So, some of you might not read T. Thorn Coyle’s blog, but you should. Check the blogroll.
Her second most recent blogpost -5.28.08- was actually as a guest blogpost for Jason Pitzl-Waters of The Wild Hunt.
But yeah…you should read it. Though it doesn’t necessarily focus on issues at large facing men-who-love-men, it’s still really good.
Check it out: Community Vision
“We are all longing to go home to some place we have never been — a place half-remembered and half-envisioned we can only catch glimpses of from time to time. Community. Somewhere, there are people to whom we can speak with passion without having the words catch in our throats. Somewhere a circle of hands will open to receive us, eyes will light up as we enter, voices will celebrate with us whenever we come into our own power…Someplace where we can be free.” -Starhawk
Seems like no matter where I am, I’m longing for home. Not my dorm at school, nor my parents’ house on Long Island, but some kind of life where I’m surrounded by (or have easy access to) people with similar dispositions. Queer people who shine bright. Men, women, third, and fourth genders reclaiming their roles as mediators, artists, magi, sacred sex workers, and teachers. And deathwalkers.
I’m greeted with so many images that run contrary to this…that make it seem much further away than it really is. Our refusal to disassociate with the dominant heteronormative paradigm results in internalized homophobia and a misunderstanding of what bonds between us really mean.
A lack of community leads us to wander the Village at 3 am, staring at one another, hoping for conversation or, perhaps, less. It leads us to being followed for 6 blocks, a strange guy grabbing your ass at every turn. A realization that whatever you’re searching for, you won’t find it here.
I’m trying to replace my disillusionment with ambition. Starhawk’s quote, I’m sure, rings true for many more than myself. And it seems that, no matter how wrapped up in maya (illusion) I get, I’m always brought back to that purpose of mine. Fostering community.
Near the end of my last relationship, I pulled some cards on my options and was confused by the 9 of Wands that crept up. In my Cosmic Tribe deck, it signifies owning one’s place in a Community. It took a few weeks, but I began to get the hint that, perhaps, putting all of my emotional eggs in one basket (as fuzzy and well-built as that basket may be) was not going to suit me at this time in my life. That maybe my desire to be desired, my desire to share love and affection, would be better put to use in a wide circle of people who care for one another. I don’t think it’s polyamory as much as it’s a re-orienting of my priorities.
So, I have a fucked up, depressing experience the other night and stumble across this quote today. I revel in “coincidences”. Here’s to a summer of understanding what it means to be of service in a community setting.
Oh, and on concerning the last post, I’m pretty sure of what I’m going to do, but definitely have to wait till I’m out of the house to do the work.
He tells me that Mom’s been having some trouble at work over the past couple of years. That there’s been some serious conspiracy shit going down around her medical case against the toxic chemicals they use for an annual polish or something. Chemicals whose fumes have caused my mother to get very sick on more than one occasion. So sick that one time, she had to go to the emergency room. The company’s doctors say that her symptoms – nausea, trouble breathing, itchy skin – were psychosomatic as their studies “have proven” that these chemicals cannot have that affect. My mother’s hair, fallen out in the sink, has said otherwise.
My Dad sits in the room next to me – making calls to journalists, doctors, and lawyers. It’s been a two year struggle, he says, and both the union and management seem to be in on it.
It’s the longest period of time I’ve stayed at my parents’ house since I was 19. Our relationship has changed since my teenage years, though I generally limit talk about myself to school projects and the grand world-shaking ideas and theories I’m known for. They’re proud of me – a high school dropout going to college, a nice guy, innately spiritual – but conversations about love and heartbreak, people in my life, real dreams and goals of mine, my spirituality, and what I’m ACTUALLY studying at Hampshire (which is much more than just “theatre”) none of us dare to breach.
I can handle it, though it saddens me sometimes. I feel like there’s so little they actually know about me and my passions. The three year hiatus (which has gotten considerably more familial over the past two semesters) was necessary for healing our bond. But hearing about about things I wasn’t around for – my family’s struggles and hardships – is both difficult and saddening.
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” I say. And as far as they know, there isn’t.
“The cherry trees will blossom next month,” said Rachel as she walked Nick home after school. Long pale legs complete with the calves of an avid runner brushed against the branches of bare shrubs. Adidas sneakers snapped twigs on the path. They took this route home everyday: exit through the music teachers’ lounge, down the hill, across the basketball court, and through the woods. A path worn down by at least a decade of small town teens in-the-know led to a creek that could be crossed over along three planks of rotting wood. On the other side lay the suburbs.
Rachel had shown Nick this path a few weeks before last Halloween when they were paired together for a class project on Long Island’s ecosystems. They spent the remainder of that autumn by the creek taking pictures, funny-shaped rocks, and soil samples. “Is this place a secret?” asked Nick, hoping he was being let in on something special.
“If you want it to be,” said Rachel nonchalantly, her face buried in a whole at the bottom of a tree. Nick had never had any real friends before Rachel. He was tall – awkwardly so – and had a lisp he just couldn’t seem to shake. As a freshman, he was coaxed to join the basketball team by guys he’d longed to know since middle school. Needless to say, tryouts were a tragedy.
