Within Me

I touched the rock
    Upon the mountain
To know of its strength

I picked up the pearl
   From the mouth of the clam
To gain knowledge of patience

I breathed deeply
   The tender breeze
To understand how to be gentle

I drank slowly
   The calming water
To understand how to soothe

I  observed the toddling child
   Who loves without question
To understand how to love

But the thing I didn't observe
   And all that I seek
Is within me
Ready for my call.

Seeing Beyond the Spoke to See the Wheel

Quite often in life (the small amount of life I have experienced), I have found myself questioning why things happen the way they do. Why was I, of all my siblings, the one to be gay? Why did the bullies pick me to haze and torture? Why was I the one to suffer from depression to the point of wanting my life to be over and for my heart to stop beating? Why was I the one in my family to not serve a full-time mission (two years for the LDS church), come home early, and question the family faith? Why did all of this happen to me and leave me suffering?

In the previous post, I quoted from a book called Think on These Things, in which the essays/talks of Krishnamurti have been translated and published. In the essay "Freedom and Love," Krishnamurti is talking about life and our need to understand it. He says, "You must understand the whole life, not just one little part of it. That is why you must read, that is why you must look at the skies, that is why you must sing, and dance, and write poems, and suffer, and understand; for all that is life" (25). To Kirshnamurti, everything about life is in the experience and in understanding of every single part of it.

In the same essay, Krishnamurti talks about seeing life like a wheel. He says we try to understand the wheel through one spoke, but that one spoke doesn't make up the wheel. The same can be said of life. We try to understand life through one single event, but one event, one moment of suffering cannot explain what life is and what is meant for us.

All my questions amount to singular events I am trying to explain life through and question why I was chosen to suffer. What I have come to see through the words of Krishnamurti is: why NOT me? Every event in my life has brought me to this moment in time. I am who I am because of the experiences, the sufferings, and the events in my life. I am the man who I am blessed to be because of each spoke on my wheel that allows my wheel to turn. So, the new question I ask is why NOT me? What am I going to learn about life that will free me someday from the cycle of suffering?

As each new sun rises, I will "read," "look at the skies," "sing," "dance," "write poems," "suffer," and "understand." I will sing praises to the universe for every experience. In my attempt to understand and live freely life, I will strive to see the wheel and not just a single spoke. Namaste.

Changing Yourself for the Comfort of Others: When Changes Cease to Be Necessary

It has come to my attention that for the sake of others, I change things about myself, my mannerisms, and even the way I write to appease others. I'm not completely sure why I do it. Perhaps, it is a coping mechanism that I have developed from years in the closet. I have a tendency to make others feel comfortable, even at the expense of my own comfort.

When I was in one of my fiction classes, I was writing a dark fairy tale. I had it all planned out and I was excited to write it. I used the voice of the narrator in a southern accent throughout the story, dialogue, and all. When it was reviewed, my professor told me the way it was written was confusing and since I'm not a published author, I can't just write a story the way I want to because I have to prove that I can write first. In addition to this, my professor told me she doesn't like fantasy, so I needed to make it more reality based.

In spite of my desire to keep it the way it was because I knew that it would be a great story, I changed the story to a dark story about a murderer neighbor and only left the dialogue with the accent. (I still didn't understand why my narrator couldn't narrate in her voice, accent, and all. After all, Mark Twain wrote like that and now David Mitchell, in Cloud Atlas, did the same thing.) I changed my story for the comfort of my teacher and the story lost its flow and wonder.

In the book Think on These Things, the writings and essays of Krishnamurti, Krishnamurti is discussing education, knowing yourself, freedom from conforming, and other subjects. In one of the essays, The Problem of Freedom, Krishnamurti writes:

The function of education, then, is to help you from childhood not to imitate anybody, but to be yourself all the time. And this is the most difficult thing to do whether you are beautiful or ugly, whether you are envious or jealous, always to be what you are but understand it. To be yourself is very difficult because what you think you are is ignoble, and if you could only change what you are into something noble it would be marvelous, but that never happens whereas, if you look at what you actually are and understand it, then in the very understanding there is a transformation. So, freedom lies not in trying to become something different, not in doing whatever you happen to feel like doing, nor in following the authority of tradition of your parents, of your guru, but in understanding what you are from moment to moment (11).

