Happy National Coming Out Day: A Time to Celebrate Who You Are and Not Fear

Today is National Coming Out Day. It is a day where people get to tell the ones they love that they are gay. It is a day that is possibly seen as a bane to existence for the extreme conservatives and a blessing to the liberals. But no matter what your views are on National Coming Out Day, I for one am very grateful that there is a day that can make people of the LGBT community feel less and less broken and more and more part of the conversation.

This first part of my post is the horrendous feelings I had about being gay because I was raised as a member of the LDS church and, as a member, was taught that being gay was a sin. The complex range of emotions that I have suffered through are, in part, because of religious belief and my desire to go to Heaven rather than to go to Hell.

Here I lay, tied to the mire,

And unable to break free of it

For fear that nothing will remain,

And that I will no longer be.

The muck, I have grown accustomed to

And the aromas that linger around,

But to be reminded daily,

Suffering the anguish to know

That if I break free of my chains

I will forever remain undesirable;

Forever remain broken and dirty.

I cannot be reminded daily

That by my simple existence

I am

And will always be one.

The closest I will come to home

Is nowhere near it at all.

By simply being me,

I remain a failure:

The black sheep.

By following all I feel inside,

I remain a sinner.

Since I was a child, the church and my parents talked about the importance of a temple marriage. A family forever, who wouldn’t want that?

            The goal of getting to the temple became a dream of mine. I dreamed of the day when I would take the one I loved into that enormous palace built for the God I loved with all my heart and marry not just for this world, but the next. I dreamed of my future children meeting the one they loved and all of us living and loving together for eternity.

            My dream just had some contingencies on it. If I wanted my dream to come true, I had to change how I felt about men. I had to live a more perfect life and to continue on living a lie to gain access into the temple of God.

            I told my parents when I was thirteen years old that I was gay. I remember asking Mom and Dad if I could talk to them. In their room, they had their king sized bed with a green silk comforter on the top of it and hand stitched into it were roses and clouds. In the very center of the comforter is the Manti temple—the temple my parents were married in.

            In front of their bed was a chest of drawers finished in a black stain with silver handles and knobs. Above the dresser, in a golden frame, was a picture of the Manti temple. The two domed edifice of a cream colored stone on a hill top surrounded by green grass and flowers watched over the room.

            Pictures of the first presidency and Jesus Christ with the words “Come unto Me” stitched and frame were hung on the walls. I felt safe in the confines of their room. It felt like home. It was home and what better place to reveal such a damning secret than in the confines of a warm and welcome home.

            It was Sunday. The cloud speckled blue sky added to the reverence I felt that day after Sacrament meeting, Sunday School, and then meeting with the other deacons. I didn’t feel that I could pass the sacrament that day because you had to be worthy and I was gay and therefore couldn’t be worthy of handling the blood and body of Christ.

            Mom sat on the bed next to me. She was dressed in a red dress; brown nylons with a run up one side of her left leg; and a cream colored cardigan. Her blonde hair ratted in the back and hair sprayed to give it more volume. The grey roots showing through at her part. I have always told her not to dye her hair because she is gorgeous with her grey hair too. She, however, is self-conscious of her grey hair, mainly because people used to ask Jaclyn, Stephen, and me if she was our grandmother. I could tell that that bothered her, so I could understand why she would dye her hair. She is beautiful either way.

            Dad sat in the arm chair kiddy corner from the bed. It looked like a throne. He wore a button up, long sleeve white shirt without a tie. He always took the tie off when we got home from church. He wore black slacks and black socks that he would roll back and forth, on and off as he sat in his chair.

            Mom gave me a side hug and held me close—she has always been able to tell when something was wrong. Dad sat across from us with his arms folded above his protruding stomach. He just waited for me to talk.

            Mom’s hug gave me no courage; the hug only made me feel more nervous. I looked down at the taupe colored carpet and at my feet. How would I tell them my secret? I prayed for courage to tell them. As the butterflies in my stomach got stronger, my tongue loosened. “Do you guys know how the guys at school, on the bus, and at church call me fag, queer, and gay?” I began. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mom bite her lip and nod. Dad looked me in the eyes and nodded.

            “Well…” I hesitated and could feel my throat tighten up. “I think I am gay.” My voice caught on the last word.

            Mom hugged me closer to her. She felt, at this point, like she had a vice grip and was not going to let one of her babies go. She wiped at the welled up tears in her eyes with her free hand. I could feel her breathing grow more rapid and her heart beat louder and quicker.

