Repost: Reed's Letter To Gov Jon Huntsman

Huntsman’s Civil-Union Stance May Prove Political Liability.

I certainly hope not. Check out this Great Article.

Reading this reminded me of what a good, kind and solid people he and Mary Kaye are. Thought Reed's letter to them deserved a re-post. Enjoy.

Dear Friends Jon and Mary Kaye,

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU.

It's not always easy to do the right thing. It's not always easy to blaze trails. It's not always easy to defend and protect those who so often lack defense and protection.

It's not easy being the voice of light in the darkness.

But you have done just that...and I believe the world will follow.

After all we are all children of light--and when it is shone in the darkness, we all eventually follow.

The general public has not always known the fullness of our friendship.

I'll never forget the night when I told Mrs. Huntsman about my own personal truth.

For more than a year I had been the main-stage speaker for the POWER IN YOU program, telling Utah youth the stories of other kids and helping them to understand the damaging power of labels and words--including the word FAGGOT.

I wrote the Power in You theme song, which was recorded by Collin Raye in Nashville and was about to debut to a packed audience at the E center.

I had done it all while keeping a secret from you. That secret was that I am a gay American...a gay child of God, who shared a life with a partner while raising a child.

On the night of the concert, I knew that I could not be there and share in the amazing power of the night, and the amazing public nature of the evening--without first telling you my truth.

I was too afraid to tell you my truth by phone...so I sent you an e mail trying my best to describe my story. In that e mail I told you that I knew that your association with me could potentially be a political liability and that if you didn't want me at the debut evening with Colin Raye, I would understand.

I'll never forget your immediate response as long as I live. My phone rang off the hook from you.

You said: "Call me. You will be there with us tonight. And so will Greg, your partner. And you will be with our family the entire night."

You would not take no for an answer and told me that my story WAS of value to young people and MUST be told.

I'll never forget walking in to the special reception before the concert. It was the picture of Utah power brokers. Your guest list scared me to death. But there we were. My son. My partner. And me.

I'll never forget what happened next. From the back of the room, Governor Huntsman spotted me & cut through the crowd making a bee line to us in the doorway.

There in front of all of those people, I extended my hand to greet the Governor. He said: "Not tonight."

For the briefest of seconds I thought he meant that he couldn't shake my hand because of my coming out.

But then he showed me his character. His compassion. His spirituality.

In front of everyone, he embraced me.

And then he embraced my partner and my son.

You were leaders that night in compassion. And you have been the presence of compassion in my life ever since.

Months later, when our son Wesley Cowan died in a senseless tragedy, I remember haltering in my desire to ask you officiate and preside over the funeral, worried that you would face criticism from the public for doing so.

But Wesley Cowan deserved the best. He deserved a hero's funeral and you are one of my hero's. So I asked. And you generously changed your entire schedule to accommodate my request in the darkest hour of my life.

There in that chapel, there was no politics, and only love when you spoke the words: WESLEY WAS THE SON OF REED COWAN ... and HIS PARTNER GREGORY ABPLANALP.

You may not know this, but I have been approached in the years since then by countless people who were struck and TOUCHED by your bravery in something so simple as to preside at the funeral of a little boy raised by two fathers.

In these actions and instances--and in your brave stand on civil unions, you have personified one of my favorite calls from Jesus Christ:

“Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you
rest.”

Through your leadership, through your humanity--you have pulled me in--pulled all of us in---and for the briefest of moments you have given us rest.

And for that...you have my eternal thanks and friendship.

May the people of your state and the nation realize that gay people are children of God deserving of the same protections, dignity, love and respect as our forefathers intended for all when they said we all have a right to pursuit of happiness God intends for ALL citizens.

Ever your friend,

Reed Cowan

Guest Blogger: Simmer Down

By Denise Hamblin

It has been interesting to watch the reaction to my friend Emily’s “I’m an ex-Mormon” video – both on the website and in the messages I have received from friends.

I will admit, my first reaction was a little on the defensive side – that’s my nature, I defend those I love and care for without much pause. This characteristic has often been attributed to my Italian heritage. If that is the case, my grandma didn’t carry that gene because a more Christ-like person you will never find than her. Now, the defending those you love certainly comes from her.

