Cauldron

Somewhere inside

There’s a cauldron 

Stewing, simmering, splatting. 

Hotter than hell on a cloudless day

But small 

And tucked away. 

Deep inside

There’s a cauldron 

Fuelled by ignorance and lies

Feeding on news and noiseless nonsense 

Yet hungry 

Bottomless pit

Beyond the heart 

There’s a cauldron 

Spawning soulless minions

Who burn a path seeking to surface

Held back

Their energy grows

Stuffed down

There’s a cauldron 

Growing hotter by the minute

And the minions, they are exploding 

Breaking down

Walls that hold them 

Can’t you see?

There’s a cauldron 

Refusing platitudes and disguise

Minions burst forth, shout out a war cry

Standing up 

Proclaiming the cauldron 

Yes! 

There is a cauldron 

Yes!

There is a cauldron 

Deep, deep within. 

The fire so hot,

The fuel piled high. 

It cannot contain what’s inside. 

The minions come warning

The fire is roaring

The cauldron’s bubbling boiling. 

Stand back

Watch out

As the cauldron sputtering, splattering 

SPLITS

The content burns though the veins

The vat never to be fixed.

Enough Information

Chapter 1

Enough Information

In the book “Enough: Breaking Free from the World of More” published in 2008, Naish talks about televisions not SmartTVs, and mobile phones, not Smartphones.  He talks about having 123 TV channels, which is nothing compares to the 37 million and counting YouTube channels in 2021,* and that’s not to mention TikTok.  While the statistics and examples in Enough are dated, takeaways are easy to apply today.  Our species has survived and thrived because of our desire to learn; however, with easy and endless access to information, we must choose which information to seek and when to say enough to information.

Let us say I want to bake some brownies.  I have the time, basic ingredients, I just need a recipe.  I choose a search engine and search.  I get about 18 million results on google, but hopefully I choose a decent option right off the bat.  I then scroll past the story which the blogger felt was necessary to include.  I am there for the recipe, not the narrative about how grandma used to make the best brownies, full of eggs, but since becoming a vegan the blogger needed to recreate the perfect recipe.  Her multiple attempts led to a plethora of brownies filling her house, and eventually the perfect brownie, the recipe which will be our reward if we can finally get there, after reading her take on the complete agricultural history of each ingredient.  Usually there is a “jump to the recipe” button near the top, causing me to bypass the intriguing story, and leaving me with enough time to make brownies.  But, when I am not looking for a recipe, Facebook, knowing I like baking, shows me endless videos of people producing all sorts of foods, most of which I’ll never make.  Perhaps I’m not actually interested in the outcome, or else I am to busy, absorbing this information to actually do anything about it.

John Naish quotes a survey completed by the Henley Centre where 70% of people said they could never have too much information, yet over 50% recognised they had more information than they could deal with (Naish, 16).  It is easy, and easily rewarding to consume information.  Gaining information is both satisfying and comforting.  The more we intake information, the less time we have to use the information productively.  Not only does interacting with info take time, it also requires energy, hard work and delayed outcomes.  In three minutes I can watch in a video someone decorate 48 cupcakes using six unique methods.  Were I to try to create the same product, it would take me hours.  Not having the time or energy, I instead watch endless videos.  Such video and infotainment are “a pleasurable yet habit-forming, mind-altering and potentially depressing substance.”  It is cheap and overly abundant, Naish says, “It’s just like alcohol” (Naish, 38).  The difference is, we don’t get hangovers, and most people haven’t learned to set boundaries around our behaviour.  While binging on information can be enjoyable, it is critical that we have limits, that we resist forming unhealthy information indulging habits.  These habits require us to decide which information we want in our lives, which information will, in fact, be useful.  We naturally acquire information.  As Naish puts it, “We are so wired to gather information that often we no longer do anything with it”  (Naish, 26).  Information overload leaves ideas hardly comprehended, and us ever more confused. Rather than pausing, we turn instead, looking for more information.  Is this like trying to cure a hangover with a shot of whiskey?  When more information leaves us more confused, perhaps it is time to say enough.  