            Dad still didn’t say anything. He looked at me and Mom. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking; I could feel what he was feeling. The only noticeable change was how fast he rubbed his feet together and across the carpet. Also, he moved his arms from folded to placing them on the arms of the chair.

            After a slight pause which felt like hours and made my heart begin to race, my mind began to reel with questions, waiting for Dad to say something. Is he going to kick me out? Do they hate me? Am I salvageable? Will the Atonement of Christ save me?

            “Son, what makes you think that?” Dad asked, now with one arm behind his head tugging on his dark brown hair.

            “I like some of the guys on the football team,” I said.

            “Liking them doesn’t make you gay, Son,” Mom said.

            “I don’t just like them Mom,” I said, “I think they are cute.” I felt embarrassed to tell my Mom something so personal.

            “Son, you know that Satan is making you have these feelings right?” Dad said, matter-of-factly. “These are not natural feelings and this is Satan’s way of trying to keep you from returning to God.”

            “I know Dad,” I said, “that’s why I am telling you. What am I supposed to do?” I started to cry. I could feel the warm tears run down my already reddened cheeks. I hate crying because boys aren’t supposed to cry. None of my brothers cry.

            “Well,” Dad began, as mom held me closer and wiped at my tears and her own, “we need to talk to the bishop, so you can repent and start back on the right path and then if you are willing, I know someone who just graduated with his master’s degree in psychology. If he will take you as a client, will you go up and see him. We can get it fixed before it gets any worse.”

            “Okay,” I said more out of a hope that Dad and Mom wouldn’t hate me or be disgusted by me.

            “I’ll call him tonight,” Dad said, “and we will make the appointment for this week. He is up in Provo, but it will be worth the drive. If we can stop this feeling before you act on them the happier you will be. I’m proud that you would tell us Son. We want you to be able to come to us whenever you are feeling those feelings, so we can help you get rid of them. We will pray, read the scriptures, play a game, whatever it takes.”

            I smiled at Dad, at the word “proud.” I didn’t often hear Dad use that word, so I felt that I was doing the right thing.

            Mom’s tears stopped, but her hugging continued. “We love you Son,” she said, “We want what is best for you and just want you to be happy. And we know what brings happiness.”

            “Let’s kneel down and pray together,” Dad said as he roused himself from his chair and began to kneel down. Mom and I followed his example.

            “Our kind and gracious Heavenly Father,” Dad began, “we are grateful for all of our many blessings. We are grateful for Micah and his willingness to follow in the paths of righteousness and his kind and gentle spirit. We ask Thee to please bless him, Father, that he will be able to fight these feelings he is having and to continue to want to fight the feelings. Help him to fight off the devil’s temptations and the minions of the devil so that he might return to Thee with honor. These things we pray for, if it be thy will, in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”

            Mom and I echoed, “Amen.”

            When we got up, Dad gave me a hug and patted me on the back. Then Mom hugged me to her breast tightly and said, “I love you.” She wiped her eyes.

            “I love you too,” I said.

            I smiled and walked down the hall to my bedroom. I closed the door and picked up my scriptures. I am not sure what I read, but I remember feeling a warm feeling in my chest. I knelt down and prayed for the feelings to go away and the burning in my chest increased.

            That experience was the last time for years that I felt so close to God and the burning in my chest. After that, I looked into an abyss of darkness and tears. I would go through the fires of Hell trying to rid myself of being gay.

            The following Wednesday, Mom pulled me out of class and she and I drove in our bright blue Aerostar van from Carbonville to Provo. We drove through the winding roads of Spanish Fork canyon, passing herds of Elk and spotting a few white tailed deer. Aspen trees and pine trees flew behind us as we sped past them. We listened to Chris Heimerdinger’s Tennis Shoes Among the Nephites series on tape. Mom asked me how I was doing and my simple response was, “I’m okay.”

            I wasn’t okay. How was I ever going to be okay? In the span of three days, from the Sunday I told them to Wednesday, things had changed. I felt numbness. It was like my body was on auto pilot and my mind was on vacation. I don’t know where it was, but it was far far away, possibly on Judea’s plain.

            We reached Provo at about 4:30 pm and we reached Scott’s office at 4:45 pm. off in the distance I could see the Provo temple. It looked like a carrot cake with a big carrot stuck in the middle. I was reminded of my dream of eternal marriage and families forever, before I walked into Dad’s friend’s office.

