March 2007 Archives

I've decided that tonight shall be my night to take my ease at home this week. I figure that with my father's visit on Monday, meditation and writing on Tuesday, and game night last night, it's time to take a step back and slow down. Especially since I'm planning on running all over half the city tomorrow evening.

Two weeks ago, when I started getting more active and spending less time sitting around the house, I quickly realized that it does me no good to go too far the other way. That week, I did something every night. As a result, I ended up feeling like I was dragging all weekend and into the following week. So I decided to start implementing a rule that while I plan on getting out more (especially when I can put myself into situations to socialize with others and meet new people), I will set aside at east one weeknight where I do nothing but relax at home. So when I finish this post, I will put a movie in the DVD player, curl up on the couch, and try to coax Precious into joining me. That will let me rest up for tomorrow evening's madness.

Tomorrow after work, I plan on picking up Becky. I've asked her to take pictures for me. I need a few more pictures of myself for the website, most of them "specialty shots" for specific purposes. For example, we will be going to Equal Grounds so that she can get a picture of me there, typing away at my favorite table. Of course, the picture will be completely faked, as I don't plan on doing any writing. Though hopefully we will manage to sit down long enough for an iced tea. Other pictures will include my favorite spot in Highland Park, and looking out over the Erie Canal just outside of Pittsford.

I actually called Becky about it today, because I realized when I asked her to play photographer Tuesday night, I forgot to mention that it'd involve a lot of traveling around the city. In token of thanks, I figure I'll take her out to dinner, I suggested the Tandoor, which she seemed pleased with.

Tonight, I went to the COAP game night again. I had a great time, once again. Tonight was not only game night, but it was their weekly planning meeting. That's when they start coming up with events for the next month or so and adding them to the calendar. I don't think they ever got around to doing that tonight, because Woody was running late. So we got right into the game playing. First, we played Pit, which is basically a sort of trading game. it was insane, but fun. After we played several hands, we switched over to Guillotine. I'm not sure what it is about this group and morbid games, but it was fun.

Tonight, we had eight people show up. Woody, Paul, and Jeff all returned from last week. In addition, I got to meet John, Todd, and Jenny. Tonight, Alana came for the very first time, taking my place as the newbie. (Technically, I think we're going to share that role for the time being, though.)

After the gaming ended and people started leaving, a small group of us stuck around for a while to just chat. It was nice, because we all got to know each other a bit more. For example, I found out that Woody is also a computer programmer. And Alana told us about her experiences moving o the area and looking for a job. It was great to be able to learn a bit about the people I've bee gaming with.

What truly amazed me, however, was that I was able to spend two and a half hours with that many people and not feel any ill effects as a result. Apparently, I've learned to shield extremely well. It's nice to be able to keep everyone else's emotions at bay.

Earlier today, Lauren and I got joking around. In the process of our joking, she asked me when I'd be donning a white gown. I gave her an answer that more or less amounted to "never." Silliness ensued, and she ended up posting an obviously edited, but hilarious photo. Of course, this whole thing was particularly funny, because one of the running jokes whenever the idea of two guys getting married that invariably comes up is the question, "Who's going to wear the white dress?" At least I think it's a joke.

But setting the jokes aside, I am inclined to answer that question for myself. At my wedding (unless my fiancé manages to offer me one hell of a compelling reason), no one will be wearing a white dress. Because, to me the idea makes no sense at best and is downright offensive at worst.

I am a gay man. I am not a crossdresser. I am not a transvestite. I am not a transsexual. While I might put on a blouse and skirt on rare occasion just for the fun of a given situation, dressing in women's clothing simply isn't a part of my normal life. So why would I want to introduce it to the solemn occasion of sealing my commitment to the man I hope to spend the rest of my life with?

I certainly wouldn't do it for the "laughs," as was my reasoning for donning women's clothing in the past. Those kinds of "laughs" simply have no place on my wedding day either. Nor does the kind of political statement (in the form of parody) that I've heard some people posit as a reason for doing such a thing have any place there. My wedding day will be about myself, my love, the love we share, and the commitment to one another we're making. Playing around with traditions just for the heck of it would only detract from those themes.

I don't know what my love and I will wear during our wedding. Maybe we'll booth wear tuxes. Maybe we'll just go with suits. I wouldn't even rule out my daily casual attire. But I know there will be no white dress, because it just doesn't fit in with what I want my wedding to be about.

Besides, what would be the point in me wearing white? All my friends know better anyway. ;)

Deck: Robin Wood Tarot
Card: Wheel of Fortune (X)

A large wheel divided into eight sections of equal size takes up the center of this card. Each section is filled with the image of the same young girl. In the uppermost section, the girl is dressed in the purest white gown with uplifted arms while a star rests upon the crown of her head. In the section opposite this one, the girl is dressed in a nearly-black gown. Her usually blond hair is darkened, and she covers her face in despair with her hands. Each of the images in the sections leading to and from these two extremes show a progression from despair to utter joy and back again. A small ball rolls around the rim of the wheel, reminiscent of a roulette wheel.

This card reminds us that the circumstances of our life are constantly in motion and often beyond our control. Sometimes, our circumstances are rosy, while they are abysmal at other times. Often, they are somewhere between these two extremes. Part of life is coming to understand the fluctuations of fortune and misfortune we experience throughout it and take them in stride. The person who fails to accept this reality is the most likely to be destroyed by the turning of the Wheel of Fortune.

However, even though our circumstances may be beyond our control, our response to them never is. One of the hidden meanings in this card is that what circumstances may befall us are less important than how we choose to deal with them. Do we learn to make the most of even the worst situations? Or do we allow the despair of the moment overcome us? If we choose the latter, we risk missing the opportunities that first come to us when the Wheel turns yet again.

Tonight is one of those strange nights where my mood is undefinable. I'm sitting here at Equal Grounds again. It's becoming my favorite post-meditation spot for Tuesday nights. I like being able to run over here and cap off my night with a nice snack, a good drink, and a pleasant atmosphere to seek out my muse in.

Before meditation, I managed to sneak in a forty five minute nap. I ran over to the POC immediately after work, eating a bite of supper on the drive. Once there, I let myself in, locked the doors, and camped out on one of the couches. I meant it to only be a twenty minute nap, but when I finally decided to get up and check the time, it was ten of seven. What's more, Terry had just gotten there. I'm not sure how long Rob had been sitting outside, but he said hi to Terry as she approached from down the hallway.

Terry led the four of us in a nice meditation, incorporating both colors and the ocean waves. It was a nice experience, and I found myself flowing into the appropriate state of consciousness rather quickly. I did end up coming out of my meditative state a bit before the others, though. So I had to wait for the meditation to conclude. Then we sat around talking for a bit before we locked up.

I'm going to miss the space the POC has. Our lease is up as of Saturday, and we will have to look for other places to hold our events. I will especially miss that ability to get there early and either take a nap or work on my writing. The space has been good to us, but the money just isn't there to keep it right now. So we'll make do with what we have.

The music playing here today is rather jazzy. It's pretty good, though not entirely my style. However, I will admit that it doesn't keep my head from bobbing every now and then. Nor does it prevent my fingers from trying to type to a rhythm that compliments the percussion track of the current song. In many ways, it's quite amusing.

I mentioned in my last post that my friend, Belinda, read Journey for the first time today. What I forgot to mention was the interesting question she asked me. After reading the page called "An Emotionally Immature Adult," she turned to me and asked if I felt exhausted whenever I finished writing part of my story. She explained that she thinks she would be, given how intensely personal and moving it is.