Constant information can also lead to stress.  Reading the covid updates over and again each day can set our hearts pounding, and have our eyes peeled wide, alert, waiting to respond to this treat.  According to Naish, “Some psychologists believe the effect [of watching news] is so strong that we should limit our news-watching to only 30 minutes a day — or risk developing anxiety-related depression” (Naish, 17).  No matter the distance of the danger, watching news can have us believing the hazard is near.  Living under constant threat is exhausting, and at some point it is easier to give in to depression.  There is a very real threat that the information we take in will cause us harm.  We must say enough information before it steals our attention from the here and now, before it robs us of our ability to care for those nearest to us.  Furthermore, the effects reach broader.  Baroness Susan Greenfield worries about the use of screens by children.  She fears they will grow up to be “a nation of gullible Googlers who won’t even know how to vote responsibly” (Naish, 40).  Yikes!  13 years later, is this where we’ve ended up?  Our information comes prepackaged, often prescribed by algorithms feeding our biases, or advertisements creating desires within us.  When it comes to voting, finding accurate information is critical.  Sorting through the information from various sources is incredibly difficult.

While the information on the internet can be particularly helpful, when, for example, I need a recipe, it is littered with advertising and clickbait.  We are easily distracted from our initial purpose.  While it is easy to be wary of advertisements which are designed to  “catch your attention and make you dissatisfied with the life that you already have” (Naish, 44), they are impossible to avoid.  We stare at ads, eager to skip them, unless they are exceptionally well crafted, but perhaps the content we seek is just as quick to leave us unsatisfied, anxious, wanting or depressed.  We must control our content input and choose, at times, to disconnect.

Among the advice Naish give to disconnect is the following.  To begin with, we can budget our time, set limits to our consumption and stick to them.  Doing is easier if we choose to “be happy about the fact that [we] are deliberately choosing to miss things, because it means that [we] have a life” (Naish, 45).  Choosing to focus on the positives of limiting our information consumption enables us to abstain joyfully and purposely.  This attitude makes it easier to say enough to information.  It requires us, however, to have a life.  As we change our habits, it is beneficial to choose a new (or neglected) hobby or two.  We can also spend the time getting to know our neighbours, a practice Naish promises “extends [our] sense of home security” (Naish, 46).  Creating and fostering relationships, and learning from those near us helps us engage in local, tangible events.  This interaction is a healthy alternative to constant information consumption.  It provides a context information we do consume and gives us a rewarding activity.  We can choose to seek information from those around us.  This can be just as satisfying.

Information is ever more abundant.  We have far more information than we can ever use. This information overload causes stress, and often influences us to make worse decisions.  Even when we intentionally seek information, we are bombarded by distractions and advertisements.   Escaping from information overload is possible, but requires intentional choice.  We must curtail our natural information seeking behaviour to pursue only that information which will benefit us.  This can be accomplished as we set personal limits, engage in offline hobbies and get to know our neighbours.

*This was the best number I could find, but I have no idea if it is accurate.  The website 

contradicted itself.  https://www.tubics.com/blog/number-of-youtube-channels/

**Naish, John. Enough : Breaking Free from the World of More. London, Hachette Livre, 2008.

Enough

 It was over eight years ago when I first picked up John Naish’s book Enough: Breaking Free from the World of More.  I got as far as the first chapter “ Enough Information,” and thought, well, that’s enough.  I lugged the book during various moves, stored it in a box when I was in England, and finally kept it on my shelf collecting dust.  I liked the concept of the book, but never seemed to have enough time, or enough motivation to crack it open again.  Well, as I’m off work to recover from long covid, I’ve had a lot of time to read.  I thought about getting more books, but decided it was time to read Enough.  As I read Naish’s concepts about information, I was challenged not just to read, but to interact with the text.  I got out my pencil to underline word and comment in the margins. I hope to share a few thoughts from each chapter here.

This is a Google Ngram of word usage over the years. One could speculate about how the patterns relate, but I just included it for fun.

*Naish, John. Enough : Breaking Free from the World of More. London, Hachette Livre, 2008.

‌

On a Little Mermaid Note... I changed some lyrics.

 Look at this stuff 

Isn't it neat?

Wouldn't you think my collection's complete?

Wouldn't think i'm the girl,

The girl who has everything?

Look at this room

Treasures untold

How many wonders can one hotel hold?