Some reactions reminded me, again, how often, even under the name of Christ, we are so far from Christ-like. Accusations have been hurled and assumptions have been made about Em simply because she has the courage to say “the Mormon church is not right for me.” I have read her words over and over again, I have listened to her words over and over again, and never once did I hear her say that the Mormon church is full of shit and every active Mormon is an asshole. She was simply telling her story because it needs to be told. Just as she sat in silence, slowly dying because the church simply did not provide what HER soul needed to grow and flourish, there are others who are feeling exactly the same thing. Thank God, they can find some hope in Em’s words. Her words might just be the thing that saves them.

I know it was for me. It took someone who had the courage to show me that there was a place where MY soul could flourish. A place where I could discover what God expected from ME. It doesn’t have to look exactly the same for every person. I have also learned that there are many whom I love who have found that same peace within the church. And I am so glad it works for them.

Think of how many ways you can get home from work, school, the store, etc. There are sections of each route that are unique to that journey and there are sections that cross over with another path. Honestly, it doesn’t matter which route I take, what matters is that I get home. Isn’t that the point to this place called earth? It doesn’t really matter how we do it, it only matters that, in the end, we end up there together – and we can raise the beverage of our choice in the air and cheer the fact that we did.

When you sit down to a clean sheet of paper and a new box of crayolas, which color do you grab first? Now, imagine only being able to use that one crayon. How long would it take before you wished for another color? Are there some crayons you never use? Do you find yourself wondering who in the hell would ever like Sepia? But God recognizes the beauty found in each crayon that makes up his box with the built-in sharpener. Our responsibility is to stand up straight and make room for everyone. And Em, you will always be the Razzmatazz in my world.

Cool. I've always wanted to be someone's Razzmatazz. Can I be your Razzle Dazzle too?

Sugar Blues

I have been addicted to sugar my whole life.

Because sugar is absolute crap for the body, it wasn't often allowed in my mother's house so I developed an early, violent, craving for the stuff. It became another in a long line of forbidden fruits dangled in front of me that I was to avoid at all costs. Except - unlike coffee, alcohol, tobacco, masturbation, Diet Coke, R-rated movies, Judy Blume novels and all other naughty pleasures - it wasn't forbidden by God, just my mother. She was much easier to disobey. So, I would save my allowance and sneak up the street to 7-11, buy as many candy bars as I could afford and sit on the curb - cramming them into my mouth in a near orgasmic frenzy. Whenever I was at a friends house whose mother's purchased cookies, candy, or - God bless them - Hostess delights, it was over for me. I ate until I could eat no more. I didn't have the "Sugar Limit" most of my friends had. I never got sugared out. I filled to overflowing and immediately began planning how to get my hands on more. I was skinny as a rail so it never affected my weight. I never thought about it being a problem. Not once.

As an adult, when I was on my own, I still scarfed sugary goodies with the same desperation of a thousand starving orphans. Simply because I could. I totally understand why sugar is the Mormon drug of choice. It's all that is allowed. I ate it because no one could tell me not to. I had learned to be obedient not disciplined.

Once my testimony bit the dust and I made different behavioral choices for myself, that didn't change. Fortunately I had been through enough therapy and was already committed to my personal well being so I didn't try drugs, start smoking (as much as I wanted to) and my alcohol consumption stayed well under control. But I never learned to say NO to sugar.

I still had no limit to the amounts I could eat but as I got older I noticed that I had sugar hangovers worse than anything brought on by the best night of Tequila shooting. Ice cream was the worst. Took me days to recover.

I remembered family friends reading the book "Sugar Blues" when I was a child and I have always known that it was not good for me. But I didn't care. I was totally in denial as to how much it was affecting me. I remembered the sugar fasts I went on in high school and how amazing it felt not to have it coursing through my veins. For several months before I got married I cut out sugar, dairy, soda and red meat and felt remarkable. I've tried several times, post babies, to replicate those fasts. Totally unable to. I tried to limit. Didn't work. Tried to only have it on the weekends. Worked occasionally but not enough to make any kind of a difference.

But then [cue: Hallelujah Chorus] the stars aligned the beginning of this October and I just stopped eating the stuff. A combination of finally being ready to let it go, a desire to feel and look better than I have, being reminded by a good friend how amazing it felt to cook and eat healthily, dread at the oncoming winter and it's accompanying depression, a role in an independent film that required I get in getter shape than I was and being introduced to the Miracle Love Coffee... It was as easy as my mother's sugarless apple pie. I stopped eating sugar, dairy, gluten, limited red meat intake and only drank occasional red wine without giving any of it a second thought.

