"I Wanna Bear My Testimony"

It's taken me longer than it ever has before, but, finally my apartment is decorated for the holidays. The tree I thought would be out of my financial reach stands beautifully in the front room window, adorned with clear lights and my increasing collection of vintage ornaments. If she could speak I imagine her saying "thank you, slow human" and smiling proudly at all the attention from passersby below.

In keeping with the tradition of naming our Christmas trees, we've named this one Gertrude.

Well, Gertrude the tree may have been smiling, but I haven't much lately. I entered this Christmas season, kicking and screaming, whining because I didn't have this or that or those, or... him. Feeling sorry for myself, really, and not realizing how deeply into capitalistic ego I had fallen, I began equating my worth as a father to my ability to pile a competitive number of gifts for my children under happy Gert.

I've done it before: over compensated, or wanted to, in one way or another, for my own feelings of fear and inadequacy. But, why now, at Christmas?

The answer to that question is glaringly simple: seems there is no other time when capitalistic ego is stronger. Media is replete with marketing that suggests, though sometimes subtly, that love, friendship, commitment and respect are determined by the quality--and, of course, quantity--of the gifts one gives.

Thankfully, however, this blog post is not about capitalistic ego. It's not about gift giving, or capitalism or commercialism. Nor is it about effective fathering while confronting feelings of inadequacy. Simply put, this post is about the experience I had when, after becoming very overwhelmed by all those things, I sought help from the Creator.

What happened was this: I was invited to stop thinking and sit still long enough to hear, whispered in my spiritual ear "I love you, Shawn."

In that moment, my face quickly went into that goofy-looking pursed lipped posture and my eyes immediately swelled with tears. I felt, rather than overwhelm, a sense of well-being and a strong sense of communion (common-union) with my fellows. Specific details of how Spirit made that invitation are irrelevant, with one exception: the people who delivered the message. Several individuals around me, in one way or another, completely unaware they were conspiring with Creator on my behalf, bore witness of God's love for me.

In my post dated Friday, October 9, 2009 (name omitted here, it's kind of naughty) I wrote my creed: a statement of my beliefs. While vague about the nature of God's Being, it specifies that I believe in and have faith in "God's sons and daughters who, through enlightenment and the power of Holy Spirit bear witness of God's love."

Included in that, then, are prophets, priests and popes; men like Gandhi and women like Mother Theressa. White witches and native shamans, who remind me to appreciate Mother Earth, bear witness of God's love in powerful ways. And, also included, and perhaps even more powerfully, is the young girl who lives in my apartment building and seems always to have a kind thing to say. Included also is the drug addicted, alcoholic homeless man who sleeps in an alley nearby; his level of gratitude for life and love and beauty astound me. It was his thoughtful compliment today that shifted my perspective the most.

He bore witness of God's love. The drug-addicted alcoholic homeless man said something that shifted my focus to one of love rather than fear or indifference. So, if he can, I surely should be able to. Here goes: When I am not distracted by fear or indifference I feel a connection to Source, or God, that tells me I am a part of God like a wave is a part of the ocean. We all are. Again, when free of distraction, I feel loved by that power in ways my human voice can't explain. We're all loved like that.

So, there it is. No dogma. No "hitchhiking" doctrine attached to the sensation of God's love for me. No "proof" that some dudes construct of God, creative though it may be, is embedded in the experience of being loved.

Just my feelings, my message, my testimony.

To the drug-addicted homeless man who sleeps in an alley nearby and the little girl who lives in my building: Thanks guys. You made my day.

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.