Lookin' around here you'd think,

Sure, she's got everything !

I've got free meals and coffee’s of plenty

I've got channels and service galore.

(Spoken:) You want cutlery?

I got twenty!

but who cares?

No big deal,

I want more!

I wanna be where the people are

I wanna see,

Wanna see 'em dancing

Walking around on those

(Whadaya call 'em)

Oh, feet!

Going in circles you don't get to far

Bikes, are required for rolling, cycilng

Strolling along down a...

(What's that word again)

Street!

Out where they walk

Out where they run

Out where they stay all day in the sun

Wonderin' free

Wish I could be

Part of that world!

What would I give, 

If i could live

Outta this hotel

What would I pay,

To spend a day

holding the hand

my wife’s hand 

She'd understand,

Bet she don't let me go again

She’s my woman 

Sicka sittin'

Ready to stand

And ready ‘member what I useta know

Ask her my questions

and get some answers

What's a job?

And what does it...

(what's the word?)

Earn!

When's it my turn?

wouldn't I love

Love to explore with my wife my love!

Outta the room

Wish I could roam 

All of that World!

Isolation Hotel - The Third Morning

 I promised a more interesting day yesterday.

First, I covered the desk with the large paper bags that the food comes in, so I can paint!

Then, I did some painting, and had lunch on the balcony:

 The lunch, vegetarian rice bowl, didn't have much flavour.  

Then I went for my COVID test.  Are these trees new?

The line was very long.  I think I waited about 40 minutes in my car, only to be jabbed in the back of the throat with a swab...  I know, they are just doing their job.  That's what I signed up for...  Still doesn't make it pleasant.  On the way back to the hotel, I passed a group of people protesting the new restriction, one wearing a shirt which read, "Jesus is my vaccination." 

Painting:

When I woke up this morning, I had a message on my phone: COVID test = Negative!  Yay!

I am hoping that means I get to go home soon!  But, just like getting here, leaving is a multistep process.  First I called 811, they can submit a change to my prison release date, and then I will be free to go...  once I pack everything up. 

Breakfast this morning, scrambled eggs:

Again, the menu promised mushrooms...  I was looking forward to the mushrooms.  I suspect the quality of food preparation decreases when individuals are not paying for their food, and have no interactions with the cooks.  Well, I am trying not to be too picky, and as nice as it is to have someone cook for me, and not worry about washing dishes, I am looking forward to going home and making my own food.  The only food I've really enjoyed since being here was the vegetarian lasagna, which I ordered again for lunch today.  I wonder if I'll get it before I leave?

I'd like to thank Little Mermaid for teaching me the true purpose of a dinglehopper.  I forgot my comb, but the hotel kindly provided me a dinglehopper with each meal.  

Well, I guess it is time to start packing! 

Isolation Hotel - The Second Morning

 It has occurred to me that if I am going to blog about my isolation hotel experience every day, that I'd better start doing something interesting!  I spent yesterday surfing the web, sleeping, exercising and  then planning for and then teaching my online class.  Not wanting my students to think I was in a bedroom, I turned around the desk (do you know how heavy hotel furniture is?  like 300 pounds!) so that behind my head was nothing more than a wall.  It was the first class of this semester, and I wanted to appear at least a little professional.  I changed my top and started class on time.  

Well, that's it.  I'll try my best to do something a little more exciting today.

Yesterday's lunch, vegetarian lasagna and salad:

Isolation Hotel - The First Morning

 Before we talk about this morning, let's talk about how I landed a free hotel stay at the expense of the government.  Not to get too political, but perhaps part of me blames the government for letting covid get so out of control while keeping my workplace open.  It seemed like only a matter of time before there'd be a case, and once one, many.  Well, the news came as I was at work yesterday, just one case, so far.  My nose suddenly felt a little stuffy, and my anxiety rose.  I didn't want to go home, I didn't want to get my wife sick. I sat in the car, outside our house and called her.  We weren't sure what to do.  We made the short term plan that I would hang out in the laundry room.  She left me some food, and also some seeds which I planted outside.  I looked up the hotel stay program, and decided I'd go with that option, if they'd have me.  I worried I wasn't sick enough, and I hadn't actually been considered a close contact to the case at work, not yet.  I called 211, they asked my if I had my own bedroom and bathroom.  I don't.  They told me I'd receive a call from Alberta Health.  A couple hours later I received the call and was asked even more questions about my health, my location and my diet.  I was told they would submit the referral to the Alberta government for approval, and to see if there were spaces.  Again I had to wait.  I was told the wait could be up to 24 hours.  At that point, my wife and I started talking about what we'd do for the night.  It was decided that I could take the bedroom, and she'd take the living room.  Not too long after that, I got the call from "the government," saying they had a hotel for me to stay in.  Then I had to begin packing.  What do you take when you are going to live in a hotel for 7-14 days with no chance of escape?

