What Lips My Lips Have Kissed

I may have posted this poem before, but on a busy day, it will have to do for now.

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply;
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands a lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet know its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone;
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh Upon the glass and listen for reply, And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain For unremembered lads that not again Will turn to me at midnight with a cry. Thus in winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before: I cannot say what loves have come and gone, I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15420#sthash.QWFo0eVJ.dpuf

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh Upon the glass and listen for reply, And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain For unremembered lads that not again Will turn to me at midnight with a cry. Thus in winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before: I cannot say what loves have come and gone, I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15420#sthash.QWFo0eVJ.dpuf

Crafting a Quaker Meeting Mission Statement

The past few days, my Meeting has been struggling with whether or not we should revise our Mission Statement. We saw no need to worry about it until a Facebook page was constructed on behalf of the entire gathering. Much of the commentary and debate thus far, to me, has been little more than hair-splitting and semantic. Some Friends think that this entire endeavor is nothing more than a waste of time. Part of me agrees with them. 

The current rendering is 83 years old and not gender-neutral.

The purpose of the Friends Meeting of Washington, D.C. is to foster simple spiritual worship and such activities in various fields of service as Friends may feel themselves called to undertake. As a help to these ends we purpose to maintain a place of worship where Friends and others who are like-minded may meet in religious fellowship and seek through a waiting worship the renewal of their spiritual lives and the quickening of their powers of service to the Divine Father and to their fellow men.

A proposed draft reads,

The Friends Meeting of Washington (FMW) is a Religious Society of Friends (Quaker) spiritual community that exists to foster worship and service. Our community includes and supports individuals seeking to learn about or live in accordance with Friends’ practices and beliefs. In this effort, FMW welcomes those seeking spiritual growth through silent worship, convenes knowledge-sharing and worship opportunities, maintains and shares a Meeting House, and sponsors many projects oriented toward peace, social justice and compassionate service to others. 

I must admit I cannot find much fault with either version. Both have their merits. My first inclination is to keep my distance from this entire process. Dodging this issue forever may not be possible. As clerk of Ministry & Worship, I know that this work will likely end up in my hands before all is said and done.

These are my primary concerns. I've served on Epistle Committees at conferences and gatherings and found a particular frustration in summarizing the views of Friends in one concise statement of purpose. I identify and work with activist groups who would find it antithetical to their very nature to try to take on a mission statement. Every group defines itself, to an extent, through language; some groups have much more stringent definitions of what and who they are.  

I am very aware, as a Friend pointed out, that we do a generally insufficient job of outreach to the outside world. We are not given the opportunity to define ourselves on our own terms when we fail to take control of the discourse. I'm glad to see that we are seeking to use social media to reach out to the Washington, DC, area. But as for my stance on this issue, I have to say that I am tempted to not fix the part that isn't broken.

It is curious that it took the construction of a Facebook page to call to light an issue that had never been a problem for decades. A new administrative secretary has been updating and revising documentation that has lain fallow for a long time. I'm glad we've undertaken this work, but I wonder about the idolatry of paperwork. Early Friends were often criticized for excessive amounts of publication, though in fairness, that was the nature of the time.

The Founding Fathers often sought to define the purpose, nature, and direction of our nation through essay wars and innumerable written tracts. The poison pen could and did wound its target. Character assassination by quill and ink was a preferred tactic for getting one's way and used with frequency. Did that amount of debate and scrutiny strengthen our Union? Conventional wisdom as understood today would resoundingly say yes.

This does not mean that I advocate venom in place of peaceful dialogue. My intention here, in this post, is merely to draw a contrast between a few important points in our history. I am for any effort that advances our common purpose, but in this context I would certainly not take on the role myself. The environment is always potentially combustible, especially for people so adamantly independent in nature.

I will say this. Whatever we write down must be backed up by our actions. My own leading as a Quaker has been informed by a fairly simple mission statement of my own. I do not wish to radically change the Religious Society of Friends, either by language or by action. I do, however, want us to be Faithful to what we say we are and what we say we do. Whatever mission statement the Meeting adopts ought to seek the same ends.

Silent Suffering: When Your Bladder Takes Control

Patient Education: Silent Suffering: When Your Bladder Takes Control from Discovery Channel CME on Vimeo.

My urologist, Dr. Sotelo, is featured towards the end of this video. If you wish the watch the whole thing, it will explain the nature of my recent ailment and its treatment.