            It was a brown building on Freedom Boulevard next to some trees behind a fence on the left and an ambulance garage on the right. The hospital was off to the right a distance away. Mom would always remind me that Utah Valley Regional Medical Center was where I had my kidney surgery when I was four.

            I walked up the carpeted creaking steps and to the left. Dad’s friend was waiting for me. He had Dad’s build, with a protruding stomach, plaid shirt, slacks and a tie. The only thing that made him different from Dad was his vest he wore and he was bald on top of his head. He looked like those monks you see in pictures with the bald head and hair on the sides.

            He extended his large hand and with a deep voice said, “Hi Micah, I’m Scott. It’s nice to meet you.” He also stuck out his hand for Mom and said, “Hi Bonnie. I’m going to just meet with Micah by himself. If you’ll just wait here,” motioning towards a leather couch, “we shouldn’t take too long.”

            Mom took my hand and squeezed it, then, letting go, she sat down. “I’ll be right here Buddy.”

            Scott took me into his office. To the right was a brown leather sofa that crinkled as I sat down on it. Scott’s desk was littered with books and papers. A lamp in the corner was the only source of light in the room besides the dimming sunlight coming through the slated shades on the window. A tall bookshelf with books and books galore decorated the wall. Scott sat in a leather arm chair with thick wooden legs to support his weight. Several fake green plants and trees were scattered around the room. It was quiet in the room, but not uncomfortably quiet.

            “Your Dad has already talked to me a little bit,” he said, “about your problems and issues. I want you to talk a little bit about what’s going on, and then I will ask you some questions.”

            “Okay…” I started. I had no idea what to say next. What did Dad already tell him? What had Dad said about me? What does he think of me? I felt dirty and I felt betrayed. This stranger knew my dirty, sick secret. I knew I was coming here to talk about it, but Dad had already told him. There was emptiness in the pit of my stomach like when you are starving and can’t find anything to eat.  I felt sick and didn’t know how to keep telling him what I needed to tell him.

            “I’m gay,” I said, quickly and in whispered tones. He didn’t laugh at me, didn’t kick me out, and he didn’t point and mock; he just sat there. He looked at me and just waited for me to continue. “I’m gay,” I said a little bit louder, “and I don’t want to be. I know that it is not natural and I know that God doesn’t make mistakes. I know that Satan is making me feel this way. I don’t want to be gay. I want to get married and have children. I want to go to the temple and be a family forever. I want to die and go to heaven and not go to the fiery pits of Hell.”

            My thirteen year old form started to shake as I started fitfully crying. I hoped and prayed that my mom couldn’t hear me. The tears rolled down my face and the snot streamed from my nose. I grabbed for tissue that I hadn’t noticed was there before. I wiped at my eyes and blew my nose.

            I continued on, my pre-pubescent voice cracked as I spoke, “I’m afraid of looking at myself in the mirror because I hate who I see. I hate looking at the faggot looking back at me through the same wired frames that I wear. I hate seeing the sinner and knowing he is me. I avoid looking in the mirror whenever possible. I cry after I pray at night wondering why I haven’t felt God’s warmth ever since I told my parents. I don’t want to go to school because the boys at school don’t like me. They always call me queer, fag, fudge packer, and whatever else they want to because the teachers never say anything.”

            I wiped at my eyes again and looked down at my small hands, remembering what Stephanie Simmons said after measuring from the base of my palm to the top of my middle finger, “You know what they say about small hands?” she laughed. “Small hands, small penis.” She and her friends laughed. I just hated myself even more.

            I looked up from my small hands and kept talking, “I hate my girly voice that is so high that some people think I am one of my sisters. I tried on one of my sister’s bras the other day to see what I would look like as a girl. It was ugly. I was ugly. I’m not a man or a woman. I’m a thing. I’m ugly and God hates me because I am gay. I will never get married in His temple and He will send me to Hell.”

            I began sobbing. The idea of doom grew stronger and stronger as I continued to talk. I continued to dwell on the teasing and my own personal hatred for myself began to grow.

            “Do you think God hates you that much?” Scott asked. He looked at me with sympathy and pity.

            Is he expecting me to answer? I asked myself. “Yes…I mean no…I mean I don’t know. The scriptures don’t seem to show much love and kindness for the people of Sodom and Gomorrah. He burned them up and they were gay. That’s what they say happened to Sodom and Gomorrah, so if he burned them for being gay, won’t he do that to me?” I looked at Scott with complete seriousness.