To be honest, I feel many things when I write down the various parts of my story. I have to admit that after writing many sections (including the one she finished before asking that question), I often feel quite vulnerable and nervous. I feel like I'm ready for a break and need to do something else. But as of yet, I have yet to feel exhausted. If anything, I usually have quite the opposite reaction. I feel energized, and while I want to get away from the writing and give my heart and mind time to recover from the process, I definitely want to do something.

In many ways, being able to write my story has helped me to find another level of release. As I right each part, I know that I've put it "out there," and am no longer carrying it around inside. And while it's frightening because there are certain aspects of my life that I'm not sure how everyone will respond to, it also comes with a sense of freedom. No matter what happens, no matter how anyone chooses to react, what's done is done. I've allowed my heart and my mind to speak their peace. And that's far from exhausting. It's actually rather rejuvenating.

Today was a great day. I managed to get out of the house around quarter of noon and headed up to the POC to hang out with Belinda during the healing clinic. Nobody showed up today, so we just ended up sitting around and talking. I took my laptop so that Belinda could read the local copy of Journey. She absolutely loved it, though she was frustrated that I hadn't written more. She got to the last page in the series and just sat there going, "That's it?" She also found a couple of typos I made, which I fixed and just uploaded.

When we finally decided to leave the POC, we decided to go to a late lunch at Red Lobster. She had the Shrimp Linguini Alfredo. Not being a seafood fan (but I love the garlic biscuits they serve at Red Lobster), I decided to go with the Cajun Chicken Linguini Alfredo. We both loved our meals, and there were a lot of cute waiters to check out. (We each commented on which ones we liked.)

After lunch, I brought my leftovers back to the house, then decided to go someplace for a walk. I was only a little after five and the day was absolutely beautiful. I decided to drive over to Shoen Place and park so that I could walk the trail along the canal. It was the first time I've walked the trail, and it was absolutely gorgeous. It's surprising how peaceful the area can be. You don't realize it driving along Route 96 in the same area.

After my walk, I ran to Target. I decided that with the weather warming up, I needed some more polo shirts. I only have three, and I can't wear tee shirts on the customer site like I do at my own office. While I was there, I also picked up a new belt. I've either lost weight or it's shifted, because my old belt wasn't doing a good job at holding up my pants anymore.

I also decided to get another package of underwear, as I'm running out of those, too. I had trouble picking out a package. I usually prefer to get a package that just has black and grey underwear in it, but all the packages today had other colors. I finally decided on the package that also had a blue pair and a red pair. I have to admit that I picked that package because something about the idea of wearing red undies amused me.

Overall, it was a pleasant and beautiful day. I'm thinking about topping it off with a movie this evening.

I just got done watching Eragon on DVD. Overall, it was an excellent movie with a pretty good, if predictable plot. The development of that plot and the characters themselves were pretty good for the 100 minutes or so that everyone had to work with.

I should admit right up front that a few of the issues I had with this movie are the result of a misconception I had going into it. When I saw previews for this movie, I heard the word "dragonrider" and immediately thought of Anne McCaffrey and her series of books about Pern and its dragonriders. Because of this, I noticed some glaring discrepancies, that made me wonder how closely the movie followed the books. However, a bit more research on my part revealed that this movie was not based upon McCaffrey's works, but on the first book in Christopher Paolini's Inheritance Trilogy. Apparently, Paolini's writing was heavily influenced by Ms. McCaffrey's books. However, this certainly explains some of the discrepancies, such as the fact that the dragons in Paolini's world actually choose their riders before they hatch. (Come to think of it, that's a nice touch.)

I think that my favorite part of the movie was the oft repeated phrase, "one part brave, three parts fool." It seems to sum up the nature of many heroes, both in this story and in general. I also like the addition of the fact that Brom (played by the venerable Jeremy Irons, no less) reveals that his quest for vengeance results in the death of the last dragon, save for the evil Galbatorix's own dragon.

The one part I will note as being underdeveloped was the part of the other boy (his name escaped my notice) whose father turned out to be a dragonrider who joined forces with Galbatorix. They ntroduced this information and the boy's desire to follow a better path than his father did rather late in the plot. As such, it seemed underdeveloped to the point of being extraneous.

One thing I particularly liked, however, was the fact that they didn't play heavily on the romantic aspects of the movie. Certainly, they hinted at some underlying romantic tensions between Eragon and Arya, especially at the end. However, most Hollywood movies would have brought that far more to the forefront, even turning it into a major plot element. Those in charge of this movie made a different choice, and I think it was to the benefit of the movie's overall integrity.

On a loose tangent, when looking for Anne McCaffrey's website to link to it, I discovered that she actually has posted guidelines for fan fiction and fan art based on her works. I find it a rather interesting approach to the topic, and I wonder if many other authors have done similar things. Of course, I also wonder if the fan fiction authors and fan art creators actually bother following them. But it's nice to see an author trying to find a peaceful compromise with those who would emulate her.

Despite being wet, today is a gorgeous day. The temperature is not only above freezing, but just warm enough to make wearing a light jacket comfortable. This is a good thing, as the steady rain calls for a vinyl jacket to keep myself dry. But the air is comfortable, just cool enough to remain invigorating.

The rain is a bit disappointing, however, as it interferes with my thoughts of going to one of the parks and walking around. I grimace at the thought of missing out on some much needed exercise. Checking the weather report, I take some comfort in the knowledge that tomorrow is supposed to be rain-free, if a little cloudy. Happily, the forecast is calling for even warmer temperatures tomorrow. So I set my plans for physical activity aside for the day and consider alternatives more fitting to the current conditions.

It's the kind of day that makes me long for my parents' home. It's the kind of day where we might gather around the dining room table, talking or playing a game. It's a peaceful scene, full of pleasant conversation and companionship. We might occasionally take a glance out the big picture window, watching the raindrops beat the ground. Despite the weather, I can imagine a squirrel or bird running about in the yard, looking for food. Whoever spots the soaked creature would likely point it out to the others, and we'd all share a moment of watching its antics before turning our attention back to our own activities in our dry haven.

The image in my mind shifts, and I see myself someplace with a fireplace. I sit in a chair next to it, either reading or working on my writing. The crackle of the fire offers background noise that is comforting and reassuring, as does the percussion of raindrops against a nearby window. Every few moments, I allow my thoughts to surface from the book or journal in front of me, listening to these sounds as my thoughts again settle and reorganize themselves. I might gaze into the fire as well, allowing the leaping flames to dance in my vision, suggesting images or patterns of thought. After a few moments of such reflection, I return to the pages before me, either to read what is written there or to fill them up with my own thoughts. And again, the day and my surroundings become the backdrop to the creative processes within.

As I said, even a rainy day can have its beauty. You just need to look at it in the right way.

Last night, I did something I haven't done in a long time. I wrote an erotic story. I think the last time I did that was back in 2005, maybe even 2004. I forgot just how much I enjoyed it. It's a way to really express myself. And since it's about the only sexual outlet I have right now (well, other than the obvious one), I think I'll be making use of it more often.

As a result, I found myself in a rather mellow mood. I came home practically floating. And that's even after writing another rather personal part of Journey!

The singleness thing is starting to get to me again, though. The problem is, it's difficult to go through all of this intense self-exploration and revealing such intimate parts of myself, only to know that I don't have someone to share them with in that special way. I'll manage, though. After all, I really do want someone special, and not just someone I can make use of. That's not my style, and I've felt guilty the few times I even came close to doing any such thing.

I'm also feeling pretty vulnerable right now, which is both good and bad. It's good, because I like that my feelings aren't locked away, wishing desperately to get out. But at the same time, it also means I'm vulnerable. And that's scary.