First thing I noticed was the increase in energy. My strength doubled instantly and I was able to run faster and longer and lift far more weight at the gym than I had before. Within a few weeks I had lost a solid 10 pounds - even with all the muscle weight I was gaining. My thinking cleared exponentially. Anxiety vanished. All the stress I am under from juggling a million projects was totally handle-able. I started dreaming again. I was happy, like, 98% of the time. Winter came and I was fine. I looked at the snow and it was pretty. Pulling off Christmas alone while working full time usually trips me up. Nope. Sailed through it - loving nearly every moment. I felt better, healthier, happier, more grateful, more energetic and ridiculously more capable and productive than I have in as long as I can remember. I became a vastly different person. Just ask my kids.

Then came Christmas. Certainly having all the delicious goodies that filled my kitchen for one day couldn't hurt anything...

OH MY GOD.

I knew I would feel something. I had factored in a day to recover - grateful that the day after Christmas was Sunday. I took it easy, read and watched Christmas movies. That night I felt it. Just kind of... off. The next morning I felt like I had been hit by a truck. I had a headache, swollen eyes and could hardly move for the aching in my joints. My hips felt like those of an 87 year old. I couldn't remember certain words. I was sad. Not depressed (yet) but just kind of gloomy. I felt anxious and annoyed. As the day wore on it got worse. I hated my life and the pain I was in. Didn't want anyone to call or come over. Looked outside at that goddamn winter and cursed living in Utah. My creativity, sex drive, joy for living... blurred. Drugged. Gone.

I stepped outside myself and knew exactly what it was. Didn't panic. Just reminded myself that it was sugar screwing with my brain chemistry as it has for years. I have been drinking a lot of water, miracle coffee, lemon/cayenne drink and eating brown rice, Quinoa, lentils and lots of fruits and veggies. 4 days later I can still feel it. I went for a long run on Monday - pushing through the aching still in my hips. I feel happiness again but still slow in my brain. Still confused and swollen for quite a while after I wake up. Anxiety is easing. Ability to happily cope returning.

HOW DID I EVER LIVE LIKE THAT???

All I can say is I am done. Sugar is poison for my body and brain. I have no more desire to do sugar than I have to do cocaine. At the moment they feel one and the same. [Note: I have never actually done cocaine - but have always been deathly afraid of it and what it would do to me. For good reason.]

Anyway, purging is almost done. My search for all recipes yummy, healthy and sugar free has commenced.

Grateful for the lesson.

May I never have to learn it again.

Free Love

I recently read a blog post that made me stop. And think. And then want to go skydiving. The topic was "Sexual Liberation," something the author of said blog said they "experimented" with the idea of but ultimately rejected because sexual liberation "disconnects sexuality and sexual expression from any affective, relational or spiritual context. It ultimately denies the reality of the non-physical, and denies the validity of any meaning connected to sex apart from simple physical gratification... [and] can feel liberating -- at first. But ultimately it's not any sort of liberation at all. It eventually becomes a form of slavery, condemning us to an impoverished existence, and stripping our lives of humanity and meaning."

I wanted to cry. True sexual liberation doesn't imprison, condemn and strip life of meaning - it does exactly the opposite. To liberate, by definition, means to "to set free, as from imprisonment or bondage." If one is sexually liberated that means that one was previously sexually imprisoned, held captive or bound in a restrictive way. It means that one was shackled by sexual guilt, shame, ignorance and fear brought on by the effects of religious dogma, sexual abuse or crippling family and social beliefs and expectations.

To be liberated means to be set free. How can that ever be a bad thing? When we are truly free, in any and all areas of life, we are bigger, better, healthier, happier, more generous, more courageous, more loving. And, yes, we are more responsible. I know that there are those out their wielding sex like a weapon to inflict pain on themselves and others. Just because one has lots of sex doesn't mean that one is liberated. Clearly those individuals are not free from their own ties that bind. I know that there are those that have joyless sex disconnected from all feeling. But, again, those people are not liberated from anything. They are just as held hostage by their sexual wounds and fractures as the person who denies themselves sexual experience and expression.