            Scott looked at me and said, “Yes, that is true, but the people of Sodom and Gomorrah were unrepentant sinners. You want to change don’t you?”

            “Yes.”

            “Then you aren’t unrepentant and God is not going to destroy the unrepentant. So, let’s work on the processes in your mind that will help you change the way you think.”

            “Okay, what do I have to do?” I asked eager to change.

            “It’s not going to happen right away and you will probably fight these feelings for the rest of your life.”

            “Really? Then what is the point in fighting them? Why not give up?” I was becoming physically drained and broken.

            “Because you want to change and you want to be righteous, right?”

            “Yes,” I stammered.

            “You want to return to God with your family and live forever right?”

            “Yes!” I almost screamed it.

            “Then you have to keep fighting. You have to endure to the end. It will be worth it. What’s that saying?” he thought to himself, “Oh yes, ‘I didn’t say it would be easy. I just said it would be worth it.”'

            Immediately, I thought of the picture of Christ with his arms outstretched with that saying underneath him. “Okay,” I said, “I’ll try.”

            Scott looked at my hazel eyes and said, “Do or do not there is no try.” He smiled and I smiled thinking of Yoda, that cute little green man who is very wise, but speaks funny.

            “I want to see you twice a week for a while, and then we will cut back to once a week, and then when you are ready, twice a month. Is that going to be okay?”

            “I think so,” I said, “but we should probably ask my mom.”

            “Okay,” he said, “But one thing before you go, I want you to pray and read your scriptures every night. Okay?”

            “Okay,” I said. I already planned on it because in order to get a good grade in seminary, I had to read my scriptures every night. However, if that was going to help me not be gay, I was going to try that much harder.

           I continued to pray and read my scriptures, but my attractions for the guys at my school weren’t going away. They just seemed to be getting stronger and fiercer. Why wasn’t it working? Why wasn’t God fixing me? If I do everything that God asks of me, will he cure my disease? Will he fix me?

           I have yelled so many times inside, Some people get tried with small sins and mine is going to send me to Hell if I don’t endure to the end. My demeanor and outlook on life changed. I saw an angry and cruel God that was like a child with an ant farm. He was playing with a magnifying glass, making us writhe in agony in the magnified glare of the sun.

            I wore two faces very well. I learned to take one off and put the other one on without hesitation. I became two people though with one soul. My soul was torn between the two desiring to be one person all the time.

                                                                              *  *  *

          Now, for the "It Gets Better" part of my message. For those of you that suffer through the self-hatred and distaste for the person you see in the mirror, I am here to tell you that, after years of suffering, we become the pearls that we are meant to be. 

          There is a lot of hatred and cruelty in the world because of a lack of understanding. However, there is a movement going on in our nation and in the world where there is more conversation going on and more people caring about understanding.

          Today, as contrary to the past experience and contrary to my feelings expressed in my coming out story (or rather part of my coming out story), I am a stronger man because I believe that I am who I am without mistake or error. I am stronger in my beliefs in life and I am seeing beyond the formative years and living a life I was meant to live. The universe has a plan and we are all part of that plan--gay and straight alike. We are luminous beings that are full of love and beauty.  

          I guess what I am trying to say with this post, in spite of how some of it may appear, is that it does eventually get better. We learn to surround ourselves with the people that will love us in spite of how they think we should be living our lives and love us for us. We become forces for change and forces for good if we allow ourselves to learn from the past and live for today. If we can keep going and "endure to the end"(if I may borrow the phrase I so often heard in church), the rewards of life and love will be endless. We always have suffering no matter where we are in life, but the love that we can experience will balance out the suffering if we let it.

          Don't be afraid this day to be you or any day after today. Be you and don't let anyone make you feel inferior to the pearl or the diamond that you are. Be all you are meant to be and more. Live your life and shine on into the darkness that threatens to make you despise you and the life you live. Shine on and shine bright. Namaste.

Engaging in Simple Conversation: How a Few Questions Can Change a Person's Perspective on Love and Life

I took two weeks of paid vacation in September and because I don't have tons of extra money, I wasn't able to go on an extravagant vacation to Hawaii or a cruise to the Bahamas. I was, however, able to go and spend two very busy but joyful weeks with my family in St. George. Today, I must share one of the best moments of my vacation. Though there were many special moments to chose from, including a surprise birthday party, this moment sticks out the most.