Quote of the Week

"Democracy is beautiful in theory; in practice it is a fallacy. You in America will see that some day."- Benito Mussolini, 1928.

Saturday Video

Well, it's true that we love one another
I love Jack White like a little brother
Well Holly I love you too, but there's
Just so much that I don't know about you

Jack, give me some money to pay my bills
All the dough I give you Holly
You been using on pain pills

Jack will you call me if you're able?
I got your phone number written
In the back of my Bible

Jack, I think you're pulling my leg
And I think maybe I better ask Meg

Meg, do you think Jack really loves me?
You know, I don't care because
Jack really bugs me

Why don't you ask him now?
Well I would, but Meg
I really just don't know how

Just say 'Jack, do you adore me?'
Well, I would Holly but love really bores me

Then I guess we should just be friends
I'm just kidding, Holly
You know that I'll love you 'til the end

Well, it's true that we love one another
I love Jack White like a little brother
Well Holly, I love you too but there's
Just so much that I don't know about you

Holly give me some of your English lovin'
If I did that Jack I'd have one in the oven
Why don't you go off and love yourself?
If I did that Holly, there won't be anything
Left for anybody else

Jack, it's too bad about the way you look
You know I gave that horse a carrot
So he'd break your foot
Will the two of you cut it out?
And tell 'em what it's really all about

Well, it's true that we love one another
I love Jack White like a little brother
Well Holly I love you too, but there's
Just so much that I don't know about you

But the Disciples Were Idiots!

Here is yet another in a series of how Christianity, the religion, is far different than its perversion by human hands. 

 

dolt

noun
a dull, stupid person; blockhead.

One of the things that often strikes people when they read the Gospels for the first time is how much the disciples do not get it. It’s a running theme, or a running gag, take your pick.

Here we have Jesus, teaching important things everyone needs to hear. But over here we have his chosen disciples, getting nary a word of it. From time to time, non-disciple foils are brought in briefly who do get it, as if to highlight the disciples’ doltishness even more. I’m thinking here of the Roman centurion who had “faith greater than anyone in Israel,” for example.

In studies that try to determine who the actual, historical Jesus really was, one of the tools used is this: if something that was embarrassing to the Early Church was left in, it must have really happened, because anyone with any sense would have left it out otherwise. In other words, most people won’t embarrass themselves on purpose unless they can’t get around it, so we can probably safely assume that the disciples got that they didn’t get it and couldn’t get around that fact.

So their doltishness is there on the printed page for everyone to see because the disciples couldn’t get around it. The disciples were dolts, and they knew it.

Here’s the problem we have then: the entire New Testament was written by people who didn’t get the subject they were writing about. They wrote in full knowledge of their lack of knowledge, which shows either courage or foolishness, or perhaps both at the same time.

But this is not how we’re taught to read the New Testament, is it? The disciples got it, we’re led to believe. Otherwise, why read their book?

Now, I’m not saying we can do without doctrine altogether, if by doctrine you mean theological teachings of any kind. I’m just saying that as the spiritual descendents of dolts, we should have absolute humility about what doctrine we do have, and have as little of it as we can get away with, and then probably a little less even than that. Because we probably need even less than we think we need.

Jesus largely did without doctrine, and aren’t Christians about trying to follow his lead? Do you think you should have more doctrine than Jesus?

Far better than doctrine is to describe what God is doing in our lives, to tell those stories. That’s what Jesus did, isn’t it? Tell stories? If doing a little theology helps us get there, all the better. But the good news of what God is doing in our lives always come first, the theology always second.

Beware the theological ideologists. They’re selling something, but good news is free.

The full post here.

LGBT Reform Comes in Its Own Time

It's easy for activists to take on a defeatist, but wholly blameless perspective. Feeling ignored, we raise the volume of our voices out of fear that not being loud enough means we will not be heard. We emphasize and over-emphasize the issues we've chosen to embrace, for whatever reason. The most problematic part of this tried-and-true dance is that we fail to recognize that change and reform are not impossible goals. Though it may take years, we can receive exactly what we want.  

Do pardon me as I share my own story. Nearly fifteen years ago, when I was 18, I came out to my parents. I didn't have much choice in the matter. The cat was already out of the bag. Curious to explore my sexuality, I met a boy my age over the internet, then sneaked him into my bedroom late one night. He wasn't the first. I'd previously been very lucky, but my luck eventually ran out. 

