the consequences of something simple

Last night my partner and I had dinner with a couple friends who have been heavily involved with grassroots organizing around same-sex marriage. We talked about an uptick in being called faggots on the street (often by teens and kids, and only once by someone who had an obvious mental illness), which we've noticed since the election. Our friends verified that not only is there anecdotal evidence of this (and also in the news from a brutal rape of a Latina lesbian in Richmond), but studies have shown that when issues like same-sex marriage and other nondiscrimination laws are in the news, LGBT people have increased stress levels and more interpersonal conflict. Both friends described how some straight men have responded to their visible lesbianism by forcefully making out with their girlfriends (at a traffic light and at the ice cream store, for example)
During our trip to Florida, we were often in places (city streets in the daytime, the grocery store, the mall) where we didn't know who was around, and what their opinion or potential violent reaction might be. It isn't new to be intensely aware of our surroundings like this, but in this new place, we were more cautious about holding hands (which we usually do) or other signs of affection. We noticed an increase in a feeling of distance between us as a couple, and more minor irritability with each other. That was just for 10 days. It got me thinking about the subtle consequences of this. When a couple is told their relationship is unconstitutional, or they are afraid to show affection in public, their relationship has consequences. It may be more unstable, and it may feel less real, even to the individuals who are a part of it. [Which is not to say that same-sex couples, or anyone else, must be monogamously paired for life, but we all deserve to have it as an option] Also, when a vote comes down like Prop 8 against same-sex marriage, a (hopefully unintended) side effect is an increase in harassment and violence. I believe there are studies on this, but I haven't looked into it. It reminds me of some parallels in my work against sexual violence. Women are often more vigilant about their surroundings, to avoid harassment and assault from men, for example. And there are solidly researched correlations between attitudes & social constructions that demean women and the acceptance of violence against women. As I stressed with many of the fraternity men I worked with, even if you would never condone a violent act against women, when you participate in something that sends the message that women are less human in some way (telling sexist jokes, for example), the implicit message for those who are prone to violence is that you (laughing at a sexist joke) condone violent behavior.
Back to the issue of same-sex marriage: I don't necessarily have a problem with those who disagree with it (even though I do think they're wrong). I do have a problem, however, with anything nonviolent (ie relationships) that requires reinforcement through violence (ie anti-gay violence to reinforce heterosexual pairing). Isn't that what fascism was about? I challenge all same-sex marriage opponents to construct an argument that doesn't lead to or condone violence.

you can be the president - I'd rather be the pope

I'm listening to Prince's song "Pope" in honor of a new story I read on BBC. I actually don't know what the song has to do with the pope, but I like the sentiment. I have to say, it doesn't really bug me that much that he says we need to "save humanity" from "destructive" homosexual behavior and gender blurring. This is, after all, the Pope - who wouldn't allow women to enter the priesthood, for example. This is, after all, a church that has officially been built on a philosophy of separation, distinction, and duality - in which soul is better than body, man is better than woman, procreation is better than recreation. Don't get me wrong: I appreciate the philosophical and intellectual rigor that the church brings to its faith. I also appreciate a church that makes such grand pronouncements and displays concern for the well-being of humanity. I also appreciate a church so huge that the range of diversity in human practice belies the official dogma it tries to maintain.
What I find disturbing about the whole thing is the manipulation of language about creation. You only have too look around you to see the diversity of creation. It simply can't be divided into categories of 2s, in which one is better than the other. Despite what the Pope says, people who transition gender and people who create same-sex relationships (or other "non-normative" relationships) are participating in the diversity of creation. While it's true that humanity sometimes needs to be saved from itself (greed, for example, or tendencies toward violence instead of love), the Pope gets it wrong when he says that this is "auto-emancipation" from creation. Embracing love, embracing justice, embracing ethics that provide for the basic needs of all humanity - this is embracing creation. It's embracing and celebrating the joy of survival, the gift of life in a diverse and beautiful existence. It celebrates the power of joy and love in the face of an existence that is also frightening and violence - embracing the vulnerability that we share. As a Christian, I am glad to see the Pope speaking in favor of the environment, and trying to place humanity within that framework - but also as a Christian, I'm compelled to disagree with his assessment. We have inherited rich traditions that draw on the influences of other rich traditions, and it is a lie to claim that creation can be boiled down neatly into a strict and exclusive distinction between man and woman. I'm reading a book by my theology professor, Mayra Rivera, and one of her points is that our bodies are an integral part of creation, and we cannot set them apart. Our genders, our creativity, our love, our care - are all part of that creation. Some fit into categories of men and women - and many blur distinctions - across culture and across bodies. That doesn't seem destructive to me - but it does seem destructive to try to force everyone to fit into a single framework of being.

appropriation

This evening in my white anti-racist covenant group, we watched a documentary called "White Shamans and Plastic Medicine Men." I was a film by Native Voices Public Television, a Montana-based project. It was an examination of white people who practice versions of Native American spiritual practices - like vision quests, drum circles, medicine wheels, etc. It was a mix of interviews of these white people and of Native Americans. The Native Americans basically said that their religions are historical/cultural/lifestyles and cannot be borrowed or broken and sold into pieces (at least not if they will maintain their spiritual integrity and power). One must life in it, inherit ancestral memory, be raised in it, if one can practice it truly. One must be chosen by the religion to be a shaman.
It brought up a few interesting questions: who "owns" a religion or spiritual practice? what is cultural appropriation as compared to shifting culture? what can be said of the real, felt spiritual experiences these white people have when they take Native American practices out of context? Why do these people feel "hurt" when confronted with questions about cultural appropriation - as opposed to be grateful for a new perspective on a spiritual tradition they claim to respect? Where is the "line" about what's acceptable use of cultural stuff that isn't my own, and what's cultural appropriation? Why do some people feed their spiritual need by taking from other traditions instead of exploring their own?
I don't know...


Actually, that's not what I want to write about at all. What I want to write about is why someone insists on yelling "faggots" in downtown Berkeley while we walk down the street and hold hands. This person yelled it twice when we passed him, again when we went back to the car because my partner forgot something. And a third time when we passed him again, yelled "what the fuck?" and yelled "faggots" again at us. From his seat on a bench on the sidewalk - this was not a crazy person. It was a strange experience. We didn't feel threatened, and we didn't feel like it was worth responding. But there was still that twinge, that urge to duck and hide, as if it's shameful. We are lucky we live in a place where we didn't feel a particular threat, and we mostly felt sorry for this high schooler who obviously had some anger or some kind of issue that needed to be worked out.
It's funny to accumulate experiences of hateful words being thrown at us. Strange to be reminded that we're "supposed" to be ashamed. Lucky that we feel mostly safe together.
Hm...what was it my mom used to say when I got teased in school? "They're just jealous."
Maybe that's what I should think - he's jealous he doesn't get to love and be loved like we do.

humility - a quick note

Since I signed up for Facebook to stay connected with friends who've moved away, I've had a trickle of contacts from former friends and classmates from my high school. This raises a certain fear of me, because my experience going back has often been that I don't fit in or make sense where I grew up. But so many of the people who've contacted me have responded with joy at hearing what I've been up to - and quite a few have congratulated my partner and I on our engagement. Reconnecting with old friends, I realize that even though we're in different parts of the country (and maybe with different worldviews, I don't know), we all want a lot of the same thing: to love and be loved, to have a happy family, to do something worthwhile. It's humbling to see and read them expressing joy and exasperation about their kids and their relationships, just like I feel (or would feel, if/when I have kids). It's humbling to be reminded that a lot of the distance between me and them is imposed by me. I get so caught up in the differences (and pain caused by rejection based on those differences) that I forget to look for similarities.

buying the philosophical roots

Today in my "Christ, Krishna, Buddha" class, we talked about how Christianity - the theological project of interpreting, understanding, and experiencing God through (the canonical writings about) Jesus's life and ministry, in the context of the Hebrew Scriptures - about how all of that is founded on Western, Greek philosophical understanding of the world. In other words, roughly speaking, there are abstract ideals, and there is one true answer to a question, which can be arrived at be reasoning. Without that, you can't really understand where the patristic (early founders of the Christian church) are coming from. It wasn't only Constantine's political interest in arriving at a manageable empire and religous unification that created Christianity - it was more fundamental notion that there is a right answer that must be found. The early Christians were a bold bunch, fighting out what the reality of God was about. The professor raised the question: can you call yourself a Christian unless you buy this philosophical foundation? Can I discard everything in Christianity that came before (or selectively discard what I don't like) and just go on? Do you have to engage what came before? The Pope calls this a theology of continuity, as opposed to a theology of rupture. It raises another question about experience: Can I just use my experience to filter through what makes sense, and discard the rest? Because experience also has philosophical foundations - we experience everything through a framework, whether it acknowledges only one truth or multiple ones. The issue for me is that the foundation of "one truth" just doesn't work for me. I tried that (I grew up with it), and it required stretching my reality to the breaking point just to fit. At the point of tension, I went to college and learned rudimentary postmodern theory. It worked for me, because it questioned the singularity of truth. And now I can't go back. I think this is why I have a difficult time swallowing some aspects of Christianity. But then I'm not comfortable just trashing them, because they're there for a reason. Someone found truth in them. I realize that my professor's perspective isn't the only one out there. It also reminds me that, unlike my friend EJoye, I don't often love or feel moved by my tradition. It more often feels like it's something reaching out for me, but I'm not there - while I'm reaching out for something, but it's not there, either. Two trajectories crossed without touching.

EJoye also says embracing Christianity is like embracing one's dysfunctional family. I'll buy that, with a side of her quote from Maya Angelou: "becoming a Christian is a life-long endeavor."