Some of you may not consider a vacation defined by babysitting; doing yard work; and just spending time with your family. But, I had a great time and enjoyed every minute of my time with my family. I even enjoyed being taken care of when I got sick the first week in. Every moment of my time with my family was wonderful and felt like a break from what has become the norm; a break from the norm is a vacation for me.

During these two weeks, my little sister, Jaclyn, who is always looking for ways to improve her home, wanted me to help her with her front yard. The grass has died and she has grown to dislike what has become of her front yard. So, we dug up grass; moved rocks; planted new plants; and had a good time working together. She seemed very grateful for the help I was able to give her; though, it wasn't a lot of time.

During the last day of helping her, we were pulling up grass to add edging and a walkway from the front door to the driveway. We started talking about life and the paths we took. Jaclyn asked me if I wished I was on a different path and regretted where I was in life. I told her that we all have things we regret in life, but why regret what is? I cannot change the paths I  walked and I don't regret the path I walk because it has brought me so much joy with some pain. I told her that I still believe in God and Christ, but the Church's (the LDS church's) sway has been lost on me.

The next things that came out of Jaclyn's mouth almost made me cry. These tears were not tears of sorrow but of joy. Jaclyn asked me if gay marriage were ever to become legal in Utah, would I ever marry. To which I responded that currently, whether it's legal or not, marriage was not an option. I stifled the tears that threatened to flow because I hate to cry and look all puffy and gross after I do cry; so, I avoid crying at all costs.

That was not where the conversation stopped. She surprised me when she asked if I was dating someone. I again had to stifle tears to respond that I wasn't seeing anyone. I was taken aback by her broaching of the topic. Very rarely, if ever, does my life extend passed friends and work. The gay aspect of me is never discussed. It is taboo. Part of this sexlessness or lovelessness to my life has made me feel less than and broken. But the fact that someone I love actually asked about dating and marriage with me made me feel human and made me feel unbroken. I was part of the conversation that touched on the outward aspects of me. The conversation with Jaclyn approached and touched on more of, if not all, of me.

I turned to her and said, "Jaclyn, I have to thank you for asking me about this. I think you are the only one that has asked about my life beyond work and friends. So, thank you."

She said, "I was just talking to James (her husband) about this the other day. I said that just because you chose a different path than we did doesn't mean that you don't deserve to be loved too." I almost couldn't breathe.

Our little brother is getting married in October and shades of depression have been coloring my mind because I never thought I would be able to share my love with my family and that made me feel very alone. But this conversation with my sister, has sparked a new sense of home and a new sense of belonging that I had previously felt excluded from.

I must say thank you, again, to my little sister for allowing this simple conversation to make me feel like I belong; to make me feel more complete; and to make me feel love. Who would have thought that understanding and engaging in conversation would or could spark this flame within me. Thank you little sister. You have done more in two simple questions than you could ever imagine. Thank you for loving me unconditionally. I love you. Forever and always.

"Know Thyself": A Step to Letting Happiness Find You

"Know Thyself." The ancient Greek philosophy, that has sometimes been attributed to Plato, has been going through my head ever since I read the words of Krishnamurti from his book The First and Last Freedom. Krishnamurti talks about knowledge, happiness, and pleasure or gratification. Krishnamurti says we are all seeking something, but we will never find that something if we don't, first, know ourselves and understand how we think.

I've been trying to come up with the reason why the Ancient Greeks, like Plato, and Krishnamurti would both say versions of the same philosophy of knowing yourself. Why is it so important to know yourself? Why is it through knowing yourself that you would understand the world and have a chance to heal the world? What is it in knowing yourself that would make philosophers, distanced by thousands of years, come to the same philosophical conclusion?

The one thing that I can attest to, in knowing myself and understanding my own thoughts, has been in aiding me to have a tool to overcome depression. In knowing how my mind thinks and how my mind focuses on the negativity and its own selfish thoughts, I am able to approach each moment with the awareness that this thing or that thing someone said or did has the potential to send me careening off the path filled with happiness. However, in understanding my thoughts and knowing myself, I am able to re-think situations and change my reactions to them before I react.

If this is true for this one small case, how can I apply this knowing myself to other events and occurrences in life? How can knowing myself influence the actions of others and the other things in the world--war, famine, strife, hatred, murder, etc.? I think the biggest thing that I have noticed is when people see the change in you, they begin to question the change and how you came to the happiness that resides in you for knowing yourself. Your influence is infectious. Your influence makes others want to experience the knowledge of themselves for themselves. More and more people discover themselves and influence others. And the cycle continues on and on.

