Leaving a Trace of Whimsy

Posted on February 6, 2010

So, I’ve chosen to do something that is intentionally and completely just for me.  As I mentioned briefly before, I am enrolled in the Interplay Life Practice Program this spring.  It’s something that I think would surprise people who don’t know me well or who only see the public persona of “minister.” 

Interplay touches some very important parts of my life and passion. I identified as a dancer before anything else I can remember.  I started dance classes when I was just about four years old and immediately fell in love with ballet.  Dance class was a place where I was allowed to be strong, beautiful, graceful, committed, disciplined, and it was all suffused with joy.  Flying through the air in a tour-jete or leaping in a grand jete was like flying under my own power.

There are two stories of my time as a dancer that illustrate the passionate love I had for what I loved to call ”the dance.”  The first one happened [edit: I'l have to tell you the second one later, this got way longer than I meant it to be] when I was eight or nine and Up With People came through our small Iowa town.  My dad was a radio guy and his station was sponsoring the show, so I was allowed “backstage” during the day before the performances. I got to watch full rehearsals, but I also stumbled upon a ballet class being held for the performers.  It was in the gymnasium, and I’d snuck up to the balcony.  But when the class started the music and the instructor’s voice leading the students through plies, adagio, and then the leaps eventually drew me out of the shadows and the teacher noticed me, up in the balcony, dancing along.  He invited me down to participate in the class.  I began dancing along, doing whatever the class did. It only took a few minutes for me to let go of my shy self-consciousness and begin to dance for the joy of it. 

At some point–I’d really lost track of time–the instructor suddenly yelled “Stop! Stop! Everybody just stop!”  I was surprised and a little scared.  Then he turned to me and asked me gently if I would continue dancing for the class.  My self-consciousness returned immediately and I shook my head “no” in panic.  He said, “Really, it’s okay. I’ll dance with you. There is something I want the class to see.”  And so we danced, this grown-up man and me, side by side.  Again, my shyness slid away and I danced with joy.  Eventually, the music ended and the instructor thanked me for the dance.  Then he turned to his students and said, “I wanted you to watch because I wanted you to see for yourselves what dance looks like when it is danced from the heart. This child has all the passion you lack.”

I remember being embarrassed then, because being used as an example for the purpose of reprimand was a bit scary for a child in a room full of adults.  But I remember being proud too.  And I remember knowing that he was right–it wasn’t that I was technically perfect or even that I danced better than anyone else in the room–after all, I was a child.  But I truly danced for the joy of it.  And during the hard times in my life, I danced the pain of it.  I may have been a geeky, unpopular kid, but I could dance!  My family may have been full of pain and conflict, but I could go to my room, put Rampal on my record player and dance. For years, dance was the center of my life and when I was dancing, I was unafraid.  When I was dancing, I was happy.

But when I was twelve, things changed.  My parents divorced. My body began to change and I was overwhelmed by experiences of its vulnerability to abuse, sexism, teasing…it wasn’t safe.  My mom and I moved to a new town where I was treated cruelly by the kids that had lived there their whole lives.  A relative began systematically abusing me emotionally and sexually.  The demands of my life and the fact that we lived in a very small town made dance classes impossible for a year.  When I could finally return to the studio and dance again, it wasn’t the same at all.  My body’s angles and balance had changed. I hadn’t practiced for over a year. Gender was being enforced in new ways and ballet seemed suddenly to be about who was prettiest.  It didn’t matter that I was strong or that I danced with my whole heart. When my left hip and knee turned in pathetically while doing a plie in the fourth position, I quit.  I simple walked away from the barre and never went back.  It was over. There was no more joy.