It also brings up the Buddhist-Christian engagement of Ultimate Emptiness and Ultimate Fullness - which seem like kind of the same thing, built on very different philosophical foundations. That's for another post, I guess - because I've got four papers nipping at my heels. Actually they're biting my calves. And drawing blood.

rights & religion (yes, again)

I just finished reading an article about African-American civil rights movement in the 1950s and 60s as a religious movement. It describes the religious overtones at many of the rallies, as well as the role of churches, preachers, and prayer meetings. Most vividly, it suggests that a person could not face police dogs, clubs, firehoses, spit, and hatred from fellow human beings without a sense of spiritual purpose or millenial vision. Something about this tugs on my brain as I think about movements for gay rights and economic justice. The context is very different today: the establishment, the religious & heterosexual mass that makes up the anti-gay rights movement, has learned a lot from civil rights struggles and Vietnam War protests, just as much as those who struggle for justice have learned. But I wonder if there's something to that: have gay people lost touch (or never had touch) with a millenial vision or a spiritual purpose? I'm also reading about ways of remembering sexual experimentation and gay rights in the 1970s in relation to shame and the AIDS crisis in the 1980s. A number of older gay writers who lived through those decades sound surprisingly bitter and disillusioned. I wonder how much AIDS came to be seen, by gay people ourselves, as some sort of spiritual punishment. I wonder if religious conservatives succeeded in triggering shame about ourselves to the point that we do not have spiritual purpose or millenial vision when we seek justice. What enables us to face hatred? Or, in the context of the Bay Area, what enables us to gather as a community here against "those out there" who see us as second-class citizens?
I think the same can be said of economic justice movements - the framework of "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" and "if you don't make it, then somehow you didn't deserve to" (both significant threads behind the dismantling of welfare and social service programs - couple with the visual elements of runaway addiction and mental illness (with little social support for addressing it systemically) to create a sense of shame among homeless and poor people. I'm not sure about this - it's only speculation.
And in the same way, I wonder how a sense of racial justice, especially in the context of gay rights, economics, and shame, plays out in a similar way. Have we as a society numbed ourselves out of millenial hope for a better world here and now with an eschatological hope for heaven as the reward for those who are good?
Again, this is only speculation, but I wonder what role spirituality and moral, visionary hope really plays in the work I'm trying to be a part of.

gay Christian family values

My friend Laura Engelken posted this in MySpace, and I wanted to quote her on this. There's a lot of talk around my school about the role of dialogue and resistance : How much do I have to talk with someone else in order to "get" them to "tolerate" my sexuality and relationship? How much should I just live my life and surround myself with people who embrace and accept me as long as I'm honest, ethical, and consensual with my sexuality? How much do I need to be around people who "disapprove" of what is life-giving for me?
Anyway, here's Laura's response to an article in the New York Times:

Mr. Blow,

Thank you for your op-ed piece in the Times, "Gay Marriage and a Moral Minority." http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/29/opinion/29blow.html I appreciate that before you address how to connect with one portion of the electorate (i.e., black women), you name the fallacy that blacks "tipped the balance" on Prop 8. This racist blame game is but another way we effectively "divide and conquer" the oppressed to maintain the status quo.

However, I disagree with the assumed strategy behind your statement:
"Second, don’t debate the Bible. You can’t win. Religious faith is not defined by logic, it defies it. Instead, decouple the legal right from the religious rite, and emphasize the idea of acceptance without endorsement."

I believe the queer movement continues to avoid addressing religious faith at its peril. I say this as a lesbian Christian who spent my faith formative years in fundamentalist communities but now identify as a progressive Christian. As such, I know first hand the futility of debating the Bible with those who view their understanding of Christianity and scripture as infallable and universal. However, it is essential for those of us who understand the Bible as communicating a message of God's love, liberating power and justice -- a message both amplified and muted by the cultural contexts of its writing, development, interpretation and application -- to reclaim Christianity in the public sphere. We must shatter the ethnocentrism masquerading as divinely-ordained truth.

When individuals cast their ballot, they vote their values. I heartily agree with you that we must continue to articulate the difference between religious and civil marriage; I believe it is one key way we ensure our constitutional democracy does not become a theocracy. But if Christians, and other progressive people of faith, allow public discourse to equate "faithfulness" with heterosexism and an obligation to enforce this preferential world view -- we fail to question or challenge those who believe their values are superordinate and prescriptive to all. By not proclaiming our religious values in the public sphere - which are but one voice shaping those of the wider community - progressive people of faith allow false dualisms to claim sole authority and threaten the civil rights of any dissenting minority.

We each have our particular communities of accountability and influence. One of yours is the black community and one of mine is the Christian. Neither of these communities is monolithic - nor are we as individuals. My prayer is that as each of us continues writing, speaking and acting - we participate in our nation's progression toward more fully embracing this vast diversity rather than fearing it.

Quantum of Solace

Yesterday was the 2nd anniversary and my first date with my partner. We celebrated by going out to the Golden Lotus (where we had our first date) and catching Quantum of Solace at the Grand Lake Theater. Here's my review.
This film was a triumph of style and mood, to the point that I didn't really notice that I wasn't following the storyline. The opening titles were some of the best I've seen since The Inside Man. In fact, maybe the best opening titles I've seen - except for the rather annoying silhouettes of women that spun around in circles. With Judi Dench as M (a great casting decision), I want to move a little further away from such sexist objectification of women, please. Speaking of which, wasn't it amazing how Camille's high heels never came off during the whole airfight and parachute jump? Anyway, the visual style - a sort of mix between classic 60's hip Bond and future tech - made me want to buy white pants again. The choice of Jack White and Alicia Keys for the theme was also brilliant, fitting the style mix of hip classic and funky contemporary. Best song since Tina Turner's Goldeneye. I liked the wash of color in the settings - the whites and blacks, the tans and desert tones. The fight scenes were ballet - beautiful and funny at the same time. I picked up on some of the wry commentary on international politics - eg the British Foreign Secretary telling M "that's innuendo and supposition, and the British government doesn't make foreign policy on innuendo and indecision" (subtext: that's why Tony Blair joined Bush in invading Iraq- those supposed weapons of mass destruction). The subtle commentary about the US's involvement in Bolivia, Haiti, and other economically depressed areas. I liked the angle on 'the world's most precious commodity.' I also appreciated the portrayal of the two US CIA agents.
That's what I thought. It was great.
Now back to homework.

religion and fear

Tonight I participated in a group project that dealt with sexuality in congregational leadership. We tried to emphasize both personal reflection and leadership skills in approaching the topic with groups and communities. We tried to encompass a broad range of topics, from violence and repression to morality to education. Jay Johnson, the program coordinator at the Center for Lesbian and Gay Studies in Religion and Ministry, provided a response and his own perspective.
One of my concerns throughout this topic, and in my life, is how to talk about sex without invoking fear - fear of violence, fear from past experience, fear of God's wrath, fear of vulnerability, fear of physical risk (pregnancy, STDs, etc). Jay responded by pointing out that religion itself addresses fear: with hope and faith. Part of Christianity itself is about the impossibly hopeful, the extraordinarily faithful, and the boundlessly loving. Through that, we have courage to face our own vulnerability and model what it means to face death and fear - and maybe more than that, to face life itself. Sex is never safe, and neither is life. Maybe that's a way to start a deep theological reflection about God and sex.

here's my question of the day

I'm obviously preoccupied by a few things lately. Our church service at East Bay Church of Religious Science was packed and celebratory about the Obama presidency. The sermon reminded us about the power of hope that the duty we all have to live out our potential as human beings. At the end, Rev E compared the Prop 8 vote to childbirth: if you push too hard, you can hurt yourself and the baby. It's time will come, and you will push, and the birth will be easier, she said. It was the right proportion of celebration (and we sang God Bless America, which made a lot of eyes tear up), hope, and exhortation to continue moving.

But here's the new question I have:
What message did Prop 8 send to single-parent families? The implication is that they, too, are illegitimate, not good enough. That makes me sad, too. As my friend Emily wrote on her blog, to the children of gay & lesbian parents in the church in Riverside, CA where she was a youth pastor: "Family is not created by a man and a woman. Family is created by love, period."

About the NAACP

I forgot to say why I posted that excerpt from the NAACP. I think Alice Huffman made a succinct and incisive distinction between church and state, between morality and legality. I want to keep this in mind as I continue to ponder the intersection between religions (which are political systems) and politics (which are values-based moral systems founded on often-unspoken tenets of faith).

from the California NAACP

Here is an excerpt from the California NAACP's statement in support of same-sex marriage. The statement was about a resolution where the California chapter supported the national organization to mobilize in favor of same-sex marriage. I think this statement also deals very well with the issue of religious/moral view vs. legal concerns.