In knowing myself and daily overcoming my depression(without pills), I have had family and friends, who have known my struggle and have noticed the change, have all asked me what has changed. In the past, I have been unsure of the answer, but now, the new answer I am giving is I am learning to know myself. It may sound simple but I will testify that it would be easier to climb a mountain without climbing gear than it is to ever come close to knowing yourself. I will tell you, though, that it is definitely worth the journey so far. And may the journey continue on. Namaste.

The Darkness Works Hard, But I'll Work Harder

It has been so long since the darkness crept up on me; I almost didn't recognize the darkness when it touch lightly at the synapses. It is a good thing to know the darkness, once, like a lover, has faded into the back of my mind and has not resurfaced. However, today was the day that the darkness saw its chance to hook itself back into my memory and it made an attempt to take over.

The darkness takes hold with the most minutely negative thought. Today, I watched a video of a proposal that occurred in a Home Depot in Salt Lake City. It was a beautiful and amazing proposal with family and friends dancing to the song "Somebody Loves You" by Betty Who before the very sharply dressed man proposed to his boyfriend. The proposal was very touching and almost made me cry; however, thinking about the fact that someone doesn't love me like that was the moment the darkness grabbed onto me and resurfaced. And when I say resurfaced, it was with no-holds-barred attack on my senses.

It started with a slow blue feeling. I know most people have felt blue, so if I use the word blue without describing it, most people will know the feeling. Then, the darkness, like Novocaine, slowly starts numbing me. I can feel my limbs become heavy; the muscles in my face refuse to allow a smile; my heart beats slowly; my lungs refuse to fill; and my synapses are firing negativity through my brain so quickly I don't know how to stop them. And finally, my vision refuses to focus on anything; all I can see is a dimming of my senses and a bleak future comes into the imaginations of my mind. Now, the abyss has opened its maw.

In these moments, sometimes it seems easier to just let go and free fall into the abyss. At these times, it seems easier to let the only love you have ever known, the darkness, to take over and give you the sweet, numbing caress you had lived with for so long. At times, it is easier to say adieu to the world and begin the decent. However, I have known the caress of the light, of happiness, of the love of life, and the darkness doesn't seem so appealing. I have had small fights with the darkness for control in the past and have won. This time, though, the fight was a war.

However, as I struggled to free myself from the hooks the darkness had in me, I found myself looking for the small moments in my life that have signaled the joy of love and the joy of partnership. I began to see the inconsistent lie the darkness was trying to use against me about my inevitable life of loneliness and I was able to say to myself that I am not alone. I have family, friends, and the occasional romance intertwined in my life. I may be alone right now, but that loneliness will change because change is an inevitability. And I finally began to feed the positive seeds of truth that have, in the past, been neglected.

As I watered the positive seeds of truth, I  noticed a change in myself and noticed a release of the hooks that the darkness had grabbed me with. It was a slow retreat and I can feel at the corners of my mind its refusal to go. However, the positive seeds that are being watered are beginning to strengthen and enliven my body. To the darkness I say, "I refuse to let you take over my life like you have in the past. I am stronger than I was and I deserve the happiness of the past eight months to continue on and on and on."

I know that all of us struggle everyday with some aspect of the darkness. We struggle for control of ourselves with regard to eating, drinking, smoking, self-loathing, and all the vices that make a negative impact in our lives. The negativity that surrounds us everyday tries to take all of the nourishment and refuses to let the positivity grow and enliven, but if we force feed the positive seeds of truth and refuse to give the darkness any acknowledgement, we will become strong and fearless. We will not fear the advent of the darkness when it threatens to reappear. We will stand up and shine our lights for those in the darkness to see and know that they too can overcome. So, shine on and shine bright because others are in need of your light to guide them. Namaste.

Don't Worry, It's Just Stuff: Attachment as the Root Cause of Suffering

The other day, I started to notice a pattern of behavior that was beginning to border on a compulsive disorder. I have begun to repeatedly check my car door to make sure it is locked. I would be halfway to the entrance at work or the store, after having already checked once or twice, and I would feel the need to turn around to make sure the car door was locked/ Because my car door locks are manual, I have to go back to the car to check; I don't have the button that makes the horn beep to tell me it has locked the doors. I have found myself checking three times and about to go back for a fourth time. The fourth time I catch myself and force myself to keep walking, saying to myself, It's locked. Don't worry about it. Keep walking.