When I came out to my folks, I had no way of predicting the disapproving, even violent anger the news produced. My parents were not accepting in the least and were openly hostile. To this day, it’s sometimes difficult to hear, say, or write the word “queer” because it was used towards me by my father in a pejorative sense. Now that the sting has subsided, I use it with a moderate amount of uneasiness; unwieldy acronyms cannot be expressed any other way than awkwardly.  

I was shocked by the ferocity and disgust of my folks. My mother told me that I only slept with men when I couldn’t get women. I didn’t much appreciate the implication. Men were never a secondary option when opposite-sex partners were unavailable.  As a matter of fact, by then I'd had a few girlfriends and female sexual partners. I chose to be with men when I felt a strong attraction to a man, much as I did the same thing when I felt strongly attracted to a woman. The two were not mutually exclusive. 

Now, ten years and an eternity later, I’ve learned that both of my parents have been regularly and quietly reading my blog. On it, I regularly talk about gender and sexual orientation. Though my sexual orientation will clearly never be a topic of conversation for either of them, I sense they have come to terms with me in their own way. In an ideal setting, I wish that I could talk to them about who I am openly and without mutual discomfort. Maybe this is the only way they can absorb and process who I am.

This method of eventual acceptance is very passive and set entirely on their own terms, but I am thankful to have it at all. It’s a blessing that my parents have put aside the active hurt of past days. When I dated men, always on the sly, I knew I always had to refer to boyfriends only as “friends”.  They were never welcome in my father’s house, as he put it many times. I covered my tracks because I had to do so.

Eventually, a very crude don’t ask, don’t tell policy was put in place between us. Until recently, I assumed this arrangement was still very much in force. I sense that they’ve revised their views somewhat, but I’m not sure where they stand, exactly. I’m a little afraid to press the issue. My desire to stir up another heated argument is entirely nonexistent.

For a while, I was hurt and angry. Now I’m in my thirties and they’re beginning to show their age. Before long, I'm sure I'll be taking a very active part in their care. For this and many reasons, I really want everyone to get along now, because it takes a tremendous amount of energy to hold a grudge. Though my mother and father may never raise the topic of my sexuality directly, at least they aren’t actively fighting with me anymore. I am satisfied with how far we have come as a family.

If we saw the forces pitted against marriage equality in their own private stage of slow, but undeniable transformation, would we have more confidence in ourselves? After all, I never thought my parents would come as far as they have. Though I am in my early thirties now, I'm amazed at how epithets and hatred have given way to understanding and acceptance.

The quality of my writing gives my father a way to be proud of me. I'm told that he often tells my mother how impressed he is with my work. There was a time in my life where I would have begged to have his approval, in any form. While it may not show up in the form we'd most like it, acceptance is still present, if we reach out to embrace it. As a Quaker, I am to see that of God in everyone. That's the most difficult, but also the most noble challenge placed before me.

Plan of Action

I still have faith in the book manuscript, but am going to try a different means of promotion. Without the blessing of the editor, a lengthy memoir doesn't seem feasible. What I've chosen to do instead is to combine together existing chapters into a short story or two. If I can't get a full table out of the material, I'll be glad to take a chair.

As soon as I'm back to full speed and recovered from surgery, I'll begin this sort of work en masse. I've already sent out one such manuscript excerpt and will find other combinations and pairings. I have confidence in myself and my writing. By no means am I ready to abandon the vast amount of effort and time I've put into this work. Sometimes you have to improvise.

From the Vaults

Is it getting better
Or do you feel the same?
Will it make it easier on you
Now you got someone to blame

You say
One love
One life
When it's one need
In the night
It's one love
We get to share it
It leaves you baby
If you don't care for it

Did I disappoint you?
Or leave a bad taste in your mouth?
You act like you never had love
And you want me to go without

Well it's too late
Tonight
To drag the past out
Into the light
We're one
But we're not the same
We get to carry each other
Carry each other
One

Have you come here for forgiveness?
Have you come to raise the dead?
Have you come here to play Jesus
To the lepers in your head?

Did I ask too much
More than a lot
You gave me nothing
Now it's all I got
We're one
But we're not the same
We hurt each other
Then we do it again

You say
Love is a temple
Love a higher law
Love is a temple
Love the higher law

You ask me to enter
But then you made me crawl
And I can't be holding on
To what you got
When all you got is hurt

One love
One blood
One life
You got to do what you should

One life
With each other
Sisters
Brothers

One life
But we're not the same
We get to carry each other
Carry each other

One
One

Surgery Details

The first part of the surgery procedure has been completed. The second and final stage will be held early on Wednesday morning. I'll need to wake up at 5:30 in time to be at the hospital by 6:30. Buses don't run at that early hour, so I suppose I'll need to call a cab to pick me up.