"According to the 2000 Census, there are over 600,000 same sex couples in the United States of which, 85,000 include at least one African American partner. Of that number more than 3,000 Black couples in the Los Angeles area and another 2,100 in the San Francisco, Oakland, and San Jose area self-identified as same-sex unmarried partners. These people are working, buying homes, paying taxes and, yes, raising families. Many have served their country in the military, and work in their communities as volunteers. I do know that many of the gay people I’ve spoken to are also loving parents and law abiding citizens.
The question of religion beliefs is also raised frequently. There is a separation between civil law and religious doctrine. Religious doctrine is sacred and cannot be legislated. AB 19 makes that point because no clergy is required to perform same sex marriages. Justices of the Peace, judges, legislators, ship captains and others in the secular world will perform civil marriages for gay couples.
While our freedom from slavery was a moral issue we did not win it on moral grounds but on legal interpretation of the US Constitution. The VII Amendment of the Constitution clearly states “To enforce the constitutional right to vote, to confer jurisdiction upon the district courts of the United States to provide injunctive relief against discrimination in public accommodations ….” It was not about the immorality of institutionalized discrimination and the denial of basic civil rights, but because these acts violated the United States Constitution, thus the term “Civil Rights."
by Alice Huffman, from "Why We Support AB 19, The Religious Freedom and Civil Marriage Protection Act

quick note about amendments

Proposition 8 has also illuminated a pretty messed up California Constitution process. I know that in the national Constitution, it takes a 2/3 majority of states to approve a Constitutional Amendment (remember the Equal Rights Amendment battle for women's constitutional equality, anyone?). While I'm sad that amendment never passed (though it seems that quite a few laws have been put in place to ensure a lot of those rights), this seems like a rather healthy way of amending a founding document of the nation.
California's amendment process, however, seems a little crazy. To get something on the ballot, one must collect signatures of 8% of the total number of voters in the last governor's election. And to put an amendment to the Constitution, the amendment must be approved by a simple majority of voters. Which means, as in the case of Prop 8, that an amendment - an addition to the founding document of the state of California - needs approval by slightly more than half of the population (represented by those who vote, which is not necessarily representative in the true sense). So in other words, the California Constitution has at least one amendment that nearly half of the voters of California disagree with. Don't we need a higher standard than that? This is not just a law, but the founding framework of what can be made into law.

Andrew Sullivan / blaming people of color

My partner got a forward from a friend, which started a war on email. It was an essay by Andrew Sullivan (a libertarian conservative, Roman Catholic gay political columnist who is thoughtful and sharp, but I find him to be way off on many social issues) in which he partly blames the "turnout of Obama voters" for throwing off the Prop 8 election.
Very quickly, part of the aftermath of the Proposition 8 is being framed as Blacks (and people of color) against gays. As I've said before, this is a distraction from the true culprits. I don't deny that some people of color are conservative, and many are religious. Sometimes those things intersect with being gay. But also, many many white people are conservative and religious. Why is it that they are not blame, but only those darn Black people who came out to vote for Obama. In the Bay Area, I've seen a number of prominent Black religious leaders speak against Prop 8. The NAACP came out against it (along with Samuel L. Jackson and Magic Johnson, for those of you who vest your authority in actors and sports figures). Last of all, many of the photos of "Yes on 8" celebrants look like white people to me. The Latter-Day Saints Church, a prominent supporter of the amendment, is largely a white church. I just want to say again that we need to get over this tired cliche of race vs. sexuality - and eventually get over sexuality vs. religion, too. Though that's more complicated.
Anyway, I'm basically just angry that already it's falling out like that. White privilege regularly turns white gay people against people of color, which is maddening.

election reactions / daring to hope

Here are a few reactions to the election:

1. I realized I didn't dare to pin my hopes on Obama becoming president. I didn't trust white people in particular to follow through with voting - the Bradley effect. Bigger than that, I didn't want to pin my hopes that the Bush continuity would be halted by an Obama win. So when it happened - early - and by suprise after Virginia's delegates were in, I was in a sort of elated shock. Was it really happening? And McCain's gracious but a little rambling speech was good to see (compare the crowd of his supporters to the Obama crowd, for example, and the way he seemed to be implying 'this one's for the African-Americans' as if it's not the nation itself who wins by Obama's politics). And yes, I cried during Obama's acceptance speech.

3. I realized that I have four years of prayer and worry ahead, in my concern for Obama's life. I don't trust white supremacists to react nonviolently to something like this - though I do expect the rest of us to point out how wrong they would be, and to protect everyone we love from hatred.

4. I also realized, watching the Obama family on stage, that I'm very excited about Michelle Obama as First Lady. Smart, strong, articulate, tough, independent, stylish...I'm excited to see what her agenda will be, too.

5. I also didn't quite dare to hope, given my familiarity with anti-gay sentiments, that same-sex marriage would really be allowed. Though this morning I felt a little like someone had come into my house and taken our couch, saying "you don't deserve this."

6. I felt reality this morning, after dancing in the streets of Oakland last night. The reality of anti-gay sentiment among many people, especially when it's whipped up by the Yes on 8 campaign's tactics. I feel a little chastened by the reminder, like I was too audacious to think that people wouldn't buy the rhetoric - that prop 8 would mean teachers had to teach about gay marriage (as if the amendment was about an educational curriculum) or that same-sex marriage has a negative impact on heterosexual marriage. Explain to me how my love and commitment to my partner does anything to mess up the love and commitment of my sister and her husband. I don't get it. Their marriage doesn't impact mine, except as I look to their example of 2 people who are in happy and successful married partnership. I feel like I've been put in my place for "daring" to assume that my relationship was not a subject for voter approval. I'm left where I was before the Supreme Court decision - still engaged and planning to marry my partner - but also thinking more carefully about where we can take vacations in California. Where will we face hatred for holding hands in public?

7. I am already tired of the trope that "people of color are specifically motivated to vote for Obama, and are also mostly homophobic, so of course Prop 8 won." I don't have time now, but I want to compare maps of the Prop 8 vote and demographics. It appears to me that the middle counties of California voted in Prop 8, and as far as I know, those are counties with larger white populations. "People of color hate gays" is a cynical manipulation - because some people of color are gay, first of all. I think on deeper analysis, something could be said about the tendency of white Europeans (as colonists) to project characteristics on "natives" that they feel too "civilised" to admit they have. Sexuality being one way it's been done.
Okay, enough for now.

referendum on who is my friend

I can't help but feel that Prop 8 has become a sort of referendum on who is my friend.
Obviously, on the surface, that's not what it's about at all, but the implicit message is right there. At the interfaith service against Prop 8, one of the families who gave testimonies said, "When I see a 'No on 8' sign, I know a friend has been here." And in reverse, when I see a "Yes on 8" sign, I feel a little scared. I think "here is someone who doesn't see me." I start wondering about the cars with "Yes on 8" bumperstickers while I'm riding my bike, i wonder if they'd hit me if they knew I was getting married to a man - if they would see me as the same kind of human as they are. It's all there all the time, the people who hate my sexuality and the people who don't care, but this election is bringing it out. It feels like not a referendum about a constitutional amendment but an exercise in subtle homophobia. People who may not have such a strong opinion in favor of heterosexual marriage can find - in the cause against same-sex marriage - a way to vote in their fear/hatred of homosexuality. I guess it's not so different from racism: the subtle racism and cultural conditioning are always there, but when something like an election between a white and a multiracial candidate can come across as a vote for or against the ability of people of color to be President (and aside from people with real disagreements with Obama's politics, I think there is a subsection of voters who are just vaguely uncomfortable with a President of color, or with their perceptions of his suitability). So my feelings are probably not entirely different from a person of color who walks in the world and wonders who is friendly and who believes they are stupid or lazy or whatever stereotype.
It's also a reality check. This is the Bay Area after all, a place where same-sex marriage is conceivable, compared with may places where it is not. It's a reality check that there are many who dislike my sexuality and will go to lengths to make that dislike concrete in the legal system (and some who will go so far as to commit violence - physical, verbal, and otherwise - to make their point clear). I do know that if Prop 8 passes, I will feel more unsafe doing my everyday things - more unsafe walking around, getting groceries, going to a movie with my partner, holding his hand. It's funny how it's not "just" an election on so many levels. It's gut-personal, and the anxiety levels are skyrocketing.

Muslim is the new gay

Yesterday I attended a "No on 8" church service. (Prop 8, as I'm sure you've heard, is a California constitutional amendment saying "marriage is only between a man and a woman" - and whether or not someone believes homosexuality is acceptable, I think it should be unacceptable in a democracy to write something like that into the constitution. Not only is it a removal of rights (instead of constitutional amendments to expand rights, which is more democractic), but it puts a moral code - one that does not represent the diversity of moral codes that exist among the citizens of California - into law. It's the opposite of what democracy is about).
At any rate, just after the service, I worked on some readings for my "Remembering" class. The topic was 9/11 and cultural and social (theological, liturgical, ritual) acts of memorializing, remembering, and telling the story of what happened. It occurred to me, relating my memory of the ways we talked about it in 2001 and continue to refer to it in some national narratives today, that "Muslim" is the new "gay." By that I mean that Muslim is the new epithet to say that someone or something is bad, even though the literal meaning of the word is untrue -- Barack Obama being the most famous example of this. Just like when people used to (and still do) say "that's so gay" when they mean something is unfair, uncool, or stupid. And what about the people who are gay and Muslim?
Okay, so it's not a perfect analogy, but I think it still applies. Why is it that Islam somehow has come to connote untrustworthiness? Part of it is the mistaken notion of "clash of civilizations," that somehow Islam in the Middle East is completely different from Western Christianity (when in fact they originate in the same place). And part of it is the perceived difference between white and brown (though Arab and Euro are both considered Caucasian in the outdated racial classification systems used by the US Census - and in fact Caucasian comes form the Caucasus mountains which are in western Asia, making the whole thing a bit more laughable). And I don't know this for sure, but probably some of it is retained from black-white racial struggle, which involved Black American Muslims and Afro-centric Black Power movements that rejected Christianity as the religion of slave-owners and oppressors.
But here's a reality check: Muslims are part of America. As Colin Powell pointed out so well, Muslims (along with Christians, atheists, Jews, pagans, gays, and more) enlist in the Army. We also built this country together, as citizens and immigrants and laborers and store owners. I'm tired of the division. My challenge is now to do something about it.
I remember the first time I really sat down and talked with a Muslim person (I think I blogged about it - a Black American Muslim veteran at a homeless shelter). I learned that the interweaving of his spirituality and life were not so different from mine. It's overdue time to get real and stop writing off categories of people negatively (including, for me, evangelicals and conservatives). Yesterday at the interfaith "no on 8" service, Jana Drakka (a Buddhist monk whom I greatly admire) quoted Thich Nhat Hanh's "Call Me By My True Names." He points out that "I" am all of us. It is an illusion, a mistake, an act of violence, to separate completely into "us" and "them."

