Ghost Ranch Hike
I communed
with spirits today--
some may say
with ghosts.
I saw echoes of O'Keefe
in the New Mexican red, purple hills.
I climbed Chimney Rock with Russell,
a lost artist I hope to find in me
who will perhaps speak through me one day.
Another ghost strode ahead of us,
Resolute, Resplendent in intellect and art.
I rushed forward to reach him
as he spread himself thin
among the snowy clouds.
Georgia offered a rare smile,
one so often trapped in her wealth of wrinkles,
and took my hand.
A War Poem
Bloodthirsty ancient God
Is your lust for death yet appeased?
The dispensation of animal sacrifices passed,
under this new epoch of grace, why do you hunger still?
Living and dying by the sword
we embrace the vengeful God of antiquity--
that wrath filled relic--
And we tread under foot the blood of Jesus,
the Feminine Christ who labors to birth a revolution of Relationship.
Georgia O'Keefe in New Mexico
He called you a bitch,
like he knew you--
like he knew what motivated your artist heart.
If you were a man, they would call you
eccentric, particular, genius.
You wanted space, a room of your own,
Solitude,
and he calls you a bitch--
Diva maybe, but not bitch.
You wanted privacy to keep prying eyes from
your infant works.
Isn't every mother protective of her young?
The Work of Worship
In the Quaker meeting for worship we gather in silence.
We must labor to enter into stillness though.
Put aside burdens and concerns,
the "could have said" and "should have saids"
Unlike most who worship in
churches
mosques
synagogues
Quakers do not have leaders to instruct us.
We look to the Light within, the Teacher within.
We must bring our minds back from wandering.
Be like John the Baptist and go to the wilderness.
We then give each other and ourselves
the GIFT
of stillness within.
Then we wait, listen and speak out of that stillness
Scholars
The Lavender Language Conference
American University, Washington, DC
Queer socio-linguists and anthropologists
swap theories on how language oppresses and liberates
(sometimes at the same time).
They dig and dip and dive into the fray of Egyptian gay men's pronunciation and the use of female pronouns when
addressing each other.
They explore homophobic speech among Chilean men and
the use of speech acts by poor, lesbian African-Americans (in order to stave off welfare cuts so
a daughter can go to school instead of work)
Scholar-as-activist.
Each wears the role differently, unsure of how to disseminate the work
(like delicate dandelion floaters or
molotovs thrown into the classroom, through the TV screen, into the heart of America?)
Their theories, their ideas, their passion, stir my artist heart
to save our country from the madness that grips common sense and
mutates Southern hospitality and
poisons Christianity.
Rich Kiamco
Being an invisible double minority,
as a boy, Richard purchased a sewing machine
and began to
design.
By high school he made all the prom queens' dresses to the dismay of his conversatvie, Mid-Western parents.
"Richard, why don't you want to be a doctor?!?"
On stage Rich creates new worlds and recreates old painful ones that he fearlessly revisits, even as they break his heart.
His healing hands, hearty laugh and quick smile propel him into human arts with a generous sprinkling of the divine.
He is quickly becoming the most visible invisible person I've ever seen.
Bookends
As a boy, I had a pair of ceramic football bookends. On the outside of each football-half, a player displayed his prowess. One was charging with a small football and the other was kicking another ball.
Our life gets separated by BOOKEND-LIKE experiences. These are life experiences that reoccur in a similar fashion months or even years apart.
For instance, you may be a parent and remember the moment when you held your first child (or a niece or nephew!) Years later you may hold your first grandchild (or grand-neice or nephew.)
The events are similar, but the person having them experiences years of living, relationships and knowledge in between. Life offers repeat opportunities where we have a chance to relive the joy of a first time or get to do things differently the second time around.
In the Bible, we see a bookend experience with Peter when he first meets Jesus. Peter fishes all night and in the morning heads toward shore exhausted without a catch.
Suddenly, a carpenter instructs Peter that he should drop his nets on the other side of the boat. Although pissed off, Peter does it. Amazed at the huge catch, he realizes that this carpenter, Jesus, is no ordinary man.
Some years later, Peter once again goes fishing. He just witnessed the execution of Jesus, after having denied his teacher three times.
Dejected, Peter fishes all night and again catches nothing. A man on the shore instructs Peter to drop the net one more time. Peter does and hauls in a HUGE catch. At that point Peter realizes that it is Jesus sitting at the shore and rushes to him.
Their reunion includes a crucial bookend experience for Peter. Three times Jesus asks Peter "Peter, do you love me?" Could it be that Jesus gives Peter a chance to redeem himself for each of the three times he had denied his teacher?
I don't know what bookend I am up against at present. It's my birthday this month (a BIG ONE). I will see an old friend after many years and much living and changing on both of our parts. I wonder about that reunion and what we will repeat and what we will do differently.
Regardless of what side of the bookends, I feel grateful and exited for the priviledge to live, love and create beauty.
Lynn J.
Lynn J., a fellow Quaker, exudes beauty and light.
Her flawless skin--rosy, porcelain--reminds me of a soft English rose I once photographed on a rainy February day near Oxford train station.
Delicate
Silky
Hardy in all sorts of weather.
She once faced bitter betrayal,
and even her body plays cruel tricks on her
as she leans on her walker, shaken by MS.
Her peace testimony soaks her bones, upholds her smile and propels her from bed (even when her body pins her undercovers)
Her face responds to suffering, not by growing hard and sallow, but miraculously exudes more beauty and light each day.
Coming OUT
Age seven, I spent the summer at Sasha's Boutique amidst
the purses
and antiques
and costume jewlery.
I would play with Sasha, the cat
and talk to my cousin Grace who owned the store.
Amazing Grace.
Could she tell how much I wanted one of those purses?
I loved that place so much that now I own the building
The Activist Poem
(from "Queer 101", a theater piece I wrote for HS students. The character, Chad, ends the piece with this poem)
You wanna be an Activist?
Change the World?
Be yourself -- without apology and without shame,
walking hand in hand in public with the one you love
knowing that is a loving act of
Protest.
You want people to change?
Laws to change?
A global trasfromation into a shimmering butterfly society?
Then You must change,
be yourself
be Real
Knowing that the most powerful activists in the world
are those people
who are
unashamedly
Themselves.
Huntsville Quakers
On Sunday, while I was in Huntsville, AL for a performance, I attended the Huntsville Friends Meeting (Quaker). The gathering met in the private home of a lesbian couple. In fact, I was the only male in a group of 14 worshippers. I loved the way the women made room for everyone, being certain everyone had a seat, even people who hadn't yet shown up.
We sat in a rich silence for 60 minutes. In the middle of that silence I centered myself and thought I'd be real spiritual and let the "Light" search me out and do some work in me.
Here is the result:
In my mind I constructed a prayer, "Lord, I am open to see what is wrong with me."
Out of the silence I heard, "Friend, let me show you what is right with you."
