in the universe, but I acknowledge the limits of my understanding. I do not have the answers to such weighty questions. What I do have is some experience facing my fears, and the witness of others who have faced theirs.

My most fundamental fear seems to be that I am separate and alone in a vast uncaring universe. In this view, my fellows seek to embarrass me and harm me because they hate me. When engaged in such thinking, I imagine that the world is against me. I imagine that I am but a tiny and insignificant fragment that by itself is worthless and powerless. To counteract this fear I act out in anger. I puff myself up, claiming to know more than I do, claiming to represent the "right" way of living so that I can rationalize my attempts to control and convert others. I become addicted to being "right". I erase my doubts by coercing you to agree with me. Often the best way for me to "convert" you is to incite fear within you, and then to offer you my "right" way of thinking as the answer. I become an evangelist of fear. When you accept my solution to the fear you have caught from me, you reinforce the correctness of my views. Your reinforcement gives me comfort for then I have company - there are two of us. Together we can incite more fear, helping to expand the circle of people who accept "our" true path. I have been caught up in this cycle so many times it is difficult for me to remember them all.

How can I fight against becoming part of such a cycle? My experience has been that fighting is not the answer. If I become fearful, angry and fight then I simply continue the cycle. The only peace I have had from this pattern is to do my best to act with kindness, even in the face of anger and fear, or perhaps especially when faced with anger and fear. If I "fight" the world's fear and anger then I become its victim. I must follow what seems to be the kindest course of action or face a life of unrest and unhappiness; a life where I despair; a life where I question the value of life itself.

Do I believe I have found the true, correct path? Of course not. Believing I have found "the truth" would encourage me to simply repeat the cycle. I likely would end up trying to make the world follow my particular view of kindness - repeating the very pattern I am trying to avoid. What others do is their business. I will not fight them. I will not ask them to pick up my fears and my way of dealing with it. And the good news is that no one can make me pick up their fear and anger unless I let them.

True, I often find myself filled with fear and anger. I often fight vainly against the world and those who hold the "wrong" point of view. As Dylan Thomas said I "rage, rage against the dying of the light", the fight for what I believe is right, fight for my life at any cost. This is only natural I suppose. Yet, when I have followed this path it has given me a "sickness unto death".

What about fighting for the life of others? Surely I must fight for social justice and world freedom. Perhaps, but I know of no case where fighting brought lasting justice and freedom. Even in societies claiming to be just and free, there is ample evidence of inequality and suffering. I have always found the idea of fighting for peace and equality something of an oxymoron. What happens to the fighters when they win? In seems the winners in any "fight" inevitably victimize or at a minimum demonize those they were fighting against. I only need to look at the political cycles in my own country to see evidence of this. Thankfully, we have not yet turned to violence; but there are those who advocate it.

What about fighting for the life of my family and loved ones? Surely I must fight those who would harm them. Surely I would kill someone who was trying to kill my grandchildren. I cannot answer such a question. I might very well kill such a person. Doing so would solve nothing. My grandchildren might live, but the grandchildren of the one I killed likely would seek revenge. Who can say when that cycle would end? I hope that I would place myself between my grandchildren and harm. I hope that the one seeking to harm them would be satisfied with my death and cease fighting. I hope that my friends and relatives would not seek revenge.

I am not saying that I chose to die. Far from it. I love life. The wonder of leaves rustling beneath my feet, the smile of my grandchildren, and the feel of air as it fills my lungs, all of it, all of the million and one little things of life fill me with great joy. I plan to enjoy them as long as possible; as long as holding on to them does not require a life of perpetual fear and anger. Why? Simply because when I live in fear and anger I cannot taste life, so in effect I am already dead. So I will hope to avoid raging and grasping life by the throat, practicing the dogmatic principle that the "ends justify the means". I hope to practice not fighting those who are different or who threaten me. I hope to enjoy the turning of the universe as it wheels on its unknowable path, and not waste time trying to control and manipulate it. I hope to cease looking for reasons to fear the thoughts and actions of others; looking instead for the kindness within them. In the words of the great Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce I hope that I will learn to "…fight no more forever."

Who Is Trash?

"It's like taking out the trash," he said.