home to me

Yesterday, we took Mama (my mother-in-law) to the airport, back to Florida after an unsuccessful year of trying to find steady work that pays enough to be able to survive living in the Bay Area. It was sad to say goodbye to someone that I've grown close to, someone who has become a member of my family (or, actually, to whom I've become a member of her family). And today after a church service that emphasized how much abundance and blessing we receive as human beings, we had a fantastic brunch with my friends Emily & James. Then I started reflecting on a few difficult conversations I've had lately, with and about relatives and ancestors, the complications of family relationships. Some days are just a little deeper than others. I came home and listened to "Home to Me" by Josh Kelley (and a version from Noah's Arc, by Patrik-Ian).
Sometimes I can't believe how lucky I am to be creating a home and a family with my partner. I think this photo, taken by our friend Mateo, sums it up. The funny thing is that before the photo, we were arguing about something - and even though we were mad at each other about whatever-it-was, we had commitment, trust, and love to relax in each other's arms and work it out. Given some of my past crazy relationship habits, even after 2 years sometimes I still can't believe we've got something so good.

privilege & silence / guilt as a spiritual practice

Today, PSR's Dismantling Racism Coordinator asked me to attend a session with our Board of Trustees, where a white anti-racism trainer (Francie Kendall) led them through an exercise to build awareness about white privilege at our school. I had attended the trainer's session with students a couple weeks ago, and it was eye-opening in some ways, and in other ways it confirmed things I already knew. At the student conversation, I noticed how easy it is for white people to talk about everything else besides racism (so several talked about physical access to buildings, for example, instead of talking about how racism gets built into the structures and creates "structured blindness" to oppression). I didn't say anything then, and I promised myself I'd say something the next time it came up. At the Trustees' meeting, I remained silent again, even when I noticed that explicit mention of race barely happened - many participants simply referred to it without name, or talked about "unwelcoming" or "power" without drawing the connections to racial justice. It was an example of Francie Kendall's concept of structured blindness or structured sidestepping the issue at hand. And again I said nothing - I disappointed myself. Debriefing with my partner and later with Emily, I know that I'm in a learning process, and that next time I will have more motivation to practice sharing what I observe (and know to be true). As Emily pointed out, guilt works to my advantage in this case, because it motivates me to action.
It reminds me of my work talking about male privilege and sexism. It's hard to "develop a backbone" (thanks to Megan Dowdell by way of Emily), and it usually happens in little ways. Guilt also works to motivate in a larger sense - just I was motivated by my concern that I could be seen as a potential rapist or sexual assaulter to a woman who doesn't know me, I could also be a potential harasser and white supremacist (or insulting white liberal do-gooder!) to a person of color who doesn't know me (and, frankly, to a lot of white people who are looking for allies in white supremacy or white liberal do-gooding). So it's my responsibility to change the tide. My creative writing teacher in college (a Black woman poet) wrote a poem called "Unlearning Not to Speak" about trying to overcome the cultural messages that kept her silent. Corresponding to her learning, I had to Learn Not to Speak. And now I have to learn how to speak again, with my new consciousness. And to ask others to hold me accountable to doing this.
Will you join me?

detachment and suffering

In my religious searching, I've often stumbled on the concept of detachment as the goal of spiritual practice. I hear about this in some strands of Buddhism, and it's especially pronounced in the Bhagavad Gita. The Bhagavad Gita teaches two spiritual paths: one of personal devotion to the God Krishna, and one of pursuit of the eternal Brahman/spirit of the cosmos. Both teach a practice (yoga, in the broad sense. not in the solely physical practice as often understood in the US) of transcendence of passions and detachment from outcomes (both positive & negative). I think this formulation of ancient Indian religion was also part of the background of Buddhism. Certain aspects of Buddhism also teach this detachment. I've been reflecting a lot on my resistance to detachment. While a reduction of suffering is a noble and necessary goal - and a practice of contemplative detachment & presence is a good way to get at reduction of suffering - detachment seems like a peculiar way to live in the world. I've been told by many people that it isn't detachment as distance. Not like the goal is to be unaffected by anyone else, but rather to understand that there is something beyond the daily good and bad of life, beyond the ebb and flow of passions. I get that, and maybe I'm just stuck on the word detachment. My answer to suffering isn't detachment but engagement. It's to go deeper in relationships, in presence with others - in a sense, to attach more. I think it has a lot to do with cultural message of white manhood (where there's often a favorable emphasis on detachment, reduction of emotional response, and boldness in the face of difficult and potentially hurtful situations). Coming from that, the answer isn't further detachment but closer connection. Obviously, the goal isn't to be swept away by suffering, or to be rendered useless by the overwhelming nature of suffering in the world. So an element of touching the larger canvas of the universe (God, Brahman, ?Nirvana?) is important. I think part of the issue is how we understand transcendence, too. My theology professor, Mayra Rivera, has just published a book called "The Touch of Transcendence: A Postcolonial Theology of God" where she argues that "God is not within human grasp but always within human touch." It's about "transcendence within," which I think is what I'm trying to get at. I guess I have to read the book, eh?

update on 8

Today in the mail, I got a "Cops Voter Guide," which has an image of a police offers on the front. After getting pissed off about a few things on it, I noticed that it doesn't seem to be affiliated with any actual police officers. And most of the endorsements are paid for.
Be that as it may, this little postcard says to vote yes on 8 0 "Restore traditional marriage. Cops know children raised by a married mother and father have the best chance for success. Prop 8 strengthens traditional marriage." First of all, why should I trust a cop to tell me about marriage? How does he or she have any more authority than anyone else? Second of all, my partner and I have quite a traditional relationship. We don't want to wake up when the alarm goes off. We deal with budgets and car issues. I make dinner and he cleans up the dishes. We share taking out the recycling and trash. We call each other at lunchtime and talk about each other's day. We go to bed early a lot. I challenge you to find how our home wouldn't be a good place to raise successful children. Let's not kid ourselves - the success of children rests not on the marriage status of the parents but on the quality of parenting, and support systems like financial, educational, social...

you may be interested to know, my relationship does not lead to incest

We are connecting with Our Family Coalition, an organization that advocates for and assists LGBT families in the Bay Area. They put out a resource guide to LGBT-family-friendly services. They recently sent a rescindment of their endorsement of a local pediatrician because she signed a "Yes on 8" argument in the mass-mailed California Voter Guide. [Prop 8 is a proposed amendment to the California constitution that says "Only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California."]. OFC sent a letter to this doctor, and here are excerpts of her reply (and my response):

"I am hoping that my gay/lesbian families -who I so appreciate and enjoy caring for - will realize that there is a difference between allowing gays/lesbians to form families and adopt children without terming this a marriage. Because of the judges' ruling, there would be no religious exclusion allowed - churches may be forced to marry couples in disagreement with their church doctrine. I am also concerned that this ruling actually opens the door to other relationships (such as polygamy, incest) that may not be in the best interest of children."
"I trust you have seen the love and care that I have demonstrated to you, as I have to all my families without regard for who constitutes the family. I have always attempted to keep my public policy concerns separated from the medical care I provide."

Dear Dr. ---,
I understand that you provide adequate care for your clients, no matter what their family status. I also believe that you truly appreciate your customers. I do question your ability to keep public policy concerns separate from the medical care you provide. How can you provide an adequately caring environment when you seem to believe that the parents of some of your clients are less legitimate than others--that their families are somehow not quite real.
But that aside, I have two bigger disagreements. First of all, no one forces a church to marry anyone. The church, like any provider of a service, has the right to refuse to provide service. And frankly, I support the church's right to discriminate in this case. I would challenge the church on theological and Biblical grounds, but it's really no skin off my back if your church doesn't approve of my relationship within its walls and authority. But that doesn't give your church a right to enforce its beliefs in a civil context, especially when there is no single religious or Christian view on same-sex marriages.
But let me tell you what really steams me: You imply that my right to marry my partner somehow paves the way for incest. You don't know me. But if you did, you'd see that nothing about my loving, consensual, caring relationship connects with incest. In fact, if I take your argument seriously, incest would be legal under the proposed amendment--as long as the couple is a man and a woman. Given the long battle of recognition of same-sex relationships in the US, I'm surprised that you think it's plausible that same-sex marriage somehow is "closer" to incest. I don't have the statistics on me, but I believe that most incest is committed by heterosexual men. I do know at least one kid who grew up in a polyamorous household, and she's actually one of the better adjusted women I've met. You do realize that in our Christian Bible, polygamy was quite common in ancient Hebrew cultures. And aside from Jacob and Esau's quarrels and King David's sons' craziness, I don't recall any kids being seriously messed up by polyamory. And actually I think in both their cases, the conflict was more about land, money, and acension to the throne. Maybe we should create a constitutional amendment unrecognizing inheritance. Sorry, I'm being silly.
I think I can see your logic, even if I don't agree with it: somehow same-sex relationships are somehow more sinful or "wrong" than heterosexual relationships, and it is some kind of slippery slope from there to incest. That's really twisted thinking. Like assuming that if we admit women into the medical field, then somehow that's a slippery slope to letting children and animals become doctors.
I do appreciate your willingness to go public with your opinions, and I hope you are equally willing to hear from some of the gay and lesbian parents of your clients.
Sincerely,
Wade

email response to fear

My brother sent me three emails: One that galvanizes prayer warriors against Obama's election, appealing to concerns that he is Muslim, that the US will be taken over by "Arabs," and that he hates Christians and white people. One says that Fox News will be airing a documentary about how terrible Obama is. And one is about a tourist who contrasts "polluted" "Arab-run" Egypt with "clean" Israel. Though I'm not clear why I bothered, this is my reply to him:

Actually, my deep and profound prayer is that hatred, fear, and ignorance are conquered by God's abiding and transformative love. My fervent prayer is that we as Christians recognize our God-given duty to be radically loving, radically welcoming, and impossibly hopeful in creating justice and mutual respect for the world we live in. My hope is that God's spirit of love can transform the fear I read in the emails you sent.