I was twelve then. I’m forty-four now.  For the thirty-two years in-between I almost never danced.  The one exception was in seminary, when I took my first Interplay classes and touched a tiny bit of that joy again and the miracle of my body’s knowing.  It was that class that made it clear to me that I needed to transition.  Listening to my body in that class, I heard its knowing of itself as a transgender man’s body.  I started hormones that June.  During that second adolescence I was just as shy and self-conscious as I was the first time.  I experienced too, the vulnerability of being transgender in this culture–not so long after I transitioned, Matthew Shepard was murdered and I felt in my body the danger of being a gender transgressor.  The only song in my head for months was Melissa Etheridge:

“Scarecrow”

Showers of your crimson blood
Seep into a nation calling up a flood
Of narrow minds who legislate
Thinly veiled intolerance
Bigotry and hate

But they tortured and burned you
They beat you and they tied you
They left you cold and breathing
For love they crucified you

I can’t forget hard as I try
This silhouette against the sky

Scarecrow crying
Waiting to die wondering why
Scarecrow trying
Angels will hold carry your soul away

This was our brother
This was our son
This shepherd young and mild
This unassuming one
We all gasp this can’t happen here
We’re all much too civilized
Where can these monsters hide

But they are knocking on our front door
They’re rocking in our cradles
They’re preaching in our churches
And eating at our tables

I search my soul
My heart and in my mind
To try and find forgiveness
This is someone’s child
With pain unreconciled
Filled up with father’s hate
Mother’s neglect
I can forgive But I will not forget

Scarecrow crying
Waiting to die wondering why
Scarecrow trying
Rising above all in the name of love

And so I did not dance. I learned other ways of touching joy, of knowing myself, of channeling the pain and passion of my life. I became a preacher.  I wrote poetry. I painted.  I took photographs. I began blogging.  But I did not dance.

And then, my last ministry ended abruptly and painfully.  I was blessed to be held together by my partner and the grace of the universe as new opportunities began to unfold.  I found myself heading back to the Bay Area–to Oakland, no less–where Interplay has its headquarters, the Interplayce.  And I remembered.  I remembered that Interplay was healing, powerful, and deep down fun.  And so I made a commitment to go back.  I sent a few emails so that I couldn’t back out and run away.  And a few weeks ago I did it. I went to a class, and then another.  I admitted that I was considering the Life Practice program and the idea was met with pure enthusiasm. 

And so I am now a dancer again.  A dancer and singer and storyteller and PLAYer.  And my body had a pretty wonderful secret to tell me, “The joy wasn’t buried very far under the surface.  It’s right there. You can have it again.” And I do.  As weird as I know I must look–an overweight, forty-four year old guy spinning and swinging and playing–I have my joy back.  I don’t care how it looks. A part of me has come home.  Laugh if you want–I am.  Laughing and laughing at this absurd little dance that is my sweet, sweet life.

Oh, and our homework was to accept the gift of a green feather–meant to remind us to leave a trace of whimsy everywhere we go. Not a bad assignment.

» Filed Under Anti-Oppression, Ministry, Personal, Pure Silliness, Transgender, Worship | 2 Comments

Running Through My Mind:

Posted on February 4, 2010

O Love that will not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.

O Light that follow’st all my way,
I yield my flickering torch to thee;
My heart restores its borrowed ray,
That in thy sunshine’s blaze its day
May brighter, fairer be.

O Joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain,
That morn shall tearless be.

» Filed Under Ministry, Poetry, Prayer, Theology, Worship | 1 Comment

What’s on Your Mind?

Posted on February 1, 2010

Whenever I go to Facebook, I confront the question, “What’s on your mind?” Sometimes I have a pithy reply–a four-word poem or something that quickly comes to the front of my consciousness and is available and willing to be typed into the “status update.” Facebook is good for that.

But sometimes that which is on my mind is messy and tentative and confused and hard to articulate. Today is like that. I almost posted, “Woke to laughter–mistook my partner’s hand for the dog and petted it lovingly.” That was me today, coming to consciousness: a bit confused, but loving. And greeting the day laughing at a sweet absurdity.

There is a lot on my mind today.  That’s what blogs are good for. It’s the first of the month so remembering to pay the rent and bills and be responsible is one of the things flitting through. Balance and limits and priorities and generosity and thrift are all on my mind.