I said, "Taking out the trash?"

"Yes. Like paying someone to do something I don't want to."

"Killing someone is like taking out the trash?"

"If they're evil, yes. Yes it is."

I could not respond. I sat across from an old and dear friend at a table in one of the finest restaurants of a large city. We had just finished a wonderful meal of sushi. As often happens when we meet, we were discussing the world and its troubles, solving each and every dilemma with the wise sagacity that comes with a full stomach. We agree on many things yet on this topic my friend's words sent a chill through me. Did he truly believe that taking a human life, regardless of the reason; was nothing more than removing garbage? To me there is a qualitative difference between taking a human life and taking rotting food, old newspapers and other refuse to a landfill.

The death penalty is a very controversial issue, but in the U.S. most states have death penalties and have used them since the Supreme Court restored the constitutionality of the death penalty in 1976. Texas leads with 464 executions. Virginia has executed 108. Combined, these two states "disposed" of over half the "trash" (572 of 1015 people) in the USA. Countries like China, Saudia Arabia and Iran execute more people per year than the U.S., but we tend to look down on them as less civilized.

I understand that we must protect innocent people from harm. However, I worry about our decision to kill people, particularly when it is done in a cold antiseptic fashion like "taking out the garbage". I say give the accused a fair trial. If they are convicted, and a death penalty is handed down, then those who support the death penalty should view the proceedings. Otherwise, we may simply equate taking life with removing garbage.

When I hide from the impact of my decisions I fail to take responsibility for them. I come to view life like reality television with an opportunity to relax and get a snack during commercials. I am not saying I would never want to kill someone if they harmed someone near and dear to me, but I am certain that doing so would make me miserable for the rest of my life. Thus I am very uncomfortable with the idea of hiring someone else to do the killing for me.

Some say that the death penalty deters murder, some say it doesn't. I don't know. Intuitively and in the minds of many, fear of death should make people pause before they commit a crime, yet in 2009, the seven states with the highest murder rates all had the death penalty. Regardless of the effectiveness of the death penalty, viewing executions as taking out the trash sickens me. I don't want to treat or see anyone as my death "trash man".

A potentially horrible outcome of the death penalty is the possibility (some say fact) of occasionally killing innocent people. The U.S. has released 15 prisoners since 1992 when DNA mapping was allowed as evidence. What if one of these had been executed? There are reports of innocent people who actually were executed. What if I was the trash man who executed one of these people? As I said, I may get angry enough to kill someday, but I am uncomfortable with hiring someone to kill for me. What right do I have to ask them to endure the suffering that must come from killing someone, especially if the someone is innocent?

Wait a second; don't I hire people to kill for me every day? Don't my taxes pay for policemen and soldiers to protect me? Don't these people have to kill others sometimes? What of them? How must they feel if they end up killing someone innocent of any crime other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time? I don't know the answers to these questions. To me it seems that killing ends up fostering more killing – if I kill you, your friends and relatives will want to kill me; if they kill me, my friends and relatives will want to kill them; on and on and on – a perpetual motion machine of death. But maybe everyone must have their own answers. If you catch me on the wrong day maybe I will view you as trash. Now that's something to think about; something to guard against. But right now it's time for green tea, oatmeal and a walk. Maybe when I am finished I will have the answer to who is trash and who isn't.

Adore Me

Please. Pretty please. Pretty please with sugar on top. Adore me. By the way, I'll adore you if you adore me. If I adore you, will you adore me?

Sometimes it astounds me how much of my life has been dominated by this kind of thinking. How many hours have I spent contriving ways to get attention? How many hours have I spent feeling depressed when I was ignored? Still, when I look around it seems that I am not alone in this perpetual desire for attention. Apparently, I live in a world that is driven to be adored and to practice adoration of others – preferably engaging in both activities simultaneously. My recognition of this fact is neither new nor profound. Oh how I wish it were. If I were the first to stumble on such a fundamental truth then I truly would be adored.

As usual, I was surfing the internet this morning. I ran across a video of someone who was lecturing on a new model for personal success. I also found a page for a consultant claims to help organizations become more courageous. I almost choked on my coffee. Both individuals clearly were at great pains to represent the proper models for adoration – money, fame, power and influence.