Regarding the pollution in Egypt, it is actually the Christian nations in Europe and America that created pollution in the form of combustion engines, fossil fuel-burning electric plants, and disposable products (that get thrown away and blown around as trash). The pollution described in your email already exists in the US--and you're right, it is scary.

Our land is sorely in need of healing, this is true. And my sorrow is that a political election is fueling fear instead of hope. It is exploiting economic concerns and fear of difference (racial fear, fear of those who have a different religion, fear about loss of security) by providing information without proof, instead of providing solutions and hope.

I have read some of Jeremiah Wright's sermons and watched some interviews. I think he speaks prophetically about very real injustices that exist in our country. Like ancient Hebrew prophets under the Babylonian empire and like Jesus' ministry under the Roman empire, Wright calls out for justice for those who have been oppressed. We as Christians (including Barack Obama, who is decidedly NOT a Muslim) are in a position to heal injustice - not create further wounds and more fear.

love,
Wade


For your consideration, I also included an essay written by my friend EJoye, one of the greatest ministers-in-training I know. She reflects many of the hopes I have for the future in an essay she wrote for Clergy for Obama:
[Find this on EJoye's blog]

spirit rock

Yesterday afternoon, a couple friends invited us to an afternoon retreat at Spirit Rock (a Buddhist retreat community/center in Marin) for a celebration of LGBT couples, love, and marriage. It was attended by all kinds of couple of different ages, orientations, and anniversaries, as well as some single people. When they asked us to meditate on our purpose for being there, this thought crystallized for me:
My relationship with my partner has profound healing power. This is why I changed my perspective from not wanting to have anything to do with marriage into seeking a commitment and marriage with him. This healing power is visible not only in the way he helped me heal after my bike accident, but in the soothing of some of my deepest scars of fear, anger, and hurt.

On a spiritual level, relationships can be inherently healing in the way people can connect with each other, when people can see each other fully as flawed and fabulous. And just as easily, relationships can be profoundly hurtful if they are blind to human reality, if they ignore or diminish the fabulous, or if they expect perfection. In a recent white anti-racist group I attended, the leader referred to this: Relationships are the only thing that can heal injustices, through sharing the spark of awareness and vision and through organizing to counteract systems of structured injustice.

I think I needed to write that, because there's a lot of scary negative going on in my inbox (thanks to my brother) and a deep struggle going on in my friend EJoye (see her blog for more).

conservative Christian sexual crises

Today I talked with my mom about some relatives going through a family crisis. The father, a leader in his church, has had a private practice for a long time, and recently the oldest sons, along with a few other unnamed clients, were part of an investigation that revoked the father's license due to sexual assault during some treatment sessions, when the son was a child. In public statements, the son emphasized that he acted out of love and hope that his father can get help. You can imagine the fallout, the guilt, shame, family divisions, anger, counter-accusations, acrimony...
This is a family I grew up with. The oldest son was my age, and I remember him stealing my bubble gum and letting me shoot tin cans with his bb gun. This is also a very conservative, evangelical Christian family. It reminds me of other sexual crises among conservative evangelical Christians. I have a knee-jerk reaction when I hear those stories: I gloat that these supposed morally pure folks are being exposed for the repression that undergirds their hatred. When I heard about this, I had the knee-jerk reaction, but I also reacted to the sorrow and trauma, the awfulness that lies in the aftermath of the father's actions and the investigation later. It's a different side of the public shame and humiliation.
It leaves me with a lot to think about in my knee-jerk reactions and how I hear about moral crusades, sexual repression, and shame.

It may also effect my response to recent emails sent by my brother & sister-in-law, which sound the moral conservative Christian alarms they're sounding about "if Obama takes over the presidency!" They pray against him (and somehow link a friend's trip to Egypt to fear that "Arabs will take over the US" and create noise, trash, and air pollution).
My prayer is that hatred and ignorance are transformed by love, and that Christians recognize our religious duty to be radically loving, radically welcoming, and hopeful in creating justice, mutuality, and respect for the global & multispiritual community we exist in.

more on christian arrogance

Today I was listening to the UpFront Radio podcast by New American Media (who promotes and covers news & reporting by people of color). One of the August podcasts features an interview of Parvez Sharma, the filmmaker who made "A Jihad for Love," about gay and lesbian Muslims. In it, he said, "I'm a little bit tired of well-meaning, angst-ridden liberals always wanting to jump on the 'save Iran from itself' bandwagon." He's referring to white/Western gay rights people who try to push an agenda of asylum or Westernization for same-sex loving people. He calls this the "It's not right unless there's a pride parade" mentality. I think this is a gay version of Christian arrogance, put forth by well-meaning people.

Emily also brought up an important point in her comment to my last posting: the impossibility of living up to ideals. I think I came across as arrogant myself, as if I've arrived at the 'correct' viewpoint, and I am pristine in loving my enemies and all that. That's not the case. It's more a matter of trying to figure out what it means to love and be civil in the face of profound disagreement and possibly even harm. The last time my mom said, "...but I still love you," I had to stop and ask, "what does that even mean?" I had to ask myself that. What does it mean to be angry at my mom, but to still love her. What does it mean for her to love me and not accept a significant part of my life (not to mention that my partner is part of makes me loveable and who supports my love for her). My mom is advanced over many conservative Christian parents of LGBT children, in her unwillingness to kick me out of her life, to break communications entirely (and I guess I am advanced in maintaining a relationship with her). But what does it mean to love me without accepting that I'm gay? What does it mean to love her without accepting her anti-gay stance as theologically accurate in a broad sense? I refuse for our "love" to be abstract--it has to take concrete form somehow. Mom and I agreed that love took the form of still calling each other once a week.
The other side of maintaining civility and space for people I disagree with is knowing how to bow out when I can't maintain civility. There has to be room for people to say "I can't have this conversation" because it's too painful or triggering. Right? I don't know. I found out that Parvez Sharma has a blog at ajihadforlove.blogspot.com I'm hoping that reading more in his blog, about his interactions with anti-gay Muslims can illuminate what it means to do this kind of spiritual work: insisting on the correctness of his perspective while engaging with those who are different. One of his posts talks about the leader of a Muslim Students Association who says Islam and homosexuality cannot be reconciled, but who thanks Parvez for humanizing Islam. Dialogue continues in that kind of environment. I don't know, I'm starting to ramble.

on christian arrogance

here is an essay i'm working on for Logos, the student newsletter of PSR. i'd appreciate comments if anyone has them:

Recently a prospective student asked me about an incident in a class he visited. Introducing himself, he mentioned that he was also looking at Fuller. Someone made a sarcastic comment and the class laughed. The prospective student laughed, too, he said, “but I don’t really know why. I haven’t seen much difference between the schools so far.”
Talking about this later, Joellynn Monahan (my boss, the Admissions Counselor at PSR) told me about a sermon she heard that demonized fundamentalists using the same “fundamental” framework the sermon was supposedly resisting. Afterward, in the community prayer, she prayed, “May we be saved from fundamentalisms in our own progressive theologies and ideologies.” May we be saved, indeed, from our own progressive arrogance. For those of us who are former Christian conservatives, may we remember the possibility of movement, deepening, and expansion of spirituality. For those who are spiritually progressive, may we remember who our God is. The God I used to believe in had limits, exclusion, and a sense of security. My perspective has changed, but I continue to fight that way of relating to God: as if there are limits on who can experience love, grace, and acceptance. In a recent class on post-colonial theory, someone asked, “Can you have an identity without excluding an ‘other’?” My answer (for now) is “No, there are boundaries between what is and what isn’t – but you can have an identity without committing violence against an ‘other’ who is outside your identity.” To me, progressive faiths, in their many manifestations, derive power from our experience of freedom, love, acceptance, and a living, ongoing revelation of spiritual knowledge that isn't confined to a single book, time period, or authoritative interpreter. My hope is that our faiths will not be weakened by hatred or by vilifying those we disagree with.
My mom and I are dealing with her fundamental objection to my gayness, her faith-based inability to accept the legitimacy of my deeply loving and joyful relationship with my partner – and my inability to see how homosexuality is sinful, my insistence that my relationship is acceptable to God and humanity. Our conversations are painful and awkward, but in our own ways of faith, we both believe that God is still speaking to us in this. Despite radically different theologies, we are committed by our faith to respecting each other’s spiritual journey and to a (sometimes desperate) attempt to maintain a loving relationship. There was a time when I condemned gays to hell, and a time when I switched the language and not the theology – condemning anti-gay Christians and conservative fundamentalists to hell. Now, through my ongoing spiritual journey, in conversation with my mom, I am learning to let go of spiritual arrogance, to find room in my faith for spiritual pathways that work for others even if they don’t work for me.
If we want to heal the wounds of violent exclusion in ourselves and in the world, we must allow our own and others’ wounds to speak anger, pain, and justice without eternal condemnation and further destruction—to be healers instead of perpetrators of further violence.
This difficult work requires patience, forgiveness, faith in possibilities, and boundless, irrational hope. To me, that’s part of what Christianity is about.