Wanting to share the beauty and insights of a weekend spent playing with new Interplay buddies is on my mind. But how do I do that? (Re)discovering my joy in moving, playing, connecting, and telling stories with my body is so different from these little squiggly black letters organizing themselves into words and sentences…or is it?

Thinking about going on adventures into the City with my sweetie is on my mind. We keep wanting it, but not doing it. The inertia that happens when desire cannot quite overcome anxiety.

A deep desire for my life to take a particular direction is on my mind, as is a deep, caring voice that keeps saying, “Don’t get attached to outcomes. Let things unfold. Trust.” Oh, and the one that says, “There’s no freakin’ way you’ll get what you want, dummy, so give up now.” I’m trying to dance in and with that tension. Hope/don’t hope. Know/Unknown. Make it happen/Let it happen.

What about you? What’s on your mind?

» Filed Under Ministry | Leave a Comment

Spiritual Practice: Four Word Poems

Posted on January 29, 2010

This from Maxine Hong Kingston:

Idea!: Four word poems!
An old Chinese tradition.
Easier, faster than haiku.
To carve on rocks.
To write on doorjambs.
To write on thresholds.
To tattoo on arms.
Anybody can write one.
Form takes no time.
“Father Sky, Mother Earth.”
“Raid Kills Bugs Dead” –Lew Welch
“Beyond mountains, more mountains.” –Lazy Old Man, my father
“Across rivers, more rivers.” –Old Idle Man, my father
Father gone Rabbit moon.
Giant anthuria Mother’s Day
Sun beams me love.
Redwood tree one seed.
Strawberry Creek be free.
All rivers be free.

The oldest prayer is a four-word poem:

     “May all beings be happy.”

Well, that’s sayable in four words in Chinese.
     “All beings be happy.”
     “All beings be peaceful.”
     “All beings be kind.”
     “All beings be free.”

» Filed Under Ministry, Poetry, Prayer, Social Commentary, Worship | 3 Comments

Emanuel and My Time in Haiti

Posted on January 14, 2010

Somewhere there is a picture of me at 19, holding a beautiful little boy named Emanuel. He was 18 months old and was growing up in an orphanage in Port au Prince, having been found in a pile of garbage when he was a few hours old.

From the time I met Emanuel, he grabbed a piece of my heart and has held it ever since. I’ve never gotten to see him again or heard what happened to him. Did he grow up in the orphanage? Was he adopted? I don’t know and I’ve often found my thoughts wandering and wondering.

It’s hard to believe he’d be 27 years old now. I wonder if he is still in Port au Prince. Is his face now covered with the dust of fallen buildings? Is he carrying the dead into the streets? Does he have a child of his own that he is trying to protect from both physical harm and the pain of seeing such horror?

The name “Emanuel” means “God is with us.” Please, let God be with the people of Haiti. Let God be with all of us so that we respond with generosity and compassion. And let God be with Pat Robertson and those like him, helping them learn that God is in the streets of Haiti today, not pronouncing judgment from the safety of a mansion somewhere.

In this time of sorrow, devastation, and pain I have to cling even more tightly my conviction that God is Love. Let us all give, work, pray, and do whatever we can to help there be more love in the world. Let that God be with us…

» Filed Under Anti-Oppression, Ministry, Social Commentary, Theology | 1 Comment

So Long, Philocrites.

Posted on January 4, 2010

Chris Walton, in the guise of Philocrites, has long been a deep source of wisdom, questions, challenges, thoughts, humor, and insight in the UU blogosphere.  But his life has moved on and he’s officially ended his tenure and retired his blog. It’s hard to say good-bye to Philocrites’ leadership and leaves us all wondering—who will pick up the torch? What form will the conversation take now?  Who will ask the wonderful hard questions and stir the pot of controversy so thinking Unitarian Universalists will grapple with questions of identity and direction?

» Filed Under Blogging, Social Commentary, Unitarian Universalism | Leave a Comment

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