I'm sure I commented earlier on the youth of some of the people working for my current customer. I think I've even mentioned that I think they have a lot of co-ops from RIT working for them. Well, today, I think I met the youngest one of them all. Well, it'd be more accurate to say I saw him, as he was sitting in a meeting and I was passing by the conference room. I'm pretty sure he's a co-op. But now, I find myself wondering if they take co-ops that are still in high school. He looked that young.

He had to be a college kid, and at least a junior at that. But man, he didn't look it. That or everyone's starting to look that young to me because I'm getting so old. I really may need that cane after all.

In my previous post, I encouraged people who supported the Breast Cancer Patient Protection Act to contact their Congressmen directly. That got me to thinking about my own experiences of contacting my Congressman. To be honest, I can't say as I blame people who choose not to do that, given my experiences.

Back in 2001, I subscribed to the ACLU's political action mailing list. Every so often (not quite once a week), I'd receive a note from them talking about some legislation that had come up and encouraged me to contact my representatives to voice my opinion. They even offered a service on their website where I could put in where I lived, and they would prepare a boilerplate message that I could edit (I usually didn't) and then submit to them. Their site would then email or fax it to the appropriate representatives based on my home address. It was all quite handy, and allowed me to do something without putting a lot of effort into it. (What can I say? I'm lazy.)

For the most part, I'd never hear another thing about it. Well, at least that was the case with my one Senator and the House member that represented my district. However, my other senator (or more likely, someone in his office) always made a point of sending me back a reply letter. That particular senator was none other than the recently ousted Rick Santorum.

Anyone who knows anything about Rick Santorum (and if you don't know anything about him, you must live even further under the rock than I do) shouldn't be surprised that the letter was invariably a nicely phrased missive to say, "Thanks for writing, but I'm going to do the exact opposite of what you want." This isn't entirely surprising, as it's a hazard of being a liberally minded individual who has the misfortune of being "represented" by a conservative -- and insane, as more recent events have shown -- senator. However, the experience was rather demoralizing for me. After receiving the third or fourth such letter, I began to wonder why I bothered even writing my senator. After all, it was clear that my little letters weren't going to change his mind. So I eventually gave up. And I haven't written a letter to any representative since.

Today, I sit here thinking about that. I find myself wondering if it's time to give it another try. After all, I'm now in a different state, and I could stand to get a little more involved in such things. Though if I do decide to do it again, I think I may actually try writing my letters for myself. One of the things I struggled with over my experiences with Senator Santorum was that I didn't feel I could complain too much about his obvious boilerplate response that practically ignored my concerns when I didn't even take the time to express those concerns in my own word. So that's something I feel I must address if I ever give the letter-writing process another try.

Checking my email today, I ran across the following forward that a friend sent me:

Please take a minute and sign petition and pass on.

It could make such a difference to so many women.

A mastectomy is when a woman's breast is removed in order to remove cancerous breast cells/tissue. If you know anyone who has had a mastectomy, you may know that there is a lot of discomfort and pain afterwards.

Insurance companies are trying to make mastectomies an outpatient procedure.

Let's give women the chance to recover properly in the hospital for 2 days after surgery.

Mastectomy Bill in Congress

It takes 2 seconds to do this and is very important... please take the time and do it really quick!

Breast Cancer Hospitalization Bill - Important legislation for all women

Please send this to everyone in your address book. If there was ever a time when our voices and choices should be heard, this is one of those times. If you're receiving this, it's because I think you will take the 30 seconds to go to vote on this issue and send it on to others you know who will do the same.

There's a bill called the Breast Cancer Patient Protection Act which will require insurance companies to cover a minimum 48-hour hospital stay for patients undergoing a mastectomy. It's about eliminating the "drive-through mastectomy" where women are forced to go home just a few hours after surgery, against the wishes of their doctor, still groggy from anesthesia and sometimes with drainage tubes still attached.

Lifetime Television has put this bill on their web page with a petition drive to show your support. Last year over half the House signed on. PLEASE!! Sign the petition by clicking on the web site below. You need not give more than your name and zip code number.

http://www.lifetime tv.com/breastcan cer/petition/ signpetition. php

This takes about 2 seconds. PLEASE PASS THIS ON to your friends and family, and on behalf of all women, THANKS.

Now, being the skeptical person that I am, the first I did was check it out over at Snopes. As it turns out, this is one of those cases where the forward is not only valid, but is not out of date. Apparently, this piece of legislation has been popping up every couple years, only to die in some subcommittee. And it's shown up in the current session of Congress, this time in the form of H.R. 119. For those who are interested, I would encourage you to check it out.

However, like the folks over at Snopes, I would encourage you to take a different route than signing an online petition. If you'd like to see this legislation pass, write your representatives in Congress directly and tell them so. Tell them that you are aware of H.R. 119 and that as your representative, you'd like them to give it their full support. After all, sending a personal missive to the folks you voted for is far more direct than being just another name on a petition.

Of course, before doing so, I'd also encourage you to research the whole topic quite closely. It seems that at least one organization that fights for adavancements in breast cancer research and treatment is not a fan. You might want to consider their arguments even if you end up disagreeing with them and supporting the bill anyway.

Today, while recuperating from whatever illness beset me late yesterday afternoon, I decided to watch But I'm a Cheerleader, which is possibly one of the cheesiest movies I have ever seen. This is a movie that tries to play off of every stereotype of gay men and lesbians they can think of. And amazingly, it works in this instance.

I think the reason it works for this movie is because it's a movie about a group of young people who have been shipped off to some insane camp to turn them all straight. The camp attempts to do this by teaching each teen to break away from the queer stereotypes and try to act more like tha "proper" boy or girl, based on gender stereotypes we've all heard.

I think part of what makes the whole thing funny, if a little scary, is that based on some of my own investigations of groups that try to turn gay people straight -- including one book I read while back in college, such programs really do put a significant amount of stock in such stereotypes. Suddenly, being a straight guy is as much about being able to talk cars and sports as it is about who you want to cuddle with. (And we won't even mention all the other things we want to do together!)

I think I find this mentality particularly strange because there are certain stereotypes I fit that have nothing to do with the fact that I'm gay. For example, I absolutely stink at sports. Whether it's volleyball, baseball, soccer, football, or any other sport you can name, I'm lousy at it. However, that's because of how my brain chose to adapt to the fact that I lived the first twenty eight or so years of my life with a lazy eye. Having your entire perception of the world shift to the left or right by a couple inches at a critical moment tends to make catching, hitting, or kicking a quickly moving object quite the challenge. Being gay has nothing to do with it. It's just one of those odd coincidences.

And that's the problem with such stereotypes around gender and sexuality. They completely miss the bigger picture.

Tonight, I wrote the next chapter in Journey, the one that talks about my first attempt at love, or something that I thought resembled love at the time. Surprisingly, it was a pretty easy piece to write. Of course, it helps that I've written about that relationship elsewhere before. (In fact, I may dig up those old diary entries and look into supplementing what I wrote tonigh with some of their content.)

Of course, this marks a point in my story that has me somewhat afraid. This is the point where I start talking about my experiences prior to 1996. It's time to delve back into some of those emotionally trying times, and the things my psyche did to survive my youth. And it's appropriate that I start writing about these things at this juncture. After all, it was towards the end of my relationship with "Chris" that some of those things started coming back to my conscious attention. Indeed, they contributed to the rapid decline of our relationship, as I was forced to deal with emotional wounds I had hidden for years.

I find myself in an interesting position. I want to go there, yet part of me dreads it. I'm not entirely sure why. I suppose it's in part because I'm afraid of what pain I might still find there. Will I be fortunate and only find the kind of "ghost emotions" I experienced when I wrote about the weekend I came out? Or will I find something more difficult to deal with?