Krishnamurti is saying that it is important to know yourself and to understand what you are. In education and in other aspects of life, we should not want to be anybody else but who we are at all times of the day. We free ourselves when we refuse to become someone other than who we are and knowing who that is.

This is the problem with changing yourself for the comfort of others: you take the flow and wonder from life and from the beauty of difference. In changing yourself, you allow the world to change you at its pleasure. You become a chameleon; you change your appearance to protect yourself and to appease others. By changing yourself, you conform to the standards of others. If we all conform to a standard, the differences that make us beautiful and wondrous, become monotone and drab. Don't change yourself for others. You are a diamond and you are perfect. Be your difference and shine for all to see.

There Was a Time, But Times Change

There was a time in my life when I would wake up everyday feeling like the world was crushing me under its thumb. I felt like with every step I took I was being pulled into the quicksand of life. During these times of my life, I would pray to God, everyday, to take me home, to crush me under a rock, or run me over with a car. I would beg for everything to be over with. I couldn't stand being. With every breath I breathed, I felt my lungs burn inside of me. Every time I looked at myself, I would sneer in hateful derision. I was nothing and I felt that that nothingness needed to be snuffed out. And there were times, when God didn't answer me, I tried to take the life and snuff it out for myself. I wanted my light to stop shining.

There were times in my life, from the time I was thirteen years old to barely six months ago, that life seemed to be burdened with my existence in it. But something has happened to me. I am not sure, as I have written many times before, what has happened. The abyss no longer craves the blood that flows through me and the darkness is quelled by the light that shines in my song, my voice, and in the words that bleed from my veins. I have changed, though probably not in the way that my family has thought the change would come.

Years ago, I was talking to my mother about life and the challenges that plagued me. I was talking about the darkness that surrounded me. (I know the pain that I felt was felt by my mom; she and I have always been so close. The closeness must stem from the bond that she and I have shared since my conception. I would call my mom one of my best friends and I think she would agree with me.) During our conversation, she told me of an experience she had while she was praying. She said she was praying for me and praying that I would be okay; she said she was praying that I would find joy in life. And she said she received an answer to her prayer. She said she heard that I would be okay; she knew that I would be happy and find joy because of the answer to her prayer.

She and I, however, have different interpretations of the answer to her prayer. She knows that the answer means that I will come back to the church, marry in the temple, and find joy in raising a family. While that is a very beautiful interpretation of the answer to her prayer, I have told her on different occasions that that answer doesn't mean I will no longer be gay. I have told her that my joy in life may reside in something other than how she and my dad have found their joy in love and marriage in the temple.

No matter the true answer to the interpretation of the answer to her prayer, I believe I have started to walk the path that will lead me to be "okay." I know the path I walk on is taking me to joy and love and peace. God is answering my mom's prayer. Life is taking me down a path that I don't know the end to; of course, I don't know that there is an end, but life has me walking down this path and my head is held high. The days of wanting God to crush me under His thumb feel years behind me. The times, when I wished for life to take the energy and the body it had given me and snuff out the light in me, seem to be just figments of illusion.

These days, I walk with my candle burning bright for the world to see. A smile comes easily to my face. A laugh leaps to my throat for all to hear. A song resides in my breast and sings for all to hear. A spark of life dances in my eyes like the twinkling light of the stars at night for all to witness. These days, though I know death is coming, I don't rush headlong into the fray hoping for death to take me. These days laughter is what I crave. Love is what I need. And life is the most exciting and brilliant adventure that I find myself racing with to a brighter everyday. Namaste.

I Am Second Class No More

Tonight, something happened that has forced me to evaluate my standing in the bubble in which I live. Mind you, tonight's event was not the first time I have been forced to see life and my placement in it, but it was the catalyst to make me want to change my standing.

I was at some friends' apartment and we were just sitting around hanging out. One of my friends received a text saying their other friends, co-workers, were coming over. The other friend told me that I wasn't going to get along with one of the people that was coming over, so we should go somewhere else; however, I like to think I am a tolerant person. I was wrong unfortunately.

It all started out just fine, but then the phrase that makes me angry was thrown around; "That's so gay" was used one time too many and I got up and put my shoes one. I walked toward the door and said, "Ya'll need to realize that there are gay people in the world." I opened the door and slammed it behind me.