a condition for people like me

Last night I learned about a condition where the risk factor is being a skinny white male--they actually said I fit the textbook description. I know, I know, you're thinking racism, sexism, that kind of thing. Those are true, also (though I don't know how skinny factors into that). Actually this time I'm talking about "bleb disease," which can lead to spontaneous pneumothorax. Which is what happened Saturday, though I didn't get it checked out until yesterday. I went to a clinic to check out a chest pain I'd been having, and they discovered that I had a slightly collapsed lung--so they sent me to the ER. Judging from symptoms I described from Saturday, it was probably more severely collapsed but I was able to recover. Judging from symptoms I've had in the past, since 6th grade, it's probably happened before but I never saw a doctor about it. Which means, according to the doctor, I probably have this bleb disease thing (not glamorous-sounding, I know, but quite descriptive). The thing is, very simply, a few of the little air sacs in my lungs are probably enlarged and weakened for unknown reasons, sort of like a blister only filled with are (those are blebs). And for equally unknown reasons, these blebs occasionally burst, allowing air to seep from the lung into the lining that surrounds the lungs. Depending on air pressure, it can cause the lung not to inflate properly. If you've seen the move Three Kings, you know what I'm talking about, though with a bullet wound it's obviously a lot more serious. Luckily for me, the air pressure wasn't a problem on Saturday, and I have a healthy set of lungs--so my lung recovered fairly well.
At any rate, I have some more appointments today, but things are fine. I'm thinking of starting a club of unfortunately-named illnesses. We have a friend who was diagnosed with sagging brain syndrome, which is actually a very serious condition, despite the funny-sounding name. Any other ideas about unfortunately-named illnesses? Post them in comments.

happy birthday

It feels funny to say I'm 29. To me, 29 is the age of older siblings and cousins. It signifies settledness, a steady job, kids, that kind of thing. Part of the problem is culture--the culture I grew up in doesn't match the culture I choose to live in. My supervisor at the Center for Women & Gender told me that at 28, you start to feel more settled in yourself. This is true. I feel like myself, standing on my feet, and not so subject to the drama of adolescence and college. But at the same time, I feel funny still in grad school, like I'm not as evolved as I should be. I have to get over those expectations.

At any rate, I really just wanted to write about my birthday celebration. I made cupcakes using my partner's favorite vegan chocolate cake recipe. Mama bought a pie and sparking blueberry juice, so we had a toast when I got home from work on Friday. Mama and Papa gave me some nice gifts, including slippers and a salad spinner. My partner got me tickets to MacB, a hip hop version of MacBeth at the African-American Shakespeare company, and he took me out to dinner at La Taza de Cafe. The dinner was really good--a couple of Cuban tapas and slow-roasted, garlic studded pork with rice, beans, and maduros. They also have great cocktails, and the flamenco show was very nice. MacB was better in concept than reality--the show tried to take on too much, though some of the individual details were kind of brilliant, setting the story in a Bay Area record company, adding funny contemporary touches to Shakespeare's dialogue, and setting a bunch of the soliliquies as raps (most of which worked). The opening to the second half of the show with the witches ("Bubble bubble toil & trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble") was particularly smart, with three Destiny's Child-esque women singing the incantation. It was cool to see, anyway, and it was a wonderful birthday present. Last of all, he made me a 29th birthday CD combining very sweet love songs, great nostalgic R&B, and a few tracks by New Kids on the Block (including one from the new album). Thank you, baby!!

hope & privilege

I'm starting to wonder if hope and optimism are a luxury, based on some level of privilege that comes from having basic needs met. I see a family member struggling after years of no job or inadequate jobs. I hear increasing negativity and cynicism in her voice, and her attempt to control it by thinking and planning. I feel helpless to do anything. Part of it is my own sense of hope and positivity--a better sense of myself and the possibilities for the future. I wonder if hope itself is a luxury that not everyone can afford.

I notice myself distancing from this sense of helplessness, as if it's a sort of personal failure on my part. I don't want to do that, but I don't know what answers I have.
Luckily, I have to read the Bhagavad Gita for a class, so maybe I'll learn a little something.

structure & regulation

This week I am thinking about the economic meltdown, my work in the accreditation office, and urban planning. The thing that ties all of this together is the importance of a careful framework of structure and regulation. As I read the requirements written by the accrediting bodies--which encompass everything from teaching philosophy, employment policy, campus environment, and budget, endowment, and physical resources--I realize the importance of regulation and review. When I read about the mortgage meltdown and the failure of banks, I remember the importance of regulation and oversight. When I do my work with Care Through Touch, when I see the tourists and shoppers get on and off at Powell street, one Bart stop away from Civic Center and the Tenderloin, I think about about the role of urban planning, public transportation, and the link between tourist and business hotels just a few blocks from strip clubs and open drug deals. I think about the implicit structures that regulate this business, and the role of economic regulation in judging who is in dire need for help and who is allowed to drop out of the bottom of the economic system.
We cannot rely on the good nature of people to act responsibly. We cannot allow the free market to just work itself out humanely. We cannot rely on the profit motive to create sound economic policy. We cannot rely on the good intentions of my school's board and administration. We cannot rely on our elected officials to be responsible without our monitoring. This is not to say that individuals (and the board and administration or Congressional representatives) are bad people. In fact, the accreditation report is basically a report on how the school is monitoring itself and trying to improve areas of deficit and difficulty. But it's important to have the regulatory/accreditation structure in place--just in case someone decides to act a little crazy. It's just that power is funny, greed-profit is funny. It messes with people.
That's why it's important to have laws and regulation, to set humane policies in place, and to monitor our government. It's just a little extra insurance.

Hell & punishment

Last week in my "Hell" class, the professor, Holger Zellentin from the Center for Jewish Studies, raised an important point: the reliance of imperialism on dual punishments: in this life and in hell. We weren't able to fully discuss it, but it got me thinking. We have read Egyptian accounts of the underworld, including punishments, and Zoroastrian/ancient Persian accounts of the afterlife, including a rather astounding and exhausting lists of diabolical tortures for various "sins." Prof. Zellentin raised the question about ethical systems that are communicated through fantasies of violence and the interconnected nature of pious purity and really crazy forms of physical torture and degradation. Reading the descriptions of hell in the Arda Viraf, I realized that I have a profound lack of imagination for inflicting pain.
I don't know. My thoughts aren't very well-formed yet, but this idea of imperialism and torture are interesting.
In that framework, it's easier to see how pious conservative Christianity becomes obsessed with the punishments of hell and the torture of Jesus in the cross. It's another creation of dichotomy, in which the "good" relies on the "bad' to define itself. A desire to change that belief system brings with it a shift in self-understanding.

ridiculous hopefulness

Today I was struck with a fit of outlandish hopefulness. I spent my morning indexing an accreditation report for my school (a job I have, helping prepare for an upcoming accreditation review by the Western Association of Schools & Colleges and by the Association of Theological Schools). The report is quite honest about flaws in curriculum and administration, but the vision of the school and the curriculum is inspiring. It will take time to get where it wants to be, but it's the sort of institution I want to be a part of (despite my struggles and my criticisms of the place). It takes religion and spirituality very seriously but also situates it within the larger context of waning religious involvement in the US and waning theological education for many of those in evangelical Christian ministry (one of growing parts of religion in the US and world).

Then, I happened to be listening to music with the newest version of iTunes, which contains a simultaneously great and annoying little widget called Genius, which suggests songs and playlists similar to whatever song I might be listening to. Out of idle curiosity, I checked out the "countdown" to John Legend's next album, Evolver. I listened to "If You're Out There," and I almost started crying. It's a call to...something, to leadership, to peace, to change. I would call it a minor religious experience, because it got me in touch with a profound, unfounded hopefulness that I've been feeling lately, with Prop 8, with the election, with the life I am building with my partner. It reminds me of what I can do, even if it's minor, to change my world. Yes, there's echoes of Obamamania in the song, and yes I am jaded/cautious to put hope in what a mainstream Democratic candidate can actually accomplish. But I am also joyously hopeful about the opportunity to see someone different in the white house -- someone who is fundamentally different from what came before (despite the fact that he's a mainstream main-party candidate) by his visible existence. I hope "If You're Out There" is a soundtrack anthem for the next decade or so. And "Greenlight (Afroganic Mix) is also a great song off the upcoming album.

shame

I started reading "Beyond Shame: Reclaiming the Abandoned History of Radical Gay Sexuality" by Patrick Moore. He apparently asserts that a culture of sexual exploration/creativity is linked to a larger sense of creativity (in the artistic, cultural, intellectual, political, etc senses) by analyzing gay men's culture in the 1970s ant 80s. He seems to be claiming that AIDS created an individual and cultural sense of shame that dampened creativity and continues to haunt lgbt/queer culture and HIV education. The author makes the assertion that HIV prevention needs more sex, not less sex - because it's connected to joy and reclamation of sexuality. He is not calling for a return to mindless sexual hedonism, but pointing out what died with the legions of people who died from AIDS in this time period. He suggests that we honor their memory without binding ourselves in a straitjacket (chastity belt?) of shame. He also seems to be suggesting that race was more integrated into sexuality during this time and that the resulting shame affects young men of color most of all because it seems to imply that gay sexuality is something to be hidden, or at least quiet, about -- while young gay men of color have the highest rate of contracting HIV in the US.
Clearly, I haven't read the book yet, so I'm reserving judgment. Moore addresses some of the gender imbalances of his book -- for example, he mentions the gender split between gay men and gay women at the time, healed largely by lesbian, bi, and straight women who provided caretaking and activism during the crisis of AIDS. It provokes the question: what were lesbian women doing while gay men were going to baths and sex clubs? I suspect they were doing a lot of the same, but I haven't heard that history yet. My greatest sense of excitement is that Moore seems to be embracing the broadness of sexuality - from normative to bizarre, from monogamous to wildly promiscuous - without passing judgment on what is safe and sane. I like this, because it's what I believe fervently in. I was never very good at promiscuity, and I am very excited and happy about monogamy for myself. And my brief exposure to SM didn't find a niche with me. Yet I insist on the value of promiscuity for those who want to, and on embracing leather and SM as a wonderful part of larger sexual culture. It will be interesting to see how this book lays out the argument for understanding history and envisioning a future beyond shame. After all, shame is the biggest force that shaped my sexuality, and it will take a lifetime to recover.