I'm looking forward, in particular, to shedding the battery pack and embedded wires. The wire leads are currently implanted into my lower back in two separate places. The surgeon will use the same incision sites undertaken a week before to install the small pacemaker-like device pictured above.

Here's a recap, for the curious. Last week, I arrived for surgery a full two hours before the procedure began. A couple of days before, I was reminded to not eat or drink anything after midnight. Groggy because of the lack of coffee, I sleepwalked through the laborious check in procedure at the hospital. Fortunately, it wasn't long before my name was called. I was ushered inside from the waiting room, a journey that always feels for me like I am a rat in the middle of a maze.

Paperwork has to be signed in duplicate. Because of the risks involved with anesthesia, a variety of legal and medical safeguards are in place. A list of current medications, plus daily dosage is checked and rechecked. Three separate nurses spoke to me. One inserted an IV, the process by which the sedative would be administered. The anesthesiologist assured me that the surgery would be safe, but that I might have a headache after I woke up. This proved to be true.

I changed into a gown prior to surgery, though fortunately it was somewhat thicker than normal. Conscious of the fact that I wore no underwear underneath it, I tried my best not to bare my testicles to the rest of the civilized world. It's a bit difficult trying to carry on a normal conversation with someone while in such a state of vulnerability, even with a person who probably sees testicles on a regular basis. I might have said this before, but I think I understand now what it is like to undergo a full gynecological examination.

I was asked to wear special socks prior to the procedure. They had a raised tread on the bottom side, against the soles of my feet. I assume this was in place to cut down on the possibility of me slipping when eventually sitting upright on the floor in the recovery room. Shortly before I was moved from the lower level of hospital bed to the slightly higher level of the operating table, I lost consciousness.

This is what usually how it happens with me, or so I've learned. I worry for a brief moment that I'll have to somehow make a difficult upward climb, one where I must flop onto the padded cushion. Instantly and quite unexpectedly, I am out like a light.  

The surgery proceeded without a hitch. I was given a supply of Perocet for pain and an antibiotic to ward against infection. Sometimes the injection site itches like crazy. The real challenge, I have found, is in showering. Most of my back can't get wet under any circumstances.

I haven't had a full shower in several days, though I know I will again very soon. I've at least been able to wash my hair, though I must kneel over the tub on the hard tile floor to do so. Two more days until the second stage. Following that, everything will be in place and full healing can begin. I hope it takes less than a week, but that may be wishful thinking.

It is fortunate that the urology surgeon is a very attractive woman. I am less upset and fearful while in her company, distanced as I am from my worries. That is, as long as she is in the room. Her presence is a colossal distraction of sorts, at a time when distractions of any sort are most appreciated. Even so, she has made incisions into my lower back and left behind lingering pain and discomfort. I don't begrudge her for doing her job. If I feel a little resentful from time to time, the feeling soon passes.

From past experience, I've found that I usually end up babbling about Quakerism in the recovery room. The nurse who is specifically present to keep a watch on me plays the role of captive audience. My delivery and content must be interesting enough, because no one as yet has complained. As any reader of this blog knows, faith is important to me. It makes sense that one of my most important passions is constantly on my mind. That being said, I wonder what I'll start going on about at length this next time, particularly well before I am fully conscious.

Quote of the Week

"To stand on one leg and prove God's existence is a very different thing from going on one's knees and thanking Him."-Søren Kierkegaard

Saturday Video

Gonna tell Aunt Mary 'bout Uncle John,
He claim he has the misery
but he's havin' a lot of fun,
Oh baby, yeah baby, woo
Havin' me some fun tonight yeah

Well long, tall Sally
She's built for speed, she got
Everything that Uncle John need, oh baby,
Yeah baby, woo baby,
Havin' me some fun tonight, yeah

Well, I saw Uncle John with long tall Sally.
He saw Aunt Mary comin' and
he ducked back in the alley oh baby,
Yeah baby, woo baby,
Havin' me some fun tonight, yeah ow

Well, long, tall Sally
She's built for speed, she got
Everything that Uncle John need oh baby,
Yeah baby, woo baby,
Havin' me some fun tonight, yeah

Well, I saw Uncle John with bald head Sally.
He saw Aunt Mary comin'
and he ducked back in the alley oh baby,
Yeah baby, woo baby,
Havin' me some fun tonight, yeah

We gonna have some fun tonight,
We gonna have some fun tonight, woo
Have some fun tonight, everything's all right,
Have some fun, have me some fun tonight.