Of course, there's also the fact that I'll be sharing some deeply personal things. And a much as I feel I need and want to do so, I have to admit the idea still scares me in some way. I won't let that stop me, as I feel it's right to press on. But perhaps a bit of tenderness towards myself as I work through this part of the story is in store, all the same.

I think everyone has those people who came into their lives for the briefest of moments, yet touched them in a profound way despite how temporary their presense may have been. Darcy was one such person for me. I spoke with her a total of three times in my entire life, and I doubt I'll ever see her again. And yet, the first night we met, she left an impression I doubt I will ever forget.

That night took place several years ago. It was the night that I agreed to go out to a movie with my older brother -- the first and only time I ever went someplace with him since I became an adult. Terry wanted to go see a movie, but didn't have his license due to legal issues at the time. As such, he needed someone to go with him. Being the generous, if foolish, person I am, I agreed to go with him when he asked me. Both before and after the movie, we decided to hang out at the bar in Ruby Tuesday's, which was located in the same mall as the cinema complex we went to.

When we returned to the bar after the movie, I was seething. The entire outting had been a real eye opener to just what kind of person -- and let me just say that I'm being polite in using that word -- my brother was. At one point, I was sure he was going to get himself thrown out of the theater during the movie. (I had decided I was going to sit there pretending I didn't know him if that happened.) But I allowed him to convince me to return to the bar with him. By that time, Darcy was working behind the bar alone. Things had slowed down enough that Darcy had a lot of idle time, and she and Terry got talking.

Darcy was a sweet girl, a few years older than me at most. She was on the short side with long, blonde hair, but a real spitfire. She was the type of person that could say some incredibly cutting things, yet smile the entire time. I suspect that many of her customers were too drunk to realize she had actually said something biting until after the fact. Her personality struck me as admirable, and entirely conducive to the line of work she was in. And I have to admit that I was enjoying the process of watching her spar with my brother, who was too dumb to recognize all the jabs she got in despite the fact that he was perfectly sober at the time.

The incident that truly earned her my admiration, however, was when the topic turned to that of gay people. I forget what exactly came on the television to spark the conversation, but Terry made some sort of nasty remark on the topic. As I felt my heart sink and my stomach lurch, Darcy turns to Terry and asks him in a friendly, yet pointed manner, "What? Do you have something against gay people?" As soon as she asked the question, she gave me a quick wink. I'm not sure how she had managed to pick me out, but it was clear that like many other people in my life, she had immediately known I was gay. (Fortunately, my brother was clueless, and still is to the best of my knowledge.)

Terry stammered a bit and tried to make excuses. Of course, the first thing he did was played the typical male double standard, pointing out he had no problem with two women being "like that" -- and even found it somewhat alluring. However, he pointed out that he just didn't want any gay guys to hit on him, because that would not be okay.

Darcy's reaction was incredible in that she didn't pause, take a breath, or even blink. As soon as Terry said what he did, she just looked at him, smiled, and said in an even if somewhat patronizing voice, "Oh, hon, don't flatter yourself." And before either Terry or I had time to register what she said, she was off to serve another customer at the other end of the bar. I just about fell off my bar stool. (And for the record, I was sober, too!) Terry could only respond with a hurt and shocked "Hey!"

I was just totally amazed at how easily, gracefully, and politely Darcy had shot him down. Every time I find myself in a similar situation, I find myself thinking of her response that night. I can only hope I handle things half as well.

I went back two weeks later just to thank Darcy. I also left her a very big tip on my second trip, as an expression of my gratitude. We had a nice conversation, and she was shocked to discover that Terry was my brother. She couldn't believe we came from the same family.

I only returned one more time after the night I went in to thank Darcy. I'm not the bar type, and even hanging out with such a great gal as Darcy was sufficient reason for me to keep returning. As a result, she disappeared from my life as quickly as she entered it. But that brief encounter is something I still like telling people about several years later. I think I always will.

Last night, I decided to rent a couple of movies. One of the movies I chose to rent was Bob Saget's "mockumentary," Farce of the Penguins. Let me just say that it was strange to watch a movie like this that was written, directed, and even played in by the same guy who starre in Full House, a family-oriented sitcom I watched religiously all through junior and senior high school.

While the movie was quite funny and had some incredible one liners in it, I particularly liked it because of the social commentary that Saget created with this film. This movie was more than just a parody of the more serious documentatry, March of the Penguins. In this movie, Saget takes the ways in which we humans complicate our own love lives and turn them political and overlays them on the lives of penguins. By doing this, he allows us to see just how ridiculous our attitudes about and approaches to love and sex really are at times. This situation offers us a chance to go from realizing how crazy it would be for penguins to act like us in this realm of their lives to wondering if we might need to find a more sane approach for our lives.

The movie is packed with some great talent, talent that I was somewhat surprised to discover they'd get involved in such an over-the-top movie. I think the most surprising one to me (besides Saget himself) was Samuel L. Jackson, who acts as the ever-faithful narrator through the entire film. How he managed to say some of his lines without laughing is beyond me. I can only chalk it up to a sign of what an accomplished actor he really is.

In general, it was a fantastic movie, though not one I'd recommend watching with young children.

I just had a knock at the door. I checked the peep hole, to see a woman in her forties or so. So I opened the door a crack and she went into her spiel:

"Hi. I'm Nancy. I'm with a local Christian organization that's doing a seminar on prophecy. We're going around letting everyone know about it and passing out literature."

I politely told her, "Thanks, but I'm really not interested."

"Oh really?" She sounded genuinely surprised. After I confirmed I wasn't interested, she said a polite goodbye.

Now, here's my thing. If she looked at my window, she'd notice (1) a pride sticker and (2) a sticker with a pentagram on it. Now call me crazy, but I'd think those would be a couple huge clues she'd be better of skipping my house.

And to think, I actually had to put on pants to answer the door!

I just finished and posted the latest chapter of Harald's Story. Once again, it took me almost a month since I submitted the previous chapter. I'm not entirely thrilled about this, as I originally had hoped to post a minimum of one chapter per week. After all, I want to keep the momentum going with the story. Most importantly, I don't want it to get away from me like Keylar's story did. (I'm still rather upset with myself that I allowed myself to stop writing long enough that I can no longer pick up the trail of that one.)

Of course, in my defense, it's not exactly like my pen (or keyboard, as may be more accurate) has been idle during all this time. I've been spending a good portion of my time this week working on my "coming out" story. In fact, I've posted at least one new section every day since 11 March (though I doubt I'll keep that rate up indefinitely). In many ways, it's just that this project is a bit more pressing in my mind than the adventures of Harald, no matter how worthy his story is to be told. So my sense of priorities have dictated that my time go to one while letting the other rest for a little bit. Add to that the fact that I've been sorting out some personal things as well, and you have even less time for Harald, though I'm hoping that will change soon.

Of course, working on multiple writing projects makes me realize one thing. I wish I didn't have to keep my job to pay my bills. I'd much rather take that time and devote it all to my writing proects. But short of winning the lottery or marrying a billionaire, that doesn't look likely.

I suppose I could try to find a way to make a living off of the writing projects. In some ways, that's very tempting. But then, I look at the writing I do and I ask myself whether I really want to do it for money. After all, doing that sort of thing for money can complicate things in ways I'm not sure I'd like. (After all, working as a software enginee has certainly affected my passion for computers.)

And even if I did decide to go that route someday, it would have to be something I'd build up to. I couldn't just hand in a resignation now and have the money I need tomorrow. I'd have to start building up a reputation to generate the funds from my work. So it'd still be some time before I could give up my current source of income.