why i hate and love religion

I just got off the phone with my mom--we talk every week or so. And ever now and then, as I did today, I have to bring up the vast gulf between us, created by her disagreement with my gayness and my disagreement with her position about that.
The ridiculous thing is that she must choose between her love for God (as she sees Him) and her love for her son. Just as I must choose between my love for my mother and my love for myself. She and I are essentially in the same position. We have to choose between our commitment to some kind of meaningful family relationship and our commitment to living out our ideals and life experiences. It's too easy to say that being gay for me trumps her faith--but for her, faith is life, and her experience of God is as real as my experience of love with my partner. I hate the fact that religion has separated belief and life to the extent that lived experience is somehow hedged by a belief structure instead of the other way around. I love religion in that it gives me language to talk about this.
I don't have a handle on it either, but I am trying to live through the lessons of experience--allowing that to inform my beliefs about the world and spirituality. For me, it's about trying to live a conversation among elements of my life; my belief in what's right; and the religious symbolism I that I inherit, discover, and make up.
I hate the fact that I understand where my mom is coming from (after all, I came from there, too!). It makes it too hard to condemn her (to hell or ignorance, or exile from my life). At the same time, it's hard to know what I'm still doing with the relationship. I asked her what it means to love her son in this context--and I have to ask myself the same question, what does it mean to love my mom in this context?
Part of the answer involves grieving for the aspects of our relationship that are lost, along with my relationship to the community and extended family that I came from. Part of the answer also asks me to return to my belief in the importance of family relationships while reconfiguring my understanding of what it means to be a family (with my blood kin and with the family I am creating and living in).

two thoughts for a Sunday morning

This morning as I read BBC News and my Christology textbook, two thoughts keep bobbing to the surface:
1. The federal bailout of mortgage firms Freddie Mac & Fannie Mae: I believe I recall an interview on Marketplace (Public Radio International) that said it's an open secret that these public-private partnerships are effectively a socialized banking system. WIth the full take-over, we now have government-run mortgage banks. This is a peculiar move for a Republican administration that is supposedly dedicated to small government and a free market. Don't get me wrong--I support the bail-out to reduce financial crisis on national and individual levels--but it seems like a funny inconsistency between ideology and practice. I hope it puts to rest the peculiar mistrust of socialism (the idea that some things must be administered by the state instead of the free market -- agencies such as police, fire, defense, roads...).
2. My Christology (the study of Jesus as the Christ figure in Christianity) textbook presents a pretty traditional view. There's a lot of talk about how Jesus represented a new relationship between God and humanity. It seems like a funny inconsistency, to claim that Jesus changed everything, and Jesus is the only thing that has and ever will change everything. You have to open to the possibility that change will happen, and then close quickly to the idea that change could ever happen. Well, and you also have to buy the Bible texts as historically accurate and "true." I don't buy the "new relationship" thing, because I believe religion is always involves looking in the rearview mirror and interpreting previous texts and traditions in light of current situations (just like the early Christians, and some today, look in the rearview mirror and interpret Hebrew Bible texts as if they automatically point to Jesus--a strange assumption, given the contexts of the writing.

I guess the real point is that someday I'll have to either accept the traditions I was born in, problems and all, and find a way to sift through, interpret, and be comfortable--or I'll have to leave it behind as no longer worthy of being passed on.

new movie - looking forward to it!

They recently released the trailer for Milk, Gus Van Sant's new film about Harvey Milk.
Here's the trailer: Apple Trailers: Milk

ritual, habit, reality

Today I'm reading about ritual and body memory. One of the authors writes about how cognitive science reinforces the role of ritual in structuring our memories, emotions, thoughts, and habits - our worldview and ethical stance. She writes about how ritual (actions that are consciously set apart for a special function, whether overtly religious or not) creates neural pathways and habits that, over time, structure how we interact and think about the world. I don't think ritual HAS to be "set apart for a special function" in order to structure our worldview--because all of our habits can activate memory and evoke emotional and cognitive responses. It reminds me of how important it is to be conscious about the habits I form. I think about how my partner can get cranky if he doesn't get out of the house and move every day--his habits of exercise create a positive mood, and a period of inactivity probably also remind him of negative experiences where he could get out of the house. I also think about my mother-in-law's morning greeting. Every morning she kisses us on both cheeks (this also happens whenever we come home at any time of day) and asks how we slept. At first, this annoyed me because it disrupted my trajectory: I was reading, or making breakfast, or lost in my thoughts--and telling her how I slept (which was almost always "fine, and you?" seemed like an unnecessarily disruption. But I began to realize that these greetings reinforce a way of relationship. It prioritizes our relationship, and our concern for each other, above whatever else I might be doing. So I engage in this habit, which still can feel disruptive at times, because it highlights my personal (and spiritual) value that relationships are more important than whatever I am reading or making or doing. Last of all, I think of what I've heard about the Republican National Convention (and also the Democratic one, but less so). It's what so many preachers know so well: repeating phrases and images can make them into reality for many people. If you say it often enough, even an untruth can become an unconscious association/neural pathway. If you question patriotism or experience or ideological stance often enough--the question will arise whenever the candidates name comes up, no matter how unquestionable that person's patriotism, experience, or stance actually is. Particularly in the context of a ritual such as a convention (I might consider it sort of like a religious tent revival or church service that reinforces shared images, ideologies, and ethics of engaging with the world).
It reminds me that I want to continue sifting through my life to find the important habits that I can "set apart" to reinforce and create habits out of the ways I want to engage in the world.

classes

So I finally got my sched figured out, and I think I'm satisfied. One of classes I was most looking forward to, "The Quest for Spirituality in America," got cancelled. I replaced it with "Remembering," a theological and liturgical look at remembering and forgetting (individual and cultural/social levels). I'm also taking "Christ, Krishna, Buddha," a look at central figures in three of the world's religions. I also found out at the last minute the I had to take "Organizational Leadership," which I'm trying to muster excitement about, because it deals with group and systems theory. I was also enrolled in a class on the history and theology of the United Church of Christ, but at the last minute I switched it out in order to take "A Short History of Hell." Emily said I need to blog about that--trading in a church history class for a class on hell. Hm.
The professor opened with the cartoon "Not Without My Handbag" -- by Aardman Animation. Check it out on Youtube!
Should work out all right--though next semester I'm stuck with three required courses that I've been putting off a bit....
The upshot is that next semester there's also a class dealing with the role of Christianity in the Bay Area LGBT community since WWII.

beginning is ending is familiar

Today was my first day of classes -- begun this afternoon with a glorious bike ride to classes -- no traffic, no early mornings, no backache...and no singing in the car to myself. As usual with beginnings, something went wrong with my bike (last year, somebody stole the back wheel and the seat). This year the top fell off my speedometer, and my sunglasses broke in my bag. It was okay.
I saw some old friends I didn't expect to see, and I felt like a new student at the same time.
I also had the old familiar questions: am I religious enough for this place? am I the right kind of religious? Luckily I also had the familiar corrections. It doesn't matter what kind of religious I am, or what quantity. What matters is what I want to learn, and what relationship I have to my own sense of spirituality. Blah blah blah. It was a good day back, even if it wasn't exactly perfect.

backpacking / survival

Over the weekend, my partner and I went on a backpacking trip to Lassen Volcanic National Park (in Lassen National Forest). Lassen is an old growth forest, and there was a fire in a area in 2004. Plus it's a relatively dry climate. So we got to see a lot of destruction, decay, and regeneration. Some areas were pretty bleak, with just the jagged, blackened hulks of trees and a lot of sandy ash on the ground--but a lot of areas had selective burns--only the driest of trees burned while the greener living trees kept right on living. Before we left, we went to a ranger talk about some of the trees. My new favorite tree is the Lodgepole Pine. It has two types of cones--one of which is covered with thick wax that only activates in the presence of a lot of heat--namely a forest fire. The Lodgepole is one of the first trees to repopulate an area after a fire, and its bark is relatively thin because it doesn't need to withstand fire. The other part I noticed about the tree skeletons is that some trees seemed to have grown in a twist, as if under the bark, the tree was rotating itself, ending up like a candy cane, while others grew straight up and down. I was curious about how the different growth patterns helped support the tree's strength in growing tall and withstanding wind.
I'm fascinated by all this, and it reminds me of talking with my mother-in-law about the role of community and individuality in people's lives. Where she grew up, extended families function as retirement accounts, where those who can make money share it with those who are struggling. We also talked about the falseness of the American image of individuality and self-reliance--people do not get where they're at by their own effort--it depends a lot on how our families raised us, what opportunities and supports we had when we couldn't take care of ourselves. It has a lot to do with privilege and how much we trust that we'll be taken care of. How we grow, and what grows around us, does a lot to determine how we survive tough times.
The other thing I think about is survival beyond the individual. The Lodgepole Pine says "Even if I don't survive, *we* survive." As we hiked, I tried to think of the human equivalent of a pinecone covered in wax. Being the religious sorta person I am, I think about sacred texts that have been passed down for generations. Our myths and stories contain wisdom that's not always easy to see on the surface, and hopefully some of that wisdom helps us survive even beyond individual survival.
Which of course leads into my rant that reading a religious story (or any mythical story, even many movie plots) solely on the surface means that we miss the deeper wisdom. Stories tell us who we are, and the stories we tell shape us just as much as we shape the stories. It makes me crazy when people read the Bible, for example, as if it's literally true. Why not read it the way we read about Greek and Roman Gods? They don't exist in a literal way, but they also have some interesting truths about humanity. And not just ancient stories, but many modern storytellers (James Baldwin, Dorothy Allison....) participate in this process too.
So at the end of the day, maybe it's just me, but I like those connections. We can learn a few things from an old-growth forest.