Now I'm here, floor nine, and it's morning, the sun shining in the window, over the balcony.  It is a hotel room like any other, a bed with white sheets, a bunch of lamps, a large TV, a little desk and a mini fridge.  Of course the bathroom is filled with little bottles of mouthwash and hand sanitizer and the like.  I don't think I'll need the hand sanitizer here, so I guess I get to take it home, like a little souvenir.  

Every day I get to order my food for the next day.  I circle my choices on a menu, and leave in outside my door. This morning I watched through the peephole as the food was delivered in large brown paper bags to each of the rooms.  There were a lot of bags of food, I guess I am not the only one staying in this hotel.  

For now I'd better enjoy the novelty of staying here, before I realised just how small this room is, and how utterly trapped I am.  

Today's Breakfast:  The menu promised chia seeds on the granola.  I don't see any chia seeds!  I want my money back...  oh wait, I didn't pay for it.

  

Carest Thou Not That We Perish?

When I was a missionary, I experienced some anxiety.  Not just some anxiety, the worst anxiety of my life.  It got to the point where I was crying multiple times a day, terrified to leave the house where I was staying.  Through this time, I had an amazing companion who held me when I cried and reminded me how to breathe.  Her support was amazing, but I never got better.  I was just looking over a hymn I contemplated during that time, "Master the Tempest Is Raging."  Then and now I can relate to lot of the feelings attributed to the disciples of Jesus as they were tossed in the storm.  The tempest of covid, the rising wave, growing bigger, coming closer, "Carest thou not [Jason Kenney] that we perish? How canst thou lie asleep When each moment so madly is threat'ning A grave in the angry deep?" The song calls out, to some powerful other, to act, to change the situation, to speak and be obeyed.  The song trusts that the will of the almighty is peace and stillness.  And yet, the disciple, I, continue to cry out as if not heard over the raging storm.  "Master with anguish of spirit I bow in my grief today. The depths of my sad heart are troubled. Oh, waken and save I pray!  Torrents of sin and of anguish Sweep o'er my sinking soul, And I perish! I perish! dear Master. Oh hasten and take control!"  While  the song continues to a place of rest on a blissful shore, no matter how much I cried out, that promised shore remained a frail hope.  The third verse of the song too quickly turned positive that I couldn't quite believe it possible.  Though I wish now that those in charge would take stronger actions to prevent the third wave from rising ever higher and crashing down on us, I am left feeling insignificant.  Nobody is listening to me.  The peace and calm of a post covid world are beyond my grasp and past a daunting third wave.  I see only the wave.  It blocks both the sun and any hope from my view.  How long must I wait?  How much longer?  I thought 2021 was the year. 

As a missionary, I too waited for the end to come.  Then, after I'd been a missionary for about a year, my anxiety began to go away.  Never completely, but the impending doom was lifted, and the sunshine no longer obscured.  There were some situational changes that were beyond my control, but those weren't the reason I could see the sun.  At some point I realised that happiness was a choice, it was a mood I could choose, and I didn't have to wait for God to change the circumstances.  I didn't have to wait until I went home.  I could find happiness where I was.  It worked.  My attitude changed because I decided it would change.  I sang.  I sang happy songs, not song about some distant hope nor pie in the sky, but songs about goodness on earth, now.  I sang:

"In a world where sorrow

Ever will be known,

Where are found the needy

And the sad and lone,

How much joy and comfort

You can all bestow,

If you scatter sunshine

Ev’rywhere you go."