So for now at least (and possibly forever), I'll just have to accept that my writing projects will have to be done with the free time my day job allows me to have, just like every other aspect of my life.

I had a rather long day at work. I ended up working a ten hour shift, which is an hour longer than the shift I worked on Tuesday. But I needed to work that many hours to get my time in on a particular project. I believe I mentioned earlier that I was working on-site for Customer A and at my own company's office for Customer B. Well, in theory, I'm now assigned to Customer A full time.

However, Customer B still needs some of my time. That project took longer than expected, and we're still doing testing. As the only software engineer on the project, they need my support. So in addition to working a full week at Customer A's site, I'm trying to come in to our office for a few hours a week to support the work on Customer B's stuff. I put in two and a half hours total over Tuesday and Wednesday morning. As I had things to do that evening, I didn't put in a full eight hours at Customer A's site those days. So today was the day to make up the difference.

As a reward to myself for working so hard this week, I decided to come directly over here to Equal Grounds again after work. I decided to give their black bean wrap a try for dinner. It's actually pretty good. So here I sit, munching on a wrap and nachos and washing it all down with an iced tea. It's practically a perfect evening, especially when you consider that an episode of Law & Order is on the television, which is about fifteen feet or so directly ahead of me. So while I'm doing my writing, I also get treated to a great show. Of course, I've already seen this episode, but there aren't many I haven't seen already. I used to be a Law & Order fanatic.

Oh, back on the work topic (sort of), let me just say that I'm amazed by the incredible number of good looking guys that work for Customer A. Of course, most of them also seem to be incredibly young. I'm beginning to wonder if they hire 85% or better of their employees directly out of RIT. And actually, I know that at least two of the guys working on my team are co-ops from there. It's just crazy.

Not that I'd chase any of them. That would be a nightmare waiting to happen. Besides, I've decided I'd rather be the one being chased. ;)

I think I have tried getting my eyeglasses through a chain store for the last time. This is the second time when such a store has proved disappointing. The first time was ten years ago, when I got my pair of glasses at Sears Optical, because that's the store that my employer's insurance could cover. I was deeply offended by the optometrist by that store, who recommended I consider purchasing tinted lenses for "cosmetic purposes" -- that is, to hide the fact that I had a lazy eye from every one. I bought a pair of (untinted, mind you) glasses that day -- something I would not have done had such an even happened after I developed a stronger sense of self -- but swore I'd never go back there again. As a result, I ended up getting my next two pairs of glasses at a nice, individually owned optometrist's office in Wellsboro, PA. It's a shame their office is over three hours away, as I'd still be going there if it was more convenient.

However, when it came time to get new glasses this past fall, it was time to find a new optometrist. To make matters simple, I decided to give Pearl Vision a try. And unlike the jerk at Sears Optical, the optometrist was nice enough. Unfortunately, my experiences with my new glasses have led me to question their quality -- and the quality of the work of Pearl's opticians.

A few weeks ago, my right lens popped out at home on a Sunday night. I checked when Pearl opened the next morning, informed my supervisor I'd be late, and prepared to make a stop at the mall that morning. In the meantime, since I really needed my glasses, I managed to get the lens back in well enough to stay in place for the night. It was obvious to even my untrained eye that it was not properly seated, but it'd do in a temporary situation.

I was standing outside of Pearl vision the next morning when they opened. I walked in, handed them my glasses, explained what happened, and pointed out that while I had managed to get the lens in somewhat, it wasn't seated properly. The woman at the counter took them and told me it would be a few minutes before their optician got in.

The optician came in, took about two minutes, and brought me my glasses. He told me that the screw was loose and he had tightened it. Apparently, that's all he did, because I noticed later that afternoon that the lens was still not seated properly. Apparently, I have a better eye for these things than Pearl's optician.

The next day, I was unsurprised when the lens popped out again. This time, because I was not in a position to take the glasses back to Pearl yet again, I purchased a jeweler's screwdriver, attempted to reseat the lens yet again (and while it was still not perfect, it was a lot better). This time, I even managed to tighten the screw myself. (Of course, loosening it before trying to put the lens back in helped a lot, too.)

This morning, the lens popped out a third time. I wasn't too upset about this. After all, I had reseated it myself and new it was still not a perfect job. This time, I was close to a Pearl Vision store (not the same one I purchased the glasses from or had the first repair job done, though), so I took them in. This time, I was smart enough to leave the lens completely out, forcing their optician to insert the lens herself.

What annoyed me, however, was when the optician brought my glasses back to me. She made the offhanded comment that I should really try to use two hands to take my glasses off (I normally do, but I might have only used one hand there at the office -- hey, I had a lens in one hand!), as it would help keep that from happening again.

Now as a customer, let me explain why I find this comment so annoying. I've been wearing glasses since before I was ten years old. I've owned at least six different pairs, and I this is only the second pair of glasses I've owned that had a lens pop out. The other pair I had a problem with were from back when I was in elementary school (when I was really hard on glasses), and by the time the lens popped out, I'd been wearing them for over two years. This lens popped out before I had been wearing these glasses for four months. An examination of my eyeglasses history tells me that the way I take my glasses off shouldn't matter to whether a lens pops out. And if it does matter with these particular glasses, it tells me that the quality of the glasses is lousy. Perhaps rather than blaming the customer, the optician should report the incident to Pearl corporate so they make sure the quality of their products and services improve. After all, I don't think asking for glasses that aren't prone to having the lens pop out is all that unreasonable. So if it happens again, I will seriously consider looking for a local optometrist and just get a pair of reliable glasses.

And do you know what really scares me about all this? If these glasses are so susceptible to how I take them off, how will they ever survive my two loving and rambuctious nephews when I next spend time with them?

After a bit of deliberation and carrying on about how shy and nervous I usually am, I eventually convinced myself to go to COAP's game night tonight. In retrospect, I'm glad I did. To be honest, I'm not sure when I've had that kind of fun.

I arrived at the coffee house a little before 6:30pm. As I was early, I decided to take the time to pull out the laptop an work on my writing. As I was finishing up the next chapter in A Journey to Queerdom, people started showing up. So I finished editing the pages locally, then turned off the computer, ordered another iced tea and went over to introduce myself.

By the end of the night, there were a total of six of us. Originally, four of us played Gloom, which is probably one of the most morbid games I've ever played. (Is it bad that I enjoyed it?) I almost won, but Woody cleared all the modifiers off one of my family members just before Paul killed off his last family member. As a result, Paul won the game.

The next game we played -- involving all six of us this time -- was Phase 10. Now I think I vaguely recall playing this game once before, but it was a few years ago. Fortunately, it was similar enough to other games that I caught on rather quickly. In fact, for the first few hands, I managed to take the lead. Eventually, that changed and I was probably close to being low man on the totem pole (kinky!) by the time I had to leave. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to stick around and finish the game, as I have to go to work early tomorrow and I'm working a ten hour or better shift. In fact, I shouldn't be taking the time to write this, but I figure I need the chance to wind down, anyway.

Overall, game night was a great experience. It's been a long time since I've sat down with a group of guys (and the first time when I wasn't the only gay guy in the bunch) and just hung out. It was nice to chat, joke around with one another, and just have a leisurely visit. In a lot of ways, it reminded me a lot of the nights my family will get together to play cards. I'm alread looking forward to the next game night at the end of this month.

As I type this up, I'm sitting at a small table in Equal Grounds. My chai smoothie is almost gone. I've completed installing the software I want for writing and web development, and I'm just enjoying the atmosphere.

I'm also looking at the battery life meter. Man it's going down fast. I've only been here forty five minutes and I'm already down to 75% power. I may have to look for a table near an electrical outlet in the future.