It's a Family Thing

August 21, 6-8pm
First Congregational Church of Oakland - 2501 Harrison at 27th in Oakland (across from Oakland Whole Foods)
Join African-American clergy, community leaders, elected officials, and legal scholars on a panel and conversation about the freedom to marry for the African-American LGBT community.

U People / Shirts & Skins

Friday evening, we went to the second night of the Oakland International Black LGBT Film Festival.
We watched a short about two women meeting after car trouble on a deserted highway, a documentary about the making of a Hanifah Walidah music video , and two episodes from an upcoming LOGO show .

U People (the documentary) and Shirts & Skins (the TV show) were an interesting double feature. Both took place, mostly, in a house, and both had people sharing their lives and experiences, talking from the heart, and laughter, anger, and tears. But the result was strikingly different. U People, a gathering of Black women making a video and talking about their lives, was incredibly rich, with a wide range of perspectives and experiences. They spoke from their hearts about their own lives, educating and supporting each other--and we in the audience got the privilege to hear it. It was naturally political (as opposed to intentionally structured to evoke a response), diverse in perspective, entirely approachable and unapologetic, and had really great clothes and music. What more could you ask for?
Shirts & Skins was a docu...I mean reality show about the SF Rockdogs--a gay men's basketball team with a history of gold medals at the Gay Games, who fell apart after the 2006. The show brings old and new players together in a house as they prepare and fundraise for the next Gay Games. It's a great premise, bringing different ages, race/ethnicities, and perspectives of gay men together to play basketball and share their lives. And, honestly, it's an engaging story that touches on important stuff like being out or not, family conflicts, religion and homosexuality, and the difficulties of being gay in sports. And John Amaechi, a gay former NBA player, costars as a mentor. But the frustrating thing is the reality TV. After two episodes, the high drama is stoked, and the reality show roles are being fulfilled: the identified patient, the earnest one, the playboy, the exasperated caretaking parent (a white guy who refers to them all as "my boys," an embarrassingly and infuriatingly ignorant thing for a white man to say about a Black man)...it gets a little too TV when I want something a little more real. The Rockdogs are interesting enough as a team, the motivation to be role models to young gay people who want to play sports is a beautiful thing, and the story of a team trying to mend itself back together is engaging enough--we don't need the reality TV overlay that makes everything emotionally frenetic and artificially full of drama.
Then again, my partner said he liked watching Real World when he was 16, and that's exactly the demographic of young people who ought to see talented, out gay people playing great sports.

it is finished

Friday was my last day of the chaplain residency. CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education, the method of learning used in chaplain education) was transformative, frustrating, liberating... I may have more to say later, but all I can say now is that I am done saying goodbye for a while (2 weeks' worth of "closure" exercises and opportunities wears me out, when I'm used to maybe a days' worth). AND I don't want to learn another damn thing about myself for two solid weeks. A year of intensive introspection is difficult, even for someone like me, who was born gazing at my navel).

My partner and Mama were very sweet. She cooked me a special dinner to celebrate my graduation on Thursday, and he brought me flowers and chocolate and had a nice little celebration Friday after work.

great news!

I got good news today. My first published poem will be coming out within the next year! I submitted a poem to the journal Chaplaincy Today, and it will be published in the fall/winter or spring/summer issue!

professional identity

I'm nearing the end of my CPE experience, and it's time to start consolidating my learning. One of the things I've been working on is professional identity. I've gone from very rigid, judgmental notions of professional masking to something more flexible and personal.

My supervisor calls it the flow between principles and narratives. And I've been to both extremes. I've been to the place of rigidity where principles hold above all else--but this leaves me an isolated shell. I don't show up with my own personality and experiences, and I end up holding colleagues and patients at an unhealthy distance. And I've been to a place where all that matters is story and feeling. It's a reaction, to defy principles with personal stories, where if someone feels uncomfortable or put out, trash the principles. This results in betrayal of internal values, too much information, and self-centeredness. This was my reaction against the church and society of my childhood--when personal experience and principles didn't match up, but the pressure to maintain the image of conformity created rot on the inside. Now I'm somewhere in the middle, trying to figure out my internal principles and values and how they interact with my professional self, which is not the same as my social and private selves, but not entirely distinct from them. It's about bringing my whole self to work without violating my own and others' boundaries.

This work in CPE has challenged me in that, because I have to develop skills in reading when to reveal aspects of my story and experience while maintaining focus on the job (or patient, as the case may be). My supervisor challenges me to consider this particularly around sexuality. There are times to reveal and times to hide my sexuality, and I need to maintain boundaries around how I talk about my intimate and romantic life. Yet I don't want to leave my sexuality behind--that amounts to closeting, and I've seen plenty of examples of the long-term damage that does. I am maintaining it better--I talk with colleagues about my relationship with my partner, but I don't share intimate details of course. I rarely do with patients, but there have been a few times when patients want to talk about relationships and it resonates to share select lessons and experiences. I do not hide my sexuality at work, even in a place where I am legally but not always socially protected (reminds me of Bishop Tutu quoting Martin Luther King Jr.: "I cannot legislate you to love me, but I can legislate you to not lynch me."), but I also don't discuss it with everyone. My identity at work is not primarily as a gay person, though it obviously contributes to my perspective and experience.

I also think about my sexual self in a broad sense--as relational and sensual. In my work, how do I notice, create, and maintain relationship? How do I notice the significance of bodily experiences and senses? And I would say that the most important way my sexuality shows up at work is in that dynamic I talked about--between narrative and principle. I have experienced the disconnect between social principles (girls are for dating and boys are for being friends with, for example, or families always stay together) and personal experience (I fell in love and made friends with both boys and girls, for example, and my family was decidedly not together, for very good reasons)--and so I have a sensitivity to when others experience that. It contributes to how I interact with principles and personal stories, as well as to how I form and maintain my own values about humanity.

movie alert

I just found out that The Watchmen will be adapted into a movie, released March 6, 2009.
Here's the trailer on Apple.com:
http://www.apple.com/trailers/wb/watchmen/high.html

I'm not into graphic novels as a rule, but I picked this one up after a newspaper article and some friends recommendations. It's a really interesting story, and I hope they make it well. The visuals look pretty faithful to the novel. If you don't know what it is, it's an alternate history that supposes there was a band of superheroes (without supernatural powers) in the 40s, and another group who took over from them in the 60s. Then a freak nuclear accident produced a truly supernatural hero who kind of put the others out of business. This guy won Vietnam (which gets Nixon re-elected multiple times) and is part of the US's Cold War plan against the Soviet Union, but then the public turned against crime-fighting superheroes, and they were outlawed. A few still remained practicing, but a lot more jaded. And then some stuff happens that brings some of them out of hiding again in the mid-80s. The backstories of the characters probably won't get a lot of attention, but it's really worth reading. It's also a pretty dark view of humanity and the world, but I'm not one to complain about that too much.
Anyway, I thought that was kind of exciting.

healing

Yesterday I received my first visitor--my friend Emily came to keep me company while my partner was at work. It was nice to catch up, and I finally felt presentable enough to see people. The scrapes on my nose and forehead are almost healed. The upper lip and chin still look a little rough, by my beard has grown long enough to hide it, mostly. I seem to have some numbness on my lower lip and chin--probably nerve damage. I've also been seeing a chiropractor for my headaches, and he tells me that my top-most vertebrae (C1 and C2, which connect to my skull) are slightly knocked out of place. It's a big relief to get adjusted. I still don't sleep all that well at night, partly due to headaches and partly due to a bunch of canker sores in my mouth. Even my uvula has a canker sore on it, and it's swollen to double its size...yuck.
At any rate, I'm looking and feeling a lot better, but still sleeping a ton.
Thanks to everyone for the good thoughts and healing energy!

If you want to read a slightly gruesome account of my injuries, read below. Otherwise, don't read further.


I think I landed first just below my nose, which pushed it up and dragged my top lip down, creating a tear running across the bottom of my nose and down almost to my lip. It didn't completely sever my lip. My lower lip was dragged down and back, tearing it away from the gumline down to a nerve that runs along the bottom of my chin. This was kind of cool: the surgeon said he had just finished sewing up a surgical incision that looked really similar...so in other words, I effectively ripped my lip--with surgical precision--down to expose a nerve, without actually damaging that nerve! I also managed to pack that incision with large amounts of sand, gravel, and dirt. I also tore my chin open in about an inch-long upside-down U-shape. I scraped most of the skin off the center of my nose, running up to my forehead, and one of the nosepieces twisted up and gouged a chunk out of between my eyebrows.
I also got a variety of scrapes on my elbows and knees, and a fair amount of gravel embedded in my right hand.
And--remarkably--for going 15-20 mph (I think), that's really all that happened.