 Rather than waiting for happiness to find me, rather than trusting some other being to rid me of anxiety, I took that decision into my own hands.  I wonder if I can't do that today.  Sometimes I feel that I have a right be be upset.  I have a right to be anxious as I am often in close contact with others at work.  I have a right to blame to government for letting people die, for keeping my workplace open.  I have a right to worry about the health of those I love.  I have the right to be grumpy when I start work early.  I have the right to be miserable.  So, maybe I do, but what good does any of that do me, or those around me?  I may have a right to be anxious, but what if I can choose to be happy?  I know it isn't easy, but I've done it before, so I trust that it is possible.  With some counselling, with constant little choices to see good in the world around me, with a smile on my face and thanksgiving in my heart, it is possible.

"When the days are gloomy,

Sing some happy song;

Meet the world’s repining

With a courage strong.

Go with faith undaunted

Thru the ills of life;

Scatter smiles and sunshine

O’er its toil and strife."

* Master the Tempest Is Raging: Text: Mary Ann Baker

** Scatter Sunshine: Text: Lanta Wilson Smith 

My Coming Out Monologue

 

Take Me to Church

There weren't many trees downtown, but the few in the plaza blew in the wind as Erica walked to church. She squeezed her girlfriend's hand, trying to steal her warmth. The two women hurried, they didn't want to be late for their first church meeting. Erica glanced at Helen, jealous of her long hair covering her ears, keeping her warm. Erica stopped for a moment to brush Helen hair from her face. Feeling the eyes of strangers, they walked, rather than kissed. It was a feeling Erica hated, the feeling that she couldn't just be her. Helen gripped Erica's hand as a man under the influence of who knows what approached them, asking for money. Erica said hi, trying hard not to judge his situation, not to breathe in his stench, as the walked hurriedly by.  It was still before 10 in the morning, the clouds overhead making the day gloomy and dark. 
"Church kicked us out," Helen said, the tone of her voice clearly showing she was reliving the feeling from the day the were told not to come back if they were going to be gay.  "I can't believe where we're headed."
"It's a different church," Erica promised.  "If I can't go there, hold your hand and tell people you're my girlfriend, we'll get the heck out."
The couple turned the corner. A group of young men, speaking a language they couldn't recognise walked rapidly towards them.  Erica felt small, intimidated. She squished into Helen as they passed the group.  A car raced down the street, moments later sirens followed. 
Finally they were at the church, not its own building, but a rented space among commercial real estate. A pride flag flew next to the door, already putting Erica at ease. The two women filed in as a woman with short white hair stood up to welcome everyone to church. Erica and Helen found two chair near the back, and hoped they could become wallpaper. The singing and sermon passed. A song they recognised, a new song. As the service came to an end, they thought about sneaking out quickly. The same woman who started the service, stopped them before they could. 
"My name's Betty," she said, extending her hand.
"I'm Erica, and this is my girlfriend Helen."
Erica held Helen's hand, holding it to make it clear exactly what type of girlfriends they were. 
“You’re more than welcome here,” Betty said, not even flinching, “There are cookies and coffee at the back if you have time to stay and chat a bit.”
Erica breathed out deeply.  She hadn’t realised she’d been holding her breath all morning.  Betty introduced her to others, not leaving out the fact that they were girlfriends.  Their relationship could be celebrated, not hidden.  Erica held up her cookie to Helen, offering her a bite.  When Helen turned, Erica removed the cookie and stole a kiss instead.
“Such a cute couple,” Betty said to another elderly churchgoer, loud enough to be overheard.
The women kissed again, and then Erica finally shared her cookie.

Moon Song

 
New moon, new moon
buy a roll or two
close your gates, close your doors
’til the moon is through

Crescent, crescent
wash you dirty hands
cov’r your nose, cov’r your mouth
cancel all your plans

Half moon, half moon
bake a loaf of bread
let it sit, let it rise
Watch it grow and spread

Full moon, full moon
when will this song end?
go to class, go to school
sing this song again

Bridge

Diamonds are Trump

They've got no Heart

Fineness the King of Spades.

Slough a Club. Trump a Club.

Keep 'em in their place.

In the Beginning

 In the Beginning.

100 Trees - Day 4

Chalk in hand, the girl drew a line.  “You say on your side, I’ll stay on mine,” Eva said to the boy.  She traced the line again and again, widening it each time.