Interstim Surgery, Phase One

Surgery went well, but I'll still be sore for the next several days. These pictures are post-op from bladder surgery.

Battery powered unit that stimulates tibial nerve.

A view from a different perspective.

Incision site with gauze and tape.

Another view.

Lower back.

From the Vaults

I'm still recovering from surgery. I submit this video in place of a proper post.

Boy, you're gonna carry that weight
Carry that weight a long time
Boy, you're gonna carry that weight
Carry that weight a long time

I never give you my pillow
I only send you my invitation
And in the middle of the celebrations
I break down

Boy, you're gonna carry that weight
Carry that weight a long time
Boy, you're gonna carry that weight
You're gonna carry that weight a long time

Poutine!

Yum.

Montreal Trip Pictures

Montreal Anniversary Trip, a set on Flickr.

Another Busy Week

I returned from Montreal this afternoon, before a potentially major winter storm hits DC tomorrow. Pictures from my trip will be posted here in a little while. I'm having the first of two surgical procedures beginning tomorrow morning. Posting then may be impossible, though staggering back to and from the hospital may prove far more challenging than writing.

Quote of the Week

"Every writer, like everybody else, thinks he's living through the crisis of the ages. To write honestly and with all our powers is the least we can do, and the most."-Eudora Welty

Tales from a Quaker Phone Sex Operator (Full Version)

I posted this full column too early and had my hand gently slapped by the powers that be. Now, however, the entire piece can be shared with you. It was originally published by Friends Journal in its March edition.

______________________

Loving the Difficult People by Karen Ainslee (Not her real name)

A phone-sex operator as a spiritual healer? No, I didn’t start out the work with this intention. But that is where the path led.

“You’re a sweetheart, Karen. Always have been,” the caller tells me in his heavy Appalachian accent.

“Thanks, Wyatt. I try to be,” I reply. “You are, too.”

“I mean it, Karen. You’ve always been a sweetheart.”

I repeat my comment, and try to move the conversation toward something else. Wyatt has a tendency to go on and on with these platitudes. It’s not that he lacks intelligence—far from it. What he does lack are good verbal skills, especially a good emotional vocabulary. He’s an industrial engineer and comes from a family who did not particularly value education or the ability to be articulate. Nonetheless, my relationship with Wyatt has been among the most intimate of my life.

It’s not a relationship between equals; it’s more like a parent-child or therapist-client relationship. I am a phone-sex operator, and Wyatt was one of my customers for over six years, until that relationship reached the limits of usefulness to him and we became “friends,” or at least social acquaintances. Although I still know him only over the phone, I have his real name and address and carry a photo of him in my wallet.

I love him.

I love him for his courage, for he has survived truly horrendous abuse as a child. I love him because I have journeyed with him into some of the darkest places in his mind, and I cannot be that intimate with someone without loving him. I love him for his spirituality, for, although his fundamentalist Southern Baptist religious style is quite different from my own, I know that spirituality is a real force in his life, something that helps him stay more or less sane.

“I wake up every day and thank God I have never killed anyone,” he told me once. And, another time, “I have seen evil, face to face.”

In addition to his abuse, Wyatt has suffered other losses. His high-school sweetheart, to whom he was engaged to marry, died at a very young age (I have never found out the cause of her death). That same year, his best friend died in a traffic crash, and two other significant people died within two years (I also do not know any details about who they were or how they died).

The full link is here.

Saturday Video

Why no pills today?
Bitter tears
7:00 A.M. and wasting away
Bitter tears
Why no knock on my door?
Bitter tears
What did I come here for?
Bitter tears

How much do you need
Bitter tears
Give me love and see me bleed
Bitter tears
Please don't hurt me tonight
Bitter tears
I've lost the will to fight
Bitter tears

It's our intimacy that I'm missing, you see
When there's no one around
Our intimacy it's what's missing for me, Aaah

If I go then I'll go clean
Bitter tears
Making love inside a dream
Bitter tears
Burn the books of history
Bitter tears
Build a home for you and me
Bitter tears