Rachel was his first. She also was a loner, but not in the same way – a phenomenon Nick struggled to make sense of for himself. There was something different about the way she held herself when the popular kids walked by in the hallway. There was also something different about how they treated her. She somehow escaped their radar completely and was never a topic of conversation. Insomuch as Nick still had to take gym class with the burly boyfriends of popular girls, he managed to come up every once in awhile.
“Faggot!” Jarrod screamed across the quad one morning after the first bell. Tanya fell into a small fit of giggles, pushing her rowdy boyfriend into the building with a miniscule amount of chiding. “Be nice!” she said, clutching her purse as she disappeared beyond the door.
Rachel didn’t wear makeup. She kept her hair short and a thin layer of blond fuzz covered her legs. Nick stared at them, believing them to belong to some prehistoric creature whose remains Rachel must have found during her excursions along the creek. Nick wanted to find legs like those, but the most interesting thing he’d found so far was the sharp piece of blue glass he cut himself on last November. Rachel handed him a band-aid from a distance.
“It’s only blood,” taunted Nick, believing himself to have found a weakness in the girl who seemed so far to lack any.
“Yeah, I know. Ever heard of AIDS?” asked Rachel.
“Of course I’ve heard of AIDS. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Blood, stupid,” said Rachel as she got up from the ground and dusted off her camouflage pants. “You should get tested.”
“What?” asked a perplexed Nick. “You’re crazy.”
“Um, no. You are.” Rachel was cold to Nick for the rest of the day, or at least that’s what he thought. He even looked on the Internet, hoping to find a place where he might be able to get tested in the area. But the nearest one was three towns away and about a mile from the train station. The incident faded into the back of his mind.
“I hate cherries,” grimaced Nick as he trailed behind Rachel. She seemed not to notice him until they reached the creek. As they approached the new planks Rachel had lay down herself the week before, she peered across the flowing stream and sat down on the banks.
“Who put these here?” asked Nick. “I liked the old ones.” It took a while for Rachel to respond and when she did, it wasn’t at all what Nick was expecting.
“You never think about the future,” she said.
“What’s there to think about?” asked Nick.
“A lot. Like what’s going to happen to this place when we’re gone. What’s going to happen to people like us. What’s going to happen to you.” She looked at him for the first time since leaving the school.
“Why, what’s going to happen to me?” asked Nick.
“I don’t know,” she almost whimpered, burying her head inside her hoodie. “I don’t know.” Rachel quickly stood up and crossed the bridge.
My semester ended somewhat roughly and after three days and traveling through 6 states, I find myself back in my hometown catching my breath (sort of). Here’s what went down:
Thursday - Handed in my final portfolio for a class that was desperately trying to beat the crap out of me all semester, despite the fact that I loved it so and cried for mercy numerous times.
Saturday – Turned 22 amidst the clutter of a room and campus in mid-pack for the summer. Come eve, frivolity did in fact ensue (I’ll leave the details to your imagination).
Sunday – Headed up to Wendell, MA with Karin, my wifey, to help her move into her summer internship cabin at the most adorable little farm run by a lesbian separatist couple “who returned to the land in the 70s”. Um…that’s friggin’ amazing.
Then we drove to her Dad’s in Bushkill, PA, stayed the night, and on…
Monday – Drove down to where I’ll be interning this summer — Four Quarters Interfaith Earth Sanctuary — in Artemas, PA. I had my first camping experience on a beautiful piece of empty land under a bright full moon that illuminated the area. It truly signified a completion for me.
Tuesday morning we dropped off most of my stuff in the dorms and headed up to our hometown on Long Island where we’ll be staying until this weekend before departing to our respective crunchy internships.
Needless to say, I’m in a transition period (which, if you know me at all, spells CATNIP). Hence, the 6 of Swords image at the top of this post. The card’s symbolism speaks to more than just my travel to PA in a few days, but to this time in my life. It’s the first time I’m going to be surrounded by lots of Pagans and the first time I’ll be in semi-wilderness for an extended period…and my last summer before graduating from college.
That whole “what’s my purpose?” thing is kicking in hardcore and I’m hoping that a summer exploring both my independence and my place in a Pagan community will be fruitful. And I’m thinking that time away from a college town (spelled “boys”) will be good for me too as there’s a couple of things — patterns, habits, etc. — I’d like to put in check before letting myself get swept off my feet again.
Despite of the hard physical work I’m expecting to do this summer (and some leftover homework), I’m definitely hoping to strengthen my practice. This goes especially for those techniques that are directly tied to the natural world, which I’ll be surrounded by. I hope to post a lot more “magickal” stuff, a lot more pictures, and a lot more about my daily life as it won’t be filled with humdrum papers and e-mails for a while.
Feel free to send some light my way for a safe and healthy arrival. Much thanks in advance.
Oh, and keeping me company on this journey is the novel I’ve been wanting to read for about a year now — Neil Gaiman’s “American Gods”. WOOT! It’s bomb. More about that later.