In my opinion, sexual liberation (and every other form of freedom) is something we should all seek after like the Holy Grail. We should all desire freedom from the prisons we build for ourselves and one another. And we should fight hard to remove every shackle we wear because then, and only then, are we able to be truly present, truly healthy, truly responsible and truly charitable and kind.

Only when we are free can we truly connect with our deepest selves and with one another.

Only when we are free can we truly enjoy the incredible power and life giving joy of healthy sexual expression.

And only when we are free are we truly alive.

In the name of Aphrodite (and Dr. Ruth)... Amen.

* * *
Related Posts
Battle Cries Of The Sexually Dysfunctional: Part I
Battle Cries Of The Sexually Dysfunctional: Part II

Imagine A World Filled With Parents Like This...

Absolutely Stunning Piece written by a woman named Glennon-Gorgeous-Mother-And-Human-Being.

Our world is getting better, and better, and better...

18, Clueless And Baby Hungry

Okay, so part of me thinks this is funny. Generally speaking, the mocking of anything BYU brightens my day right up. And this targets BYU co-eds. Even better. There are some great lines - "We'd marry a tree as long as it served a mission" being my personal favorite.

The other part of me, however, started watching and immediately felt the familiar burning and itching sensation I get when I come in contact with anything Provo related.

This video is funny because it is true. And it is sad for that very same reason.

When I got married, at the ripe old age of 25 (nearly an Old Maid by LDS standards) I audited a dance class at The "Y." The class was, of course, filled with girls ages 18 - 21 years old. One day I was sitting around with a couple of the girl's in my class and somehow my age came up. Both of their heads shot up and they looked at me with wide eyes.

Girl #1: "Wow, I hope I look as good as you do when I'm your age."

Girl #2: "Oh my gosh, you just gave me so much hope. I am graduating in a few months and have been so upset that I'm not married yet. If you just got married and you're 25, that means that I still have a chance."

She was 21 years old. Barf.

Even then, being the Super Mormon that I was, I was stunned. I didn't even know what to say to them. But, I sure as hell do now. Those girls are responsible for the speech I gave my cousins when they were in high school and have given BOTH of my kids ad nauseum. It goes something like this:

Don't you DARE get married until you are at least (1) 25 years old (though I would prefer 35), have (2) Gotten an education (3) Have a viable way of supporting yourself, and have (4) Have traveled the world. You cannot possibly give yourself to someone until you know who that someone is you are giving. And the same goes for the person you are considering marrying. DO NOT permanently bind yourself to another person until you BOTH have a solid idea of who you are and what you really want out of life.

Argh. When we're young we just don't get it. We don't listen. We think we know it all. And then one day, BAM! We get it. And we wish we would have listened.

The following poem, written by my mother, is one of my absolute favorites. I wish that having this memorized and recited 5 times a day was a pre-requisite for graduation from The "Y." It would make for much happier marriages and families.

On Nest Building

Mud is not bad for nest building.
Mud and sticks
And a fallen feather or two will do
And require no reaching.
I could rest there, with my tiny ones,
Sound for a season, at least.

But –
If I may fly awhile –
If I may cut through a sunset going out
And rainbow coming back,
Color upon color sealed in my eyes –
If I may have the unboundaried skies
For my study,
Clouds, cities, rivers for my rooms –
If I may search the centuries
For melody and meaning –
If I may try for the sun –

I shall come back
Bearing such beauties
Gleaned from God’s and man’s very best
I shall come filled.

And then –
Oh, the nest I can build!

Friday Video: Take The Climb (For Tyler Clementi)

Song by Peter and Mary Danzig
Video by Connell O'Donovan

In September I had just started to teach a violin lesson when my student's mother picked up her New York Times and gasped. She told me she had to show me something after the lesson. After I finished teaching, she showed me an article about a young violinist, Tyler Clementi who committed suicide after his roommate live streamed Tyler's relationship with another guy over the internet. As I read the article and looked at the picture of a young man holding his violin with such beautiful technique I was filled with sadness.

The week before I had heard Hilary Hahn perform the Tchaikovsky violin concerto. During her incredible performance I had thought about the speculation that Tchaikovsky committed suicide because his "friends" told him that it would be better for him to kill himself than to be gay. I had thought about the magnificent gift that Tchaikovsky gift has been to the world and what a loss his untimely death was for all of us. As I gazed at the picture of Tyler, I grieved the loss of a young man who had already brought so much joy and would have given a lifetime of beauty to so many.

