The Green Eyed Dragon

"Once upon a time lived a Fair Princess
Most beautiful and charming;
Her Father, the King, was a wicked old thing,
With manners most alarming."


The last time I came to Preston, ID was when my dad died.

Seemingly small details of that lugubrious farewell are permanently embedded in my mind: the peaceful, but mischievous smile on his face, the unexpected objects placed with him in the coffin, the listing of him on the program of his own funeral. More than a year has past since then. Strange, really, that I've been gone for such a stretch; I live only 90 miles South of here. Nonetheless, it feels good to finally come home.

"And always on the front door mat,
A most ferocious Dragon sat,
It made such an awful shrieking noise
So all you little girls and boys...
Beware, take care,
Of the Green-eyed dragon with the 13 tails,
He'll feed,
With greed
On little boys, puppy dogs and big fat snails."

His chair, the out-of-place-blue one that lifted him up and pushed him outward, is still in the same place it was when he died. It was there that I wrapped blankets around his feet and rubbed his hands trying to produce warmth. (In years past, however, it was he who could never be cooled enough; my mother the opposite.) And, next to the chair on one of many books about his faith, sit his glasses, dusty, but apparently waiting for him to gingerly put them on his face.

"That Dragon went down to the kitchen one day
Where the Fair Princess was baking;
He ate, by mistake, some rich plum cake
Which the Fair Princess was making,
That homemade cake, he could not digest,
He moaned and he groaned, and at last went west -
And now his ghost, with bloodshot eyes
At midnight clanks his chains and cries..."

Interesting...the feelings I'm experiencing just sitting in his chair, looking at his things. I don't know exactly how to describe it.

"And hurry up the stairs,
And say your prayers,"

In fact, I'm sitting here conversing in my head with my ego because it's pushing me to write a long essay, a breathtakingly poetic tribute to my dad, yet, my heart is content just to sit here. Seems like he was here only yesterday and that he left so long ago, both at the same time. I think, if he walked in and sat down, I'd only say "I've missed you, Old Man."

"And duck your heads, your pretty curly heads..."

That's all I'm going to write today.

"Beneath the clothes, the clothes..."

I miss you, Dad.

"...the clothes."

Goodbye, Green Eyed Dragon.



*Note: The Green Eyed Dragon (Newman & Charles) was sung by my dad to his children and grandchildren for many years. I honor his loving heart and his desires to bring joy and laughter to those he loved.

Oh Lord My Cock!

Oh Lord My Cock!

A friend told me I must visit a blog called: Total Cock Worship.

I did.

Instantly I was sucked in (no pun intended). There before me were some of the most seducing penises I had ever seen, and I've seen a few. Some were uncircumcised, extraordinarily large, others more average. Some managed to hold my attention only briefly, while others caused a dropping of my lower jaw and that ever so slight tilt of my head to the left in awe of their beauty. Silent watchers over my shoulder would have known, without doubt, that I enjoy, admire and even ogle the cock.

But wait, there was more. As if the buffet of penis weren't enough there was a liturgy, scripture, testimonials, prayers and all manner of written word that caused within me a burning in my bosom.

Well....OK, perhaps there was no burning in my bosom; no tears of joy at finding, after all these long years, The Truth. What I did experience, however--and you unbelievers may want to sit down for this one--was respect. Respect and reverence. What I found within myself was a deeper awareness of the longings we as humans have to know divinity within ourselves; to share a communion (common-union) with each other and to touch and be touched by something bigger and greater than ourselves (again, no pun intended).

This perusal of the Priesthood of the Penis created a space for me to appreciate, not only my sexuality, but also my connection to the Creator, the great spirit, the heavenly father and mother, the universal life force who gave it to me. A few years ago, while I was incarcerated, I was asked to define what I believe. Some fuck-you-punk-bitch-gangster-Jesus-freak wanted to know if the fag believed in God. I said I would write a statement of exactly what I believed and what values I aspire toward--my personal creed. This is what I wrote:

I believe in God, our loving Mother, patient Father, compassionate Friend;

Creator and Source of all that is;

And in God's sons and daughters who, through enlightenment and the power of Holy Spirit bear witness of God's love.

I believe that I, and my human brothers and sisters, are

Divine extensions of God's Being, endowed with gifts of:

Creation, knowledge and judgement.

I believe in AND CELEBRATE:

The power of kindness,

The joy of simplicity,

The healing nature of laughter,

The mystery of communion,

The manifestation of abundance,

The hope of re-birth,

The miracle of forgiveness, 

And, the innate perfection of ALL the God has created.

The "G" believed me after reading my creed and it seemed to have a strange sort of power. It seemed as if fuck-you-punk-bitch-gangster-Jesus-freak and the fag enjoyed a few moments when we were not separated by our ridiculously strong jail-surviving egos; we were not separate at all, and the feeling was familiar, natural, our Buddha nature. I believe the power that I call God entered the space between us for no other reason but to remind us that there is no separation other that what we create for ourselves.

As expected, someone, either his homey or mine, walked past and like dis empowered robots, we jumped back into ego. We had no choice, really.

Since then, I have recited my creed thousands of times. It preludes almost every prayer or session of meditation and it often serves as a mental distraction when my thoughts race furiously through my head. Why, or how does it work? I don't know for sure. But, I do know that somehow it allows me to touch divinity, or, perhaps it's better articulated to say it allows me to see the one-ness of God and me.

My problem is this: I am not entirely committed to living in the awareness of non-duality. Perhaps old ideas, formerly known as doctrine, still hide like shadowy rats in my mind. As a child I was told that I am here, and God is there, way out there. In fact, on another planet kind of out there, and that my mission and purpose in life is to prove my worthiness to "live with him someday." Moreover, I was taught that, because noble and faithful Adam gave in to the temptations of his easily beguiled, seducing wife Eve, my natural state is "an enemy to God." That mentality made it easy for me to pull away, to create distance and duality, to cover my nakedness with the metaphorical fig leaves entitled "fear and indifference." And what of my body, my penis? Nothing more than a means to an end: an orgasm.

That being said, few things compare to a raucously loud, toe-curling orgasm. The Creator would agree, I'm sure, being the author of such an experience. Which brings me back to the worshipers of the cock. These guys have a connection to their bodies that I admire; a union of body--with all the experiences it was designed to create--and spirit. That feels healthy to me. When presented with the choice of love, service and devotion to one's self and to human-kind, vs. the blindly, un-questioned worship of a god who lives on that planet far, far away, seems like a no-brainer.

So...do I intend on packing away the statues of Buddha with which I often meditate? Shall I erect a large wooden penis in their place? I think not. Rather, I'll offer my thanks to the religion of the worship of the cock for reminding me that there is no separation between body and spirit and no separation between myself and others, other than what I create.

But, if given the opportunity to attend their services, believe you me, I'll be first in line for communion.