Already, I'm finding the change of pace, being online and doing my stuff in public, a pleasant one. In many ways, it reminds me of the comfort I found when I first starting writing at a table in Friendly's. Now if I can just make the kind of friendships I eventually formed with the waitresses at that restaurant.

Equal Grounds has a large LCD screen at the one end of this back room. Currently, it has the image of a fire (like in a fireplace) palying across it. It gives the place a very cozy feeling. I'm facing in that direction, so as I'm typing, I can look up for a moment or two and get lost in the dance of the flames on the screen. It's rather mesmerizing.

I don't think I'll get any real writing done here tonight. My mind just isn't right to do it. And besides, I have to go to work early tomorrow. So in another twenty minutes or so, I will likely need to call it a night. But at least I can now do this, and I'm looking forward to repeating the experience.

Of course, I think I'd also like to do it during the day when there's slightly more light.

Earlier tonight (before it became tomorrow), I took the time to write about the weekend I decided to come out and the emotional crisis that led up to it. It surprised me how easily much of the emotion I felt that weekend came back to me. In some ways, writing about it meant reliving it, and it was a strange experience.

Of course, this time around, the feelings weren't nearly as strong. Instead, they were more a ghost of events and feelings long gone. Back then, I was afraid that all of the feelings were going to consume and destroy me. Tonight, the worst they will do is chase a smile from my face until I get some much needed sleep.

And in some way, I find the return of these emotions comforting. Not because I have any desire to return to the constant torment I felt back then, but because it means that I'm still connected to that person I was. I can still identify so completely with my past that I can draw on it for strength, insight, an even wisdom without becoming lost in it or controlled by it. And that is a wonderful feeling.

I'm beginning to realize that this writing project is meant to serve a dual purpose. So far, I've been focused on how it might help others who are going through many of the same things -- or even just similar things -- that I did. But now I also see that it's also a chance for me to again connect to my past, understand how it led me to the presence, and discover just how I've grown from it all. And perhaps that's something I need right now, too.

While surfing the web tonight, I came across a book I'd never heard of before. The title is From Boys to Men: Gay Men Write About Growing Up. I find myself wondering how closely any of the stories contained in the book resemble the experiences I'm working on writing about. One of the reason I started writing about my own sexual self-discovery is because I feel like the topic is not well covered. So it would be interested to see if this book is a sign that there's more out there than I realize. It would be a pleasant discovery if that is the case.

I've added the book to my wish list. I'd buy it outright, but I think I spent enough money today. I got a laptop in the price range I expected. But by the time I added all of the extras I decided to get with it (including a new wireless router for the house), the bill was a bit...shocking.

I've decided that I'm going to run to Best Buy after work tomorrow. The plan? To spend part of my tax refund and buy a laptop computer. It's occurred to me that I'd really like to have one. I often like to go to places like Equal Grounds and Spot Coffee to hang out and relax. And it seems to me that it would be nice to be able to work on my writing projects, including my online projects, while relaxing at places like them.

Granted, I already often take my journals there and write by hand. But having a laptop would allow me to type things up directly. And in cases where I'm at someplace that offers a wireless Internet connection, I can even directly upload my content while I'm there.

This is a great solution to one of the problems I'm currently facing. I want to get out more often, an create opportunities for socializing. And yet, I have a number of writing projects I want to keep up with. Getting a laptop will hopefully enable me to combine the two in a creative way. And perhaps my writing in public will occasionally help generate conversation.

The past thirty six hours or so have been very busy and creative for me. The astute person may have noticed a few new links on my sidebar. Basically, I decided that after almost three years, it was time to start doing something with the main Northern Grove site. I've left an "under construction" page up there for way too long.

I've decided to turn that site into a series of static pages with information that I'd like to keep readily accessible at all times. Currently, I've added a brief autobiography, a short explanation of how I came to write and why I do it, and the story of how Precious came to live with me. I'll probaby add more pages as ideas come to me.

I'm also thinking about reviving One Pagan's Heart. If I decide to go through with it, I will probably go through and edit all of the pages to match the design I use for this blog and the main site, which should be a bit of a challenge.

And of course, I'll continue to update this blog. I've grown fond of it, especially over the past few days I've felt increased inspiration for things to write about. I must say, I love it when I get creative.

Today, Deborah Lipp offered a brief summary of her thoughts on the differences between magic (or more specifically, spells) and prayer on her blog. It was nice to see someone whose thoughts on the subject echo my own. I've always had a problem with the tendency for some to equate spells to prayer, simply because of the nature and source of power that Deborah describes. One of the things that drew me to the path I'm walking is the understanding that I am an active participant in my life and in the process of determining my eventual destiny. To me, the suggestion that spells are simply a way to ask the gods to give you what you want is contrary to that very principle. I work magic because it's a way I contribute to my life and the achievement of my goals.

Of course, as I think about the whole topic, I also realize that the suggestion that spellwork is the same as prayer bothers me because it is contrary to my own understanding of prayer and the very relationship I have with my gods. I'm not the kind of person to ask my gods to give me something, but rather the kind of person to ask them for wisdom and guidance on how to attain what I desire for myself. I would ask them to help me learn to make my own efforts as effective as possible. I would ask them to help me be aware enough to see the opportunities I'm working to create. Asking them to just give me whatever it is I want would be unfair, both to them and to myself. It's simply not what our relationship is about.

I recently enjoyed reading Pam's follow-up on the Equality Ride bus vandalism story. It gave me the chance to learn more about the Equality Ride itself. It sounds like a wonderful experience, and something I might have liked to participate in at one time. (Sadly, my life no longer would allow me the time or leisure for such a project.)

However, it also gave me a chance to learn more about the organization behind the Equality Ride, Soulforce. Soulforce is an organization consisting of spiritually minded people who work for "freedom for lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender people from religious and political oppression through the practice of relentless nonviolent resistance." Given my own struggles that resulted from my religious background, I find this a rather noble cause.

I particularly like the Soulforce Credo About My Adversary:

1. I believe that my adversary is also a child of the Creator, that we are both members of the same human family, that we are sisters and brothers in need of reconciliation. 2. I believe that my adversary is not my enemy, but a victim of misinformation as I have been. 3. I believe that my only task is to bring my adversary truth in love (nonviolence) relentlessly. 4. I believe that my adversary's motives are as pure as mine and of no relevance to our discussion. 5. I believe that even my worst adversary has an amazing potential for positive change. 6. I believe that my adversary may have an insight into truth that I do not have. 7. I believe that one day my adversary and I will understand each other and that if we conduct our search for truth guided by the principles of love, we will find a new position to satisfy us both.

To me, this willingness to see one's "adversary" as wholly human and worthy of respect, dignity, and even love despite differences is a marker of true spirituality. It shows a compassion and spiritual understanding that I often find missing when observing people mired in addressing such controversial topics where feelings run high.

Of course, I also have my qualms about some aspects of Soulforce's proposed spirituality. For example, the Soulforce Credo About Spiritual Possessions seems to come a bit too close to ascetism and a "sackcloth and ashes" mentality for my tastes. While I'm certainly not in favor of unrestrained materialism and self-gratification, I'm not a minimist, either. All the same, I think I'll continue to check the organization out and see how I might become involved.

The other evening, a friend and I got into a discussion about coming out. He remarked that he had met a number of older gay men who seemed to be of the opinion that coming out makes all of the struggles with one's gayness disappear, or at least become insignificant. He told me that this attitude bothered him, because he didn't feel that was the case at all. Listening to him, I found myself agreeing with his point of view wholeheartedly. Indeed, I found the claims made by these older gay men (and bear in mind that these "older men" actually fall in my age range) to be astonishing and completely unhelpful. I emphatically told my friend that I felt the attitude these men had expressed was complete garbage.