As Peter and I talked later that evening we wished there was something we could do. We decided to write a song and hope that maybe it does some good for someone. Some talented musician friends helped us make a live recording at Holladay United Church of Christ. Attached is the song. They lyrics are below. We hope you enjoy the song. If you do, please feel free to send it on with our hope that one day we will learn to treat all people with love and respect.

Love,
Mary

Friday Video: Playing For Change, Stand By Me

Next time you watch the news or have an otherwise spontaneous burst of negativity and find yourself thinking about how shitty the world is - watch one of these Playing For Change videos. Our world is as exquisite as we allow it to be. It really is time for us all to shift our thinking, tell new stories and, what...?

You got it: Get off our asses and make our world a better place to be.

Happy weekend Internetland. You rock.

Friday Video: Gotta Love Ganja Filled Mushroom Caps

I absolutely love this. Yes, this guy is a nature lover; yes, he appreciates the simple beauty of God's colorful majesty; and, yes, he is clearly high as a kite.

The perfect combination.



Here is where I really fell in love with him. Jimmy interrupted him but what he was starting to say about the mirror was quite profound. He was saying that it's actually not even about him. And he's right. People's reaction to his video is about them. If you are one that allows yourself to wonder like a child (which pitifully few of us do, me included - although I am getting better) at the real and true beauty of the world you live in - then you watch this, giggle and get it. If you are one that enjoys the occasional hit or nibble that sends you flying high - then you see that and instantly get it. And you laugh with not at. If you think he is just a weirdo then look within. That says far more about you than him.

Personally, I think THIS guy should run for governor. He has my vote - hands down.



Close your eyes and just listen to this next one - it's a preview of my weekend.



Have a great holiday Internetland!

In Between

If you're reading this I'm already dead...

Kidding.

If you're reading this you are numbered among those wonderful enough to keep checking in even after I vanish. Bless you. I have a million excuses for not blogging lately. Just the fact that I am a single mom who started a new job while working on several large projects should buy me a few weeks vacation from the burn out of - blah, blah, blah...

But, honestly, none of those reasons is the real and true reason I haven't blogged lately. I haven't blogged because this blog is basically a narrative of me: my life, my thoughts, my feelings and my oh-so fabulous every day life. But, for the past while now I have found myself living in the land of In Between and still haven't quite figured out how to write about it.

How does one adequately describe that place between waking and sleeping while one is still in it? How do we wax poetic or humorous when we find ourselves, yet again, half gooey dying caterpillar half brilliant butterfly? There are literally no words to describe the experience of curling up in the darkest night of the soul while concurrently spreading one's wings in the luminescence of resurrection morning.

That all sounds so flowery and self important. It's not. To put it in more simply: it's been impossible for me to write a 500 word essay while simultaneously having open heart surgery and multiple orgasms.

I am changing in big ways. I am becoming. I am allowing. And I am healing. Still. And I've been far more interested in experiencing it than narrating it. Life is just so damn cool - even when it's not.

Also, it looks like my book Dancing With Crazy is, at long last, going to be published by a new publisher (details forthcoming) and I have found myself pulling back into, however illusory, blessed anonymity while I still can. Being famous in a weird little pond primarily because of what has been said about me by other people has been... interesting. And the reason I even started writing this memoir in the first place was because I was done having other people speak for me. Done having other people tell their versions of some of the most important chapters in my life story. One of them was given permission. The other wasn't. Whatever. It is what it is.

And now it's my turn and that is both thrilling and terrifying. My guts are about to be publicly splayed again - but this time it is by my own doing. And in vivid Technicolor. There will be those that will be touched and moved and changed and entertained by it while others will judge and hate and dissect and blog and point mean fingers. And I am okay with it all because that is what I have chosen.

So there you have it. I am emerging from In Between Land a more whole version of myself and fun things are happening. Thanks for sticking with me through my silence. I'm back. (I think.) And you totally rock.

Mid-Week Refresher - John Butler Trio: Ocean

I recently discovered this guy and, admittedly, am now totally obsessed. So Internetland, turn off your phone, lock your office door for a few minutes, take off your shoes & bras, grab your favorite cold beverage and let yourself float away...