During one of these moments of forcing myself to keep walking rather than check for the fourth time, I was forced to ponder on the cause for this compulsion. I've never noticed it before and was concerned as to the cause. Am I developing another illness to replace the depression I have been free from for months? Another illness to overcome is far from what I need right now...at least, in my opinion anyway.

In meditating on the cause of the compulsion, I was reminded of the words of one of the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism. The Second Noble Truth states that we suffer in this life because of, among other things, attachments. The light bulb, like in the cartoons, clicked on. I experienced my "Aha" moment. I realized my constant need to check the locks of my car stems from my fear of my car being stolen or my fear of my wallet and CD's going missing. My suffering and compulsion was developing all because I was attached to material, replaceable items. That attachment was making me fear those material possession's loss and that fear mutated into this compulsion.

Now that I know the cause, I am able, with deep inner struggle, to keep walking and not double, triple, or quadruple check the locks. I force myself to keep walking because I know what the problem truly is. Knowing the problem is easy. However, fixing the problem is like pushing a wheelbarrow full of rocks up a hill; pushing the wheelbarrow takes strength and endurance, but the feat is feasible.

When we begin to know ourselves better and attempt to understand our minds, we begin to become more complete. A person who knows and understands his/her own mind is a person on his/her way to freedom and to endless possibilities. That person can look at behaviors, understand them, and do what is necessary to be free from those behaviors. That person begins to know truth and know the universe because they are part of the universe and the truth. And knowing truth and the universe is a gift of freedom no one can take back. Namaste.

Overcoming Negativity at Work: Meeting Coworkers as Though You're Meeting For the First Time

At work, there is a lot of politics, gossip, backbiting, and other negative aspects that make going to work unbearable because each new day is not necessarily a new day. Each new day is a seemingly endless day. The same politics, backbiting, and gossip happens, but it is simply just another day. Each day gives the illusion of eternal day because nothing seems to change. And sometimes it seems impossible for me to break free of the eternal day until, I hope, today.

In Think on These Things, Krishnamurti is asked a question about forming opinions of others. To the question, Krishnamurti answers:

We have a screen of ideas between ourselves and another person, so we never really meet that person...If you say, "I know that person," you may be totally wrong, because you know him[/her] up to a certain point, or by the events which took place on a particular date, and beyond that you don't know him[/her] at all. So what is important is to meet another human being always with a fresh mind, and not with your prejudices, with your fixed ideas, with your opinions (87).

Krishnamurti is saying it is important to meet people without our preconceived notions and opinions that have developed from day-to-day events. We don't ever really know the person we think we know because we have formed opinions from things that happen in life and don't allow ourselves to continue to get to know them. We assume from this event or because of this prejudice or opinion the person IS that person and nothing else.

The same can be said of the thinking we know the people we work with. We try to work with the same people day after day after day, having formed opinions of them from this event or that event; this rumor or that rumor; this opinion or that opinion. But when we do this, we only see the person/coworker for what they did yesterday or what someone said they did and we see nothing else. These fixed opinions of a coworker do nothing but harbor ill feelings for your coworkers, and an unhealthy coworker relationship has begun to develop.

However, (and I'm going to add this to the philosophies I want to live by) if we can greet our coworkers as though we are meeting for the first time, the preconceived notions or opinions will break the cycle of the endless day; will make working much less of a chore; and, at times, allow you to have more compassion and love for those you work with.

This philosophy sounds like a chore and it sounds impossible. However, as we begin to practice making each encounter new and important, the chore will become reflex like breathing in air. With a daily tabula rasa, each new moment becomes unique and the compassion you gain for your coworkers will make working with them worthwhile.

I will strive, from today on, to release and erase the events of the past that have formulated my opinions of others including my coworkers. I will begin each new day with a tabula rasa. And I will strive to make each new encounter like it is the first that will allow me to know the real person beyond events, opinions, and rumor. Namaste.

A Dream Worth Dreaming

When I sleep, the dreams my mind allows me to remember are full of death, destruction, disaster, pain, and all the negativity it can bring to the surface. I'm not sure why these dreams are the ones I remember most. Perhaps they are remembered because they startle me awake, but I am not sure. So much of what the mind can do is a complete mystery to me.

However, there is a dream that I remember in which I was happy and in which everything that was around me was suffused with positivity and light. The dream filled me with the most immense sense of love I have ever felt in this realm of reality. That statement is saying a lot since my life has been infused and saturated with so much love that saying a dream left me feeling more love than all the love I have already felt is an oddity. How can a dream make me feel so much love, a feeling of being welcomed home and a feeling of being in safe harbor?