“I don’t want to be on your side anyhow,” the Edison retorted.  “It’s ugly.”

She drew the line thicker, “My side has a beautiful tree, delicious fruit.  I can climb it and spy on you.  All you’ve got is bushes and—“ She froze as she saw a friend walk by.  “Abi!  come join my side.  It is beautiful.  Besides, all Edison’s got is a dumb bush.”

Eva handed Abi a piece of chalk and the two drew together.  When Kade walked by, the children called out to him, begging him to join their side.  Abi promised it was paradise with her and Eva.  Kade didn’t join a side.  Instead he drew Abi away.  Neither of them came back.  

When Zeth walked by, Edison called louder, promised grander and gained Zeth’s loyalty.  Eva was angered.  She was down, two against one, but she didn’t give up.  Others walked by, and she kept calling them over.  Some joined her, others went with Edison.  None were allowed to stand on the thick divide.  Those who tried were pulled one way or the other.  The degrading comments continued to fly, voices raising louder and the gap grew wider.  Eventually the two sides were so far apart, they couldn’t even see the other’s side to criticise it.  Still the criticism flew.  The criticism could no longer be heard by the opposition, but each side felt better, hearing from their own, about the atrocities of the enemies.  

When Kade returned, he no longer recognised the place.  He stood in the middle and called out to Eva and Edison.  They couldn’t or wouldn’t hear him.  He wasn’t sure which.  He set up a tent, hoping that others, disenchanted, would soon join him.

100 Trees - Face Mask Tree

 A couple years ago I decided to write 100 stories, on a day, about apples.  Well, I've decided to try this exercise again, but this time with a tree theme.  Here is my story for day 3.

From the distance I could see the leaves blowing in the wind; large, symmetrical, pleated.  I walked toward the tree, wondering if I could pluck just one leaf for myself.

“Save the tree!” protesters shouted.  The stood around the tree, holding signs that said, “leaves are for trees, not for me.”  “No leaves leave trees,” and “tree lives matter.”  I didn’t want to hurt the tree, in fact, from what I understood, the tree wanted to give its leaves away, yet those who gave voice to the tree told me otherwise.  

I looked away, seeking other pieces of information, wondering where I got my information from, which news to believe.  I could see it from where I stood, another crowd marching, leaves covering their mouths, but not silencing their cries.  “All lives matter,” they cried, “protect others with leaves,” “Be selfless like trees.”  Caught between the two group, I didn’t know where to go.  If I wanted to join the one, I had to get past the other that blocked the leaves. 

My eyes were first to sense the smoke.  I heard others cough.  People looked in the distance, a flame, ever growing, was coming nearer.  They turned and fled past me, while I stood immobilised, realising the soon fate of this tree. The fire, with a flame for a tongue was coming to devour it.  Only then, with the noise of the protestors far in the distance, could I hear the whisper of the tree, “come, please, take my leaves.”  I rushed to the tree, taking from it its final gift, loving it for its sacrifice.  I wept, wishing my tears could form a river, and oasis to protect the tree.  I imagined a world with just me and the tree and no other voices.  The tears managed only to clean the smoke from my eyes for a moment, long enough to see how close the fire was.  I hugged the tree as I reached for one last leaf, and then I ran.  I ran to safety with both those who had protested “leaves,” and “no leaves.”

Black Lives Matter and I'm Gay

 I saw a comment on Twitter, wondering why Black Lives Matter is supported by the LGBTQ2S+ community.  So, I thought about this.  A thought that resonated with me is that it isn't okay just to not be racist, we must be anti-racist.  The reason I got this, the reason I understood it, was because I could liken it  to my experience with homophobia.  Unless proven otherwise, I often assume everyone is homophobic.  Perhaps this isn't fair, but for me, it is safe.  I have some amazing friends who've invited me to join them at city hall to fight against conversion therapy.  Friends who watched my monologue, and talked to me about it, showing their support.  Friends who knew I was gay before I did, and stuck with me as I figured it out.  Friends, who asked with excitement, to see my wedding pictures.  I have other friends, good friends even, who've never convinced me that they are not homophobic.  They've never opened up about their perspective, never gone out of their way to show support.  Perhaps they don't have to do this.  Perhaps it is asking too much.  Perhaps it isn't safe for them. But their silence leads me to wonder if I am safe around them.  If they don't make it apparent that they are anti-homophobic, I am quick to fear that their anti-gay religious upbringing is still directing their thoughts.