And... If You Have Time For A Party

Emily + Jesus = TLA

"[Emily,] You said something in this post that caught me off guard. I wasn't sure if you were being sarcastic or serious. You're so good at being sarcastic that we honestly can't tell the difference. You say "...believe it or not, Jesus really is my friend."

A) Is this sarcasm? if so, bravo! Well played.
B) if you're serious-- I am surprised and puzzled... and can you explain your thoughts and feelings regarding "Jesus"?

It was my assumption, based on my long-time reading of this blog, that you were no longer a believer in the magical man in the sky. Perhaps you have long felt differently but never chose to discuss your personal feelings on Jebus.

I am not criticizing you If you are a believer, I just am confused by it. The open-minded, free-spirited, irreverent, sex-toy-selling, self-emancipated recovering Mormon that I have grown to love on this blog does not at ALL seem like the Jesus-loving type. Am I crazy?

Please enlighten us! We love you so much."

Oh man, you're going to make me write about my coochie aren't you? Well, shit...

Okay, first of all, of course I was being sarcastic. I will always poke sarcastic fun at the weird things humans do - especially when it comes to God and Jesus and religion. But that doesn't mean I wasn't also being serious. Yes, Jesus really is my friend.

He is my friend simply because he is. As a concept, he was my enemy for a very long time due to some ways he got seriously fucked up in my childhood. I worked unbelievably hard to heal that and when I was an adult, and Mormon, I fell in love with the notion that Jesus was a man that actually loved me and, because of that love, was willing and capable of grabbing a whip, overturning tables and kicking the shit out of those that had violated the temple of my soul. The thought of him has brought healing and peace and joy to my soul more times in my life than I can count. That is what a friend does.

But, he is more than just a thought. Yes, I am a believer. For many reasons I believe, and have experienced, that life continues after we are no longer in these bodies. And, yes, I believe that the spirit that was Jesus on this earth does exist. Do I believe that he died on the cross for the sins of the world? No. Not in the way I was taught. Those that believe in the traditional Christian Atonement and Crucifixion would call that blaspheme. I promise it's not. The ways in which I am coming to understand the teachings and life and what we call the atonement of Jesus Christ is more beautiful than anything I was ever taught in any church. And the day will certainly come when I will share some of that understanding publicly - but today ain't that day.

There is still so much that I just flat out don't know. It is my intention one day, hopefully sooner than later, to carve out some time to do an in depth study of the life and teachings of Christ. Who he really was, and could have been, historically and politically as well as what he taught and achieved spiritually. That period in my life is something I really look forward to. Almost as much as the day I have time for porn.

It is the statement "The open-minded, free-spirited, irreverent, sex-toy-selling, self-emancipated recovering Mormon that I have grown to love on this blog does not at ALL seem like the Jesus-loving type," that I really want to address. Somehow religious people have decided that someone who loves God or Jesus or has any kind of a spiritual life has to look and behave a certain way. That right there is the notion that I am more than willing and happy to violently blow out of the water.

Guess what? I promise you that it is possible to love God and the word asshead at the same time. That one can praise Jesus and shoot Tequila and sell sex toys without skipping a beat. Not only is it possible to be irreverent and spiritually alive at the same time, it is almost a prerequisite. The more I discover the God of my soul, the more open-minded, free-spirited and self-emancipated I become.

We humans get so caught up in what things are supposed to "look" like we end up living someone else's version of ourselves. If you're gay you have to look like this. If you're straight, you have to look like this. If you're a woman you have to look like this. If you're a man you have look like this. If you're black you have to behave this way. If you're white, you check that box and stand with that group. If you're artistic, smart, handicapped, blond... you have to behave a certain way, think a certain way, be like the others that share the same story as you.

Be yourself - whatever that means and looks like. Who the hell cares what others think? Stand before God, naked and exposed exactly as you are and choose to be, and I promise you will be celebrated. Do the same with yourself and I guarantee fireworks and choirs of angels.

So, there you have it. Is Emily Pearson a Jesus-loving believer? Fuck yeah.

End of peep show.

Women Alive! Retreat

There are still a few spaces available at our Retreat this summer. I am really excited for how this is shaping up - and about flexing my more serious / motivational / spiritual muscles that I choose, for the time being, to not flex on this blog.