I should have listened to my friend when he told me I wasn't going to get along with their other friends. However, as I thought about it, I was brought to the conclusion that my energy and those two people's energies needed to meet. We needed to come together and clash. My outburst needed to happen because they were not taking into account the many different kinds of people that exist. They weren't taking into account that saying "that's so gay" is derogatory and hurtful. Although it is a colloquial way of saying something is stupid, it is substituting the way a person identifies themselves for something that someone considers stupid or dumb. Those two men needed to understand that and I needed to stand up and say something.

I have stood by for much of my life, being the whipping boy. I have stood quietly as other students have called me fag, faggot, queer and, yes, gay. I have refused to be confrontational and, in refusing to stand up, have simply continued on in my role and my standing as the whipping boy. I have refused to say anything to my family, to my friends, to co-workers, and to complete strangers. In doing so, I have refused to stand up and say that I am equal. I am more than just a joke. I am more than a homosexual. I am more than the man you see (or don't see, as is the case with my blog) standing before you and wanting to be noticed. I am more than skin and bones. I am more than just emotion. I am more.

In my life with my family, now, my life consists of work and solely that. I used to be a student and, therefore, they were able to add one aspect to my life to the small talk when they asked how I was doing. I remember a time, quite vividly, when I went with my little brother to see my grandma. We were sitting in the living room of her apartment near the St. George temple. Stephen sat in one chair and I sat in another. Grandma turned to me and asked me, "How is work?" and then followed it up with, "How is school?" After I responded, she turned directly to my little brother and said, "How is dating life? Are you dating anybody new?"

It was a direct slap in the face. I knew that my life would never be the same the day I told my family I was gay, but I didn't know that knowledge of my life would be limited to work and school. I didn't realize I would never be asked about people I was dating. I didn't realize I would become a second class member of our family.

When I was visiting my brother and his family in Eagle Mountain, we were contemplating watching a TV series with James Roday in it. One of my nieces came up to me and said, "Micah, do you know James Roday?" I told her that I knew of him. She then asked me if the actor was dating his co-star, the female detective. I told her that I wasn't sure, but that I didn't think so. She then got a serious look on her face. She said, "Is he --?" I knew what she wanted to ask me, but waited for her to finish her question. She looked at her feet, stomped and said, "Is He G-A-Y?" She couldn't bring herself to say the word. I told her that I didn't know, but then said, "You know, you can say the word." She told me she couldn't bring herself to say it and she had a look of disgust on her face. It hurt.

I know she is still very young. But I also know she knows what is going on in the world. I know she knows what the LDS church teaches their congregations about homosexuality and about being tolerant of us. However, I know the feeling she is feeling towards gay people because at one time in my life, I felt the same way. It took me years of realizing for myself who I am and learning to love myself rather than hate myself that I could understand life.

I try to understand the reasoning behind my family not wanting to know about my dating men, but my understanding does nothing to soften the blow in the moments when I am reminded of my status within the family social grouping. I am reminded in these moments that I am second class. I am reminded of my path to hell in their eyes. I am reminded that because I am gay, I will be separated, per their beliefs, in the life to come; they will be in the Celestial kingdom of heaven and I don't know where I will be. I will have a second class status in the afterlife as well.

I understand that, living in Utah Valley and Utah state, I am second class. I am an outcast. I am a black sheep. I understand people don't understand homosexuality except in the context the Bible has given to them to understand it as a sin and an abomination. I understand that, because of that naivety and that lack of understanding and tolerance, the people have a hard time seeing that people that are unlike them exist. Because of this lack of knowledge, they make comments that offend and hurt, and, though their comments may not be of the intent to hurt, it does not negate the fact that it still does hurt.

Tonight, however, I am deciding to take a stand on being silent and refusing to let the world (and myself) see me and other homosexual people as a second class citizen. I am refusing to let people use "that's so gay" in place of something that is meant to mean stupid. I am standing up for me and people like me. I will not be a second class family member and I will not be a second class citizen. I will stand up and I will say, "I am here too."