The model for personal success revolved around the proposition that, "You can be whoever you chose to be." I have yet to see evidence for such a remarkable claim. Quite the contrary, I see many people bravely living within the real world constraints life places on us. Ed is a friend of mine who has cerebral palsy and this places limits on his "success". He can "choose" to be free of cerebral palsy until the "cows come home" as we say in Arkansas. It will have little effect. He can, and indeed has, chosen to be a warm and caring person despite his difficulty. Unfortunately, this type of victory often is overlooked by those selling books or programs that claim, "You can be whoever you want," or "The only limits to your success are your lack of will and proper planning." Ed does not model the wealth, power and beauty required for recognition much less adoration in the world of personal success consultants. His is a world they (and most of society) would rather ignore.

The "courage" consultant claimed cliff diving as evidence of his braveness. His site says that he has dived many times from a cliff over 100 feet high. I am sure the experience was exhilarating but for me this is evidence of foolishness not courage. The courage I admire is shown by people like my friends David, Tom, Tony and Barry. David is fighting for his dream of a new life in a strange city, despite the challenges of being abandoned at birth and spending years in state institutions. Tom, Tony and Barry have often put their personal lives on hold to reach out and help others. They have given freely of their time and money to help others. I don't think David, Tom, Tony and Barry have jumped off any cliffs lately, but their courage is the lasting kind, the kind that truly reshapes the world.

I can fall into the adoration trap when I discuss people Ed, David, Tom, Tony and Barry. Sometimes I try to help myself feel better about myself by idolizing those close to me – the old, "Look at me, I must be cool because I have such cool friends" phenomenon. Following this path can lead to problems when one or more of my friends fails to act like an idol; when they fail to act like the object of adoration I want them to be. It is healthier when I see them as they are with all their strengths and weaknesses loving them not as imaginary monuments of perfection like Michelangelo's David, but as jabbering little naked apes like me. Making them into objects of adoration leads to blindness and fosters the illusion that I cannot be happy unless I also am adored.

If I adore anything these days, it is life itself. When asked how I am doing I often say, "Loving life and living large." I also tell friends "there are worse things than death". The seeming contradiction of these two statements confuses some people. To me they are in perfect harmony. I love life because there are worse things than death. Often I look around and see people living in constant fear of death; to me this state is worse than death itself. I try to focus instead on the simple joys in life: the leaf I found on my walk this morning, the feel of cold air on my skin, feeling my legs carry me quickly toward my morning cup of coffee, the hug I got yesterday from one of the best friends I have ever had, the joyful anticipation of writing these words. I adore these things. Not because they will return my adoration. Not because they require adoration from me. I adore them simply because they exist. I adore them because I am lucky enough to share an instant of eternity with them.

Stars and Carbon Forever

"I'll be with you when the stars start falling…" Eric Clapton, The Cream

I hurt others sometimes by simply existing. I help others sometimes by simply breathing in and out. As I walked this morning, an almost countless number of carbon atoms bombarded me. Some of them were shed yesterday by friends and family around the planet. I inhaled some. Some became part of me in a process that has been going on since before the beginning of the idea of "time" as it exists in my carbon based brain. Sometimes I forget this simple fact and feel very, very alone. I can treat others as objects in an attempt to overcome this sense of loneliness. When I do this I become an object.

Recently, I mistreated someone I love deeply. I would travel back and undo the act if this were possible. Unfortunately, I cannot. Hope springs eternal, but I must accept that for now I am locked in the eternal present. I must feel the pain of having caused pain in another, accept it, and try to be more conscious in the future.

Perhaps someday I will be free of my brain's notion of time. Perhaps I will experience the freedom of a carbon atom; no longer seeing myself as separate from life but always as an integral part of it. I will not ask my fellow atoms about their politics. I will not ask them about their sexual preferences. I will not ask them about their god. I will pass from form to form; perhaps be buried for eons as part of a limestone cliff; perhaps fly into space to become part of a star; perhaps to become part of some creature or place I have never yet imagined. Regardless of the destination, and whether or not I will be conscious of it, I will be one with all the other atoms on a timeless journey. What an exciting adventure that will be.