Looking forward to seeing you there!

Living Out Loud

The BEST comment was left on yesterday's post. "Don't just have "near life" experiences. Blow the top off of "just living". Create the kind of memories people will be cheerful, joyous and inspired about at your funeral."

Amen Sistah! "Near life" experience was a play on words. One that doesn't even come close to what I want to be, and sometimes actually succeed at, having. Here's to "blowing the top off" of life and having a deeply profound, totally alive, freakishly daring, infinitely creative, stunningly loving, fierce & fearless, happygasmic Total Life Experience!

* * *
Related Links:
Living Without Apology
In The Face Of

If I Could Have Been

When I was in high school we did a production of the musical Working. Every night I would sit in the wings listening to Beth Arago sing "If I Could Have Been" and every night, in my head, I would sing along. "If I could have been, what I could have been, I could have been something..."

I was 16 years old and could imagine few things worse than being old, like 40, and looking back and thinking If Only. "If only I could have... If only I would have... If only I had..."

Fast forward almost 26 years later and here I am - nearing 42. And I still sing that song, only now it has such deep personal meaning. And it hurts. Nearly every day of my life I feel the wind of If Only. Sometimes it is only a light breeze and sometimes it's a hurricane. When I was sixteen years old, backstage during our productions of Working, my father had only been dead a few months. I was hanging on for dear life but still had no way of knowing how deeply that event would affect me and the course my life would take as a result of it. I had no way of knowing how deeply I would be affected by my membership in the Mormon Church and how it would color and dictate enormous life decisions and choices I would make. I still believed that I had the world at my fingertips and that my life would play out exactly as I wanted it to. If only...

If only they hadn't died... if only I hadn't married... if only I hadn't dated... if only winter wasn't so hard... if only I had been braver... if only I had fought harder... if only I had left sooner...

The other day I was getting my hair done by my friend Cassie and, as I usually do around her, felt the wind blow. I met Cassie several years ago and she has become one of my nearest and dearest. The thing that reached out and violently bitch-slapped me when I first met her was that she was me when I was in my early 20's if only I had been allowed, by both myself and the world around me, to just be me. Cassie is talented, successful, beautiful, funny as hell and, most importantly, free. Cassie just is. And I wonder why that makes me ache like it does.

I think it's because I feel like I am still running a million miles an hour to catch up - to make up for lost time. But I am doing it. I am getting there. And, really, it's all about perspective isn't it? The hopeful thought that I am clinging to is that, somewhere out there, there is an 80 year old woman looking at me the way I look at Cassie and saying to herself:

"If only..."


* * *
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Living Without Apology
Never Too Late

Women Alive! Retreat

Women Alive! My mother, Carol Lynn Pearson, and I are hosting a three-day retreat for twelve women in the beautiful Utah mountains this summer.

July 30- August 1, Friday noon to Sunday 5 p.m.

CAROL LYNN PEARSON—brings her insight and inspiration on Women’s Spirituality…the Magic and Meaning of Coincidence…her poems…a reader’s theatre presentation of “Mother Wove the Morning” (search for the female face of God)…and much more.

EMILY PEARSON—with her unique, sassy humor and well-earned wisdom, guides us to a greater understanding of Pain and its purpose, how we can allow it to propel us forward…shows us the freedom and joy that come from Spiritual Reinvention…and makes sure we laugh a lot.

*Lodge-type home on three acres in the beautiful mountains near Heber

*Small lake, canoe, paddle boat, Koi fish pond, waterfall, woods, occasional moose

*Slumber party casual

*First nine enrollees get a double bed, others get a comfortable couch

*Yummy, healthy food and indulgent snacks

*Bring one guest free to Friday evening performance of “Mother Wove the Morning”







$340

REGISTER HERE.


Grab a spot and come have a party with us! I am really excited about this event - even though Mom made me promise not to use the "F" word all weekend.

Whatever.

Positively Pissed

I have gotten more comments and emails on my last post than any other. It seems I am not the only angry person on the planet. Go figure. There are many ex-Mormons / gay individuals that are tired of the fury, tired of letting their anger fester, but cannot figure out how to let it go. I was asked if it helped me to take up a cause. Sure it did, but that is because my Homo vs. Momo anger was very issue specific. Of