Enough about this.  What am I doing to show I am anti-racist?  How can I be a safe person for BIPOCs?

Identifying as part of a marginalised group helps me understand a little bit what it is other marginalised groups experience.  Perhaps this is why queer folk are quick to support Black Lives Matter, to some extent we get it.  But BLM isn't a queer issue, it is a people issue.  BLM is about people, about supporting our brothers and sisters of colour, This is something everyone should get behind.  

"I might not be the same But that's not important

No freedom 'til we're equal

Damn right I support it" - Macklemore

Some Nights

"Well, some nights, I wish that this all would end
'Cause I could use some friends for a change." - Some Nights - fun.

There have been many benefits of working online, of isolating and staying home.  In general, I like down time, I like my garden, I've enjoyed biking.  While like most of us, I wish I could be a little more disciplined with my time, I can't really complain about the change of pace that's taken place over the past five months.  Of course I wish the cause away, but I am doing fine, or at least I thought I was doing fine.

Spending five months living in fear has taken its toll on me, throw in a bit of pre-existing social anxiety, the past five months have felt very isolating.  I flip-flop between wanting to stay at home with just my wife, to desiring social interaction.  When I want to spend time with friends, I suddenly don't know how.  All the social skills I've taught myself over the years are failing me.  I don't know if it is okay to hang out with people, I'm not sure if I want to get too close, and I don't know how they feel about getting close to me.  The people open to hanging out with others, are the ones I am more afraid of being with.  So, I don't hang out with anyone. 

We are encouraged to socialise using our phone or an app.  This is even more difficult for me.  It always has been.  So, I'm a little lonely, a little anxious.  I am so grateful for my wife who suffers with me, holds me when I am anxious, and also misses socialising with people.  We're trying to figure this out, but I'm not sure if we're getting anywhere.

Coming Out Monologues - What I Didn't Say.

 I wrote two different monologues.  This is the one I didn't share because I don't know if I believe it.  

Amazing grace… how sweet… the sound, that saved… a wretch… like me.  I once was lost… but now am found, was blind… but now… I see.

Can I get an Amen?

Amen

Hallelujah 

When I was but a young child, 10 or 11 small years lived, the Spirit, spoke in the softest of voices to me.  So soft that I didn’t realise it was her.  I spoke my impression to a friend, a new found realisation about self. Too embarrassed to say sex, I whispered to my friend, “I’d rather do it with a girl than a boy.”

Silence was her response.

I tried to take back my word, erase what I had said.

But I had spoken words of God for they were words of truth.

I lived in denial.  The Spirit had reached out to me, but I would not accept the truth.

How dark it is to deny the Spirit of God.  To deny truth is to walk through the valley of shadow and death, blind and alone.

Seven years went past before I glimpsed at truth again.  A friend reached out to me, inviting me to see who God had created me to be.

He knit me together in mother’s womb.

But I believed it was wrong to be me.  Not that God had made a mistake, but I lived in fear of messing up.  My friend came to me as a prophetess, and I rejected her.  That was my mistake.

You can be prophets.  Share your truth!  Let other’s reject it if they choose.  Worry not, for you shall have done your job.

Woe to those who deny the prophets, for they live in darkness.

I lived in darkness and lies.  I dated with out love, and loved without action. I lived but was not alive.

In the centre of Babylon, mourners lied down, dressed in black wailing the loss of those they loved, those who were told their love was unnatural, sinful.

God is love.  Love, all love is of God.  

Children, refused the love of God, had taken their lives.  Mourners on the street protested “this should not be!”  I sat with them, but I didn’t understand.

How lost, was I.  How far from the truth.  By the river of Babylon I had no words, no tears and no love.

“Repent!” says the spirit.  She calls to me, she opens my eyes to the hopelessness of my path.  “Repent, Turn, Love.”

I saw the warning, but I did not heed it.  Determined I carried on in the wrong direction. I damned, not only myself, on the path of destruction, but sought to bring others down with me.