Now, don't get me wrong. I think there are a great number of benefits to coming out when a person is ready to do so. (I also think that coming out is a process that involves degrees and situations rather than an all or nothing thing, but that's probably best left for another post.) Coming out to myself, ending the denial, and allowing myself to be the person I knew was inside of me has been one of the greatest gifts I have ever given myself. And allowing myself to share that person with those people in my life that were important to me allowed me to save a lot of time and energy that I would have otherwise wasted by trying to hide who I am and worrying about what might happen if anyone ever found out my secret. And I suspect that my friend with whom I had this conversation would agree with everything I've just said.

But to say that all problems surrounding one's sexual orientation will fade away once one comes out just isn't realistic. In fact it's a lie, and one that could deeply hurt someone who doesn't feel this fictional release of all troubles upon coming out. And to me, spreading such a hurtful lie to another person is reprehensible.

Truth be told, as wonderful as the coming out process is, it's only the beginning of a larger process. And for many of us, that beginning is the equivalent of opening floodgates and letting out a whole world of hurt and confusion we need to deal with. I can look at my own coming out experience that took place almost eleven years ago and the rough road it started me down, and the very lie of these older men's claims makes me wince.

Coming out means coming to terms with who we are and allowing other people to see who we are. In many cases, the whole reason we need to come out is because we've been denying or repressing who we are -- often for years. That takes its toll on a person, and quite often, coming out also requires us to face the results of those years. It's one thing to accept who we are, but it's completely different thing to come to love who we are. Sometimes, it means rebuilding our self-perception from scratch. Sometimes, it means learning that we really are deserving of love. Sometimes, it means struggling to live in an adult world while having the emotional maturity of a young teenager. Sometimes, it means coming to terms with an unconscious mind that only found it possible to express your sexual feelings through violent dreams and fantasies. The list is potentially endless.

Perhaps some people really do have less emotional and identity issues to work through after coming out. Perhaps they never denied or repressed their feelings as totally as others of us. Or perhaps they really can heal instantly. But not all of us are like it. To us, facing and admitting our sexual orientation -- whether to ourselves or to others -- is merely the beginning of the next stage of a difficult journey, not the end of one.

Today, I ran across a small story about homophobic vandalism over at Pam's. One thing ran across my mind as I looked at the photographs of the obscenities someone chose to paint on the bus in question. I'm amazed at just how juvenile the whole thing is. I find myself wondering if the "vandals" are any older than schoolyard boys I hung out with back in fifth grade. Quite frankly, these obscenities sound like the kinds of things my early classmates would've blurted out to show how "cool" and "knowledgeable" they were.

To be honest, I find myself hoping that the vandals in this incident were a bunch of fifth graders. Because the only other possibility -- that they were a small gang of adults who think and behave like fifth graders -- is just too disturbing for words. I've met some immature people in my life, but that would just beat all.

Of course, this whole incident also got me thinking back to the recent circus over Ann Coulter's questionable remark about John Edwards. To me, this is another clear case of someone acting juvenile. In fact, I can almost hear those same schoolyard boys chuckling over the fact that using a word like "faggot" to describe someone is humorously insulting. I find myself wondering if there are any homophobes that somehow managed to develop emotionally past the onset of puberty.

To be honest, it's hard to take such people seriously. It's difficult to look at them as anything other than schoolyard children (and the worst kind of schoolyard children at that) who have not managed to grow up despite having grown older. And as I consider that, I realize that I actually pity them.

I think one of the truly frustrating things I've had to face over the past several days is the realization that as far as my journey of sexual self-discovery has come, I still have further to go. Worse, I've discovered that some of the lessons in that respect were not as well learned as I would like to think. I find myself looking at a refresher course.

One of the more painful lessons was that I need a certain amount of security and safety built up to truly express myself sexually and feel comfortable with sharing that part of myself with another person. This isn't exactly news to me, as I've always known it on one level or another. But the past several days have reinforced that truth, and reminded me of some of the costs that can result from allowing myself to ignore it. And while I certainly wouldn't change any of the mistakes I've made recently, I can honestly look at them and acknowledge them as mistakes.

As I sit here and think about this, I find myself considering the various reasons why I took things too fast. After all, there are more than one, each influencing my decision-making process. Some are quite simple, such as the fact that at the time, things just seemed to be too right not to make the choices I did. Then there's the fact that the past nine months have involved a process in which I've been rediscovering just what it means to me to be a sexual person -- the person that I am. So when the opportunity to explore that more experientially, it only made sense to do so.

But it also reminded me that I need to be the person I am -- even the sexual person I am -- on my terms. I need to first create an environment and a relationship in which I'm comfortable exploring. I forsook building up to that place of comfort and raced ahead because it seemed like the right thing to do. And as a result, I've been reminded of why I shouldn't do that.

Hopefully, I remember and exercise better judgement the next time I find myself faced with such choices.

In a previous post, I mentioned briefly that I was going on a coffee date. I haven't said much more about the experience, which was good, or the subsequent dates I had, which were also good. Originally, I didn't want to right much, as I felt it was more appropriate to see how things went before getting too talkative about it. And then as things progressed, I felt that I needed to spend some time with the young man I was dating talking about everything. It was important to talk to him long before I talked about him or our experiences together.

Unfortunately, things did not work out between us as I had originally hoped. This was particularly complicated by the fact that each of us made some rash choices about our time together, resulting in a lot of hurt for both of us. We've spent a fair amount of time over the past several days talking about what happened, how we each felt, and just life in general. The end result is that we've decided to just be friends, and I'm very hopeful we end up developing a strong, lasting friendship as a result.

As I sit here and think about the past week and the future, I find myself experiencing a myriad of emotions. I'd say that chief among those emotions is disappointment and a bit of longing. To be honest, making the choice of not pursuing the relationship in favor of developing a friendship was not an easy one to make. There's a part of me that longs for more, no matter how strongly I know that this is the right choice. Indeed, I found myself wondering how I'd feel when I saw him again. I found myself doubtful of whether I could spend time with him without it tearing me up inside.

I'm both pleased and relieved to say that those doubts were unfounded. Recently, I had the opportunity to spend four hours with him. And while I won't deny that there was the occasional pang during our time together, it was well worth it. Conversation simply flowed. Not the kind of superficial conversation that feels mechanical or forced, but deep and honest communication. We shared an openness with one another that was beautiful and precious. And I have to admit that I find myself looking forward to another experience like that.

As I've thought about our recent time together, I found myself asking the same question again and again: When did I get this strong? How did I get this strong? I remember being the person who would fall completely apart at the first sign of emotional let-down and take weeks, months, or even years to recover. And here I am today, fresh from a breakup, ready to take it all in stride. I'm even looking forward to a friendship, despite the fact that part of me would still like more than friendship. And ultimately, I don't feel it's that big of a deal. And in many ways, that truly astonishes me. Because I don't remember becoming the kind of person who could feel that way.

Back in January, I launched a series of entries called "Concepts in Magic," starting with a discussion of creation. I followed this with the second entry, that one about will. As I sat at my computer, I decided that the most logical third entry should be about wyrd, as it's where the previous two concept meet and interract.

Wyrd is a term from Norse mythology. However, I believe that the concept of wyrd exists in most, if not all, magical systems and religious traditions. This can be seen in the fact that wyrd has many aspects in common with such concepts as karma or fate (though none of them are exactly the same). Given the fact that my own practices are heavily influenced by Norse thought, I will focus on wyrd in this entry. However, I strongly believe that much of what I say translates well to other traditions in some form or another.