I don't deserve to feel second class anymore and neither does anyone else in the world. We are equal and we should treat each other as equals. Abraham Lincoln said, in the Gettysburg Address, "Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal." Let us not treat our neighbors, friends, family members, or complete strangers as second class citizens because "all men are created equal." Namaste.

Finding Comfort and Joy in Sangha and Dharma: A Prayer of Hope for my Loved Ones

It is a true act of love and support for any one of us to do the opposite of what we currently believe to show support for what our loved ones believe. Today, I am blessed to be tested in my support of my nephew who, at the age of eight, is being baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My own views of life and spirituality have shifted from the days of my childhood. Life has given me a different way to see the world and the way I see organized religion. However, as I talk about my own disdain for organized religion, I see the need for the community of belief and faith.

In Buddhism, the community is called the sangha and is a necessity for the seeds of faith and belief to grow and flourish. It is a place that is meant to share, communicate, and discuss the teachings and beliefs or the dharma of those who went before us. So, this test for me to enter, or re-enter, the Mormon sangha is an immense test, but I love my nephew; I have decided that in spite of my own beliefs, he is important and I would rather he believe in something than wander in a darkness of disbelief and confusion. I am happy for him though I no longer fully believe as he believes.

As I sit here in support, I am trying to remember how I used to believe and I am trying to remember the day that I was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. But memory escapes my grasp. My parents and one of my sisters say they remember my confirmation. They say I must have really been feeling the Spirit of God because I was weeping and they have never seen an eight year old cry like I was. It makes me wonder what feelings I was really feeling that day. I wonder if it was the Spirit or if it was something else entirely. Like I said, however, memory remains a fog of forgetfulness and mystery; the mystery, I suppose, will forever remain.

In spite of my lack of memory and my disdain of organized religion, I have a deep residing hope today that my nephew may retain his memories of this time and I have a hope that the God he believes in, as his Heavenly Father, will keep the promises given my nephew in the form of blessing, given to him through my brother. I have a hope that he can continue to believe and live a life that is free of suffering and pain. I know we all suffer, but may his and all my other nieces and nephews' lives be as free of pain and suffering as possible. May their lives be full of the promised joy and happiness through their beliefs and hopes. And may they be blessed with their memories, so they may walk through those memories with constant remembrance, free from the foggy banks of mystery. Finally, I hope they embrace the sangha and the dharma of the Church and may the dharma and the sangha of the Church embrace them back, keeping them in that embrace. Namaste.

Write On: Writing for the Pleasure and Joy of Writing

"I want to sing like the birds sing, not worrying about who hears or what they think." These are the words of Rumi, a poet and Sufi mystic. As I contemplate what he said and I ponder my writing, I wonder what are my true intentions in writing. Is it the pure joy of writing, not caring who reads it or what someone reads? Or do I want to be heard,  editing what I say so that people will read it and understand?

I was just thinking about why I write the other day; I was asking myself why I keep writing if so very few read what I am writing. Truth be told, I think my ego is seeking the notoriety of being a writer, a philosopher, and a free thinker. My ego is seeking recognition for the things it thinks up. So, I, for a time, have been writing to appease my over-inflated ego.

Now, however, as I think about Rumi's quotation, I want to be like the bird and, instead of singing (though singing may be just as cathartic as my writing), I want to write for the pure joy I find in the release of frustrations, anger, stresses, negative emotions, love, joy, and other positive emotions. I want to write what needs to be written for the healing release of emotion and pure thought energy. I want to write as though I don't care who is reading it and without a care as to what they think about my content within my penned words.

There are people I have heard state that laughter is the best medicine and, while I agree with this statement because there is nothing like a good laugh, I would add that there is nothing like the cathartic and medicinal release of scripted and penned words in the release of emotion (positive or negative) in a harmonious and non-violent way. The written and harmonious words can lift and enlighten not only the writer, but it can also give release and awareness to those who happen to stumble on your words.

To Rumi's words of " I want to sing like the birds sing, not worrying about who hears or what they think," I would add that although the bird may not care who its audience is or what they think, the harmonious song the bird sings affects the listener in ways the listener may not have expected. The same can be said about the writer; he/she may not care for the who or the what, but the reader may become affected by the words and continue on with their day in heightened states of thinking and being. So, I say, "Singer sing on. Dancer dance on. And writer write on." Namaste.