This is what it means to be lost, hardened against truth, rejecting light, until it came in the form of an Angel.

My Angel came.  And just and Jesus himself did, my Angel met me where I was at.  She didn’t sparkle to the common eye, but in the lowly state she took to be with me, I saw her glory.  Her splendour was interior, but, thanks be to God, I was allowed to see it.  Her splendour was her love.  It took a while for her brilliant love to wear at the hard walls of my soul, but she didn’t give up on me.  Her patience was a river, ever flowing, ever eroding my exterior.

I am saved!  I have been found!  I have experienced the light and love of God.  Now I see.  When I ignored the Spirit of God, the prophetess, the warnings, God’s love pursued me.  He sent his Angel to rescue me.  God is love and love is love.  This love is for each of you!  This love is available now, for you and you and you.

“Come,” the Spirit cries “Come, be found.  See.”  Do not wait any longer.  Now, today is the time.

I say God is good.  You say all the time.  I say all the time.  You say God is good.

God is good

All the time

All the time

God is good.

Amen

Rhubarb Muffins - Vegan and Low-Fat

Try as I might, I couldn't find a low fat, vegan rhubarb muffin recipe, so I had to create my own. I was happy how these turned out moist, yummy and fluffy! Here's the recipe:

1 1/2 cups rhubarb chopped into 1 cm cubes

3/4 cups sugar

1 cup apple sauce 

2 teaspoons vanilla

1/4 cup soy milk

1 3/4 cups flour 

2 Tablespoons ground flax seed

2 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

A pinch of salt

1 teaspoon cinnamon (optional)

Lightly grease a muffin tin, or line it with paper liners. Preheat the over to 325 F. 

Sprinkle 1/4 cup sugar over the chopped rhubarb and set aside. 

Mix the other 1/2 cup of rhubarb with the apple sauce, milk and vanilla. Add flour, flax, baking powder, baking soda, salt and cinnamon. Mix partially.  Add the rhubarb mixture and mix until just combined. 

Spoon batter equally into the 12 muffin cups. Bake on a middle shelf until done. 

Black Lives Matter

Why not just say “all lives matter.”  All lives matter, yes, we know that. All lives matter is just too easy to say.  It overlooks the very cause which demands the rally cry, black lives matter!  When we say "all live matter," we really say nothing at all.  When we say "black lives matter," we say what needs to be said, heard and believed. Women’s lives matter.  Indigenous lives matter. Queer lives matter.  Yes! Absolutely! Yes!  All lives matter.  Sure we can say that, but now is the time to  declared that black lives are lives too, and black lives matter.  Let's not just said it, let's act like we believe it by standing up for our black sisters and brothers who have been oppressed for so long.  Now is the time to join in solidarity with those who’s lives are so often taken for granted. Now it is time to fight against a long racist history in hopes for a better world to come.  Black Lives Matter!

Calgary's Proposed Ban on Conversion Therapy

These are the thoughts I sent in regarding Calgary's proposed bylaw to ban conversion therapy:

I was denied conversion therapy.

I wanted to change, and while I thought I might always be a lesbian, I was yet determined to marry a man and have kids, the traditional family. Whether or not this possibility had been explicitly taught in my faith, I had learned it, and I believed in it. I chose a counsellor of my faith, convinced he could help me to this end. Bearing fear and shame, I approached him. I read to him the goals I’d written and asked him, if not to change my orientation, to help me date boys and to lessen my attraction to women. He listened without judgment, sought to better understand me, confirmed my wishes and began by helping me realize my anxieties. I learned a lot of useful strategies, but got impatient, wondering when he would teach me how to like boys. At some point I had to realize that he didn’t believe in the outdated practice of conversion therapy. He refused to give me hope that I could happily marry a boy. He wouldn’t lead me where it was impossible to go. I stopped seeing him when I moved away. My money spent on counselling didn’t lead to a single date with a boy. But, the time I spent in counselling gave me courage to face the fear of accepting myself. I learned to deal with social anxiety. While I don’t know my counsellors personal beliefs, he followed the guidelines of counselling communities and years of research. I’m grateful that he didn’t hinder my personal development, but let me begin to explore my sexual nature in a non-judgmental environment of faith.

I support the bylaw to ban conversion therapy.