I will attempt to describe the dream in the best detail I can, but dreams become wisps of thought that dance or fade away like a mist. I fear I will not do the dream the justice it deserves in description and feeling. The dream, however, deserves to be told.

The dream began with me looking out onto a sea of emerald. The waves of grass danced with the gentle breeze of a warm summer day. I felt the gentle caress of the wind on my face; I relished in its touch and breathed in the perfumes the wind brought with it of sage, grass, dirt, and wildflowers. As the wind caressed my face with the tender touch of a lover in moments of intimacy, the sun blanketed me with warmth and light. It was like the perfection attained by nature on days when you feel like you can let nature show you her loving caress and embrace.

A voice, distant at first but growing nearer, waltzed with the breeze and the sea of emerald grass as it alighted on me and kissed my eardrum. "Micah," it sang, as the voice kissed me, "Micah, come to me." A gentle laugh of pure joy followed the voice; the laugh was a laugh of innocence and pleasure.

I knew the voice; it was one I remembered not just from memory, but I remembered it from deep down, from bone, cartilage, and blood. The voice made my heart leap at its sound, at the notes of its song made me find simple pleasure in them and grin. I know that voice, I thought. But as I looked over the waves of grass, I couldn't find the source of the voice.

I walked in the direction from where I thought the voice had come. I waded through the sea of grass and wandered into an island of wildflowers surrounded on all sides by the emerald grass. The bright yellows, fuchsia, tangerine, lavender, sapphire, and other colors assaulted my eyes with the splendor of their beauty. I stood, halted in place, in the island of wildflowers. I was unable to move because my body didn't want to leave the island behind. But the voice, again, kissed my eardrums and broke the spell the island of flowers had on me. "Micah," the siren song crooned, "Where are you? I want you here with me." And I, following the siren song, continued to wade through the grass beyond the island.

I don't know how long I waded through the expanse of emerald, but I soon came to see a crystal blue lake; the water was so clear, I could see the bottom of the lake. The gentle breeze that caressed my face did nothing to mar the glass-like surface of the lake.

At a short distance from the lake, a summer home stood erect. It was a simple home with a white exterior and a covered porch. Because of my distance from the house (and apparently, because even in dreams my eyesight is poor), I couldn't see any more of the features. However, I could see a form, a person, walking on the wandering path that lead from the house to the lake; the path led to a wooden boat dock I hadn't noticed before that stuck out into the lake.

As I looked on, the person walking toward the dock looked up and, seeing me, waved. There was something in the wave I recognized. Everything in me desired to be with that person. My legs, seeming to have a mind of their own, began to run toward the lake but mostly toward the person that every part of me seemed to know and crave.

The distance between us, though short, seemed to be miles away. But the distance would not stop me or tire my limbs. No force in the world would stop my forward motion. As I drew within range, the person, now I could see him, had a smile on his face that brightened his visage and made everything around him that much lighter. His dark brown hair shifting in the breeze and his deep blue eyes sparkled with happiness. His arms were open wide to receive me. There was no other place I desired to be than with him in those outstretched arms.

My heart beat sped up as I neared him and my limbs ached for those open arms to wrap me up in their strong embrace. As our two bodies collided, I knocked him to the ground with me in an embrace so strong, so needed and so full of love. I couldn't remember an embrace as necessary as that hug.

We laughed as we tumbled to the ground, feeling no force of momentum or gravity as we hit the ground. Nothing was more important than the two of us and no pain could come close to diminishing the immense love that was shared between us. The love I felt was no familial expression of love, but the love of a partner or lover who has been long separated from the other. It was like the holes that had been experienced and suffered through were finally filled. I felt complete.

Words at this point seemed unnecessary and futile. He was with me and I with him. Everything else seemed to fall away into insignificance. After we held each other for a while, our lips met in a passionate kiss. His lips on mine and his arms wrapped around me, gave me a strong sense of home and love.

After what felt like only a moment, but was more like hours, we rose and hand in hand walked to the edge of the dock. We sat and dipped our feet in the crystal blue water. He place his arm around my waist. I leaned into him and our heads touched. Then, I woke up.

I don't know if this was a glimpse at a past life or a glimpse at a possible future life, but I know that as I live life (and, whether I want to admit it or not, search for my one) I have been given a glimpse of the possibility to love another man and receive love in return. And when love comes, it will be as a dream I dreamed. I will be complete and whole and loved. Namaste.