At its most basic level of understanding, wyrd is the principle that states that the current moment in time is the cumulative result of all past events and choices. If a person takes a moment to ponder all of the circumstances and choices in their lives, they discover a trail which has led them to the point where they stand at this very moment. As they do this, they are pondering and coming to understand wyrd.

Often times, people come to understand wyrd as a personal thing. You will find both modern heathens and Icelandic authors that speak of an individual's wyrd much like one might talk about one's karma in the Eastern traditions. While there may be some benefit to this point of view, I have come to the realization that from a magical viewpoint, the idea of personal wyrd is merely an illusion. What we often like to see as "his wyrd," "her wyrd," "your wyrd," or "my wyrd" is merely a limited perspective of a tiny piece of a much greater tapestry, true wyrd. In reality, there is only wyrd, a single fabric of reality that connects and supports everyone and everything. And it is this larger picture of wyrd that is important to a magical mindset.

It is this interconnectedness of all people and things through a single, universal wyrd that makes magic possible. This is because each of us shapes this universal wyrd on some small scale, thereby affecting the greater whole. Indeed, it is our ability to shape wyrd in some way that makes us participants in the creative process. After all, it is wyrd that holds creation together.

In reality, every living being in the universe can and does shape wyrd, even those who don't understand or believe in it. However, the magician does so both consciously and willfully. A magician comes to understand the nature of wyrd and his contribution to it, thereby enabling himself to influence wyrd in the way he wishes.

Of course, a wise magician does this respectfully and carefully. Wyrd is governed by certain principles (often known as the primal rules or orlog), and so is the process of shaping it. Indeed, one of the great challenges of working effective magic is coming to understand the governing principles behind wyrd well enough to shape it effectively and responsibly. That is an ongoing learning experience which the responsible magician or witch will devote themselves to for the res of their lives -- or as long as they choose to work magic.

Today, I watched Serenity again. I'm not sure what it is about that movie that I love so much, but it's one of those titles that I just fin myself putting in the DVD player time and again. I think I've watched it once a month since I bought it.

What really stuck out in my mind this time around was the conversation between Mal and River at the end of the movie. During this conversation, Mal tells River the secret of flying:

Love. You can know all the math in the 'verse, you take a bird in the air you don't love it'll shake you just as sure as the worlds turn. Love keeps her in the air when she oughta fall down. Tells you she's hurting 'fore she keenes. Makes her a home.

As I sat listening to this, I realized that these sentiments applied to far more than flying, let alone flying fictional spaceships. In fact, I think these words can be applied to life itself. Love is the great mystery of life, that which ultimately makes it all work. Life without love is simply not worth living. And a life with love is worth living, no matter what may come. It's what keeps us going. It's what heals all wounds, not time. It's what makes the wounds worthwhile.

I'd face any trial that involves love than a million moments of loveless comfort. Indeed, I find myself wondering if the latter isn't an oxymoron of the highest order.

I've always hated making mistakes. In fact, the fact the ability and tendency to make mistakes is one of the few things that drive me batty about the human condition. Fortunately, I've slowly learned to accept that aspect of my own humanity, and I can usually avoid excessive self-flagellation when I goof up.

What still bothers me, however, is when I make a mistake, only to realize it's a mistake I've made in the past (or at least similar enough to one that I should've realized it was a mistake). It's one thing to make a mistake due to lack of experience. It's another thing to make a mistake despite experience. It's even worse when deep down, I know I made the mistake against my better judgement. I let other factors override my judgement, and that's a bitter pill to swallow.

It seems that some lessons need to be repeated. Hopefully, I do better on the next test.

My previous entry reminded me of something else I wanted to comment on. A couple weeks ago, my friend James and I talked on the phone. Recently, he and his girlfriend of three years got engaged. I congratulated him on this development and we talked about their plans. He spent a considerable amount of time talking about their wedding plans. It appears that there wedding will be nontraditional in a number of ways. (Knowing James, this is not exactly a surprise.)

However, what really got me is when he got talking about the religious undertones of their wedding ceremony. Understand that James, like most of the people with whom I forged friendships before 1995, is an evangelical Christian. James in particular is a United Methodist minister. He and Michelle met at seminary. To be honest, the religious undertones are to be expected. What surprised me is when he commented that he hoped it didn't make me uncomfortable.

First let me say that it's a sign of the kind of friendship James and I had that he'd even bother expressing concern about my comfort level during his wedding. It says a lot about his character. Of course, I assured him that I'm not concerned about it. I've sat through church services before. I think I can be comfortable during a wedding ceremony for someone I've been friends with for over a decade.

The one area in which I did appreciate his concern is when he mentioned that they will be serving Communion during the ceremony. Naturally, I won't be participating in that part of the service, which is fine with me. What I appreciate is James's understanding that being one of the few people (if not the only person) who does not participate in this part of the service can make you feel rather conspicuous. I've been to church services with my parents over the past couple years, only to find out too late that it was a Communion Sunday. There's nothing quite as disconcerting as watching everyone else walk by you and giving you a quizzacle look because you're not going forward to partake.

All in all, though, that whole part of the conversation struck me as odd.

It's been quite some time since I've participated in Witches Weekly. When I checked the site on a whim and read the current questions, I felt they were well worth considering.

If you were to plan your own Wedding or Funeral ceremony, would you create two separate ceremonies for pagan and non-pagan folk, or would you just plan a ceremony around your beliefs. How would you feel if any non-pagan friends or family did not wish to attend such a ceremony?

This is a question (at least when discussing weddings) I used to ponder when I was dating Mike. In that situation, the question was further complicated by the fact that he was not Pagan, but nominally Christian. Because of that fact, I felt that a completely Pagan ceremony made absolutely no sense. So I had always envisioned a single ceremony that we both found acceptable. Because of our difference in faiths, I figured that it would probably be fairly generic, and would not bother any of our potential guests.

If I was marrying another Pagan, I'm not entirely sure what I would do. On the one hand, I'd be inclined to just do a Pagan themed ceremony and not bother with another one. After all, most of my friends would be okay with such a service, as they respect my beliefs and would be willing to respect incorporating my beliefs into my own wedding ceremony. And to be perfectly frank, those who could not handle that choice would also be unable to get over the fact that I was marrying another man. As such, they wouldn't show up, and I see little reason to worry about their sensibilities because of that.

But as I think about it, I think that I don't really want a "Pagan wedding" at all. I want a handfasting, and I want it in the truest sense of the word. I want a private, magical act which not only affirms our bonds with one another, but actually creates (moreso than they already exist) and strengthens them. I don't feel that kind of magical act is appropriate for the normal participant-spectator model that most weddings involve. After all, a huge guest list does not work well with the small numbers needed to keep everyone a direct participant.

Also, such a handfasting does not lend itself to meeting the needs of the civil marriage ceremony and contract (assuming I'm ever granted access to such civil rights, mind you). And even if it did, I'm not sure I'd want to combine the two. So perhaps I will have two "ceremonies," a civil ceremony where the papers are signed and most guests are invited, and then the magical act, which is kept between myself, my love, and those who we trust to work with us in the working of such magic. (Of course, that all assumes I have a lover open to these things, himself.)

As for my funeral, I'm not sure I care much about that one. While I see my wedding as something for my lover and myself, I see a funeral as being for the benefit of those loved ones I've left behind. To be perfectly honest, I'm inclined to let my closest loved ones plan the funeral service in any way that will help them to grieve properly. However, this permission will come with the caveat that if they invite a Christian minister to speak and he goes into an evangelistic spiel, I will haunt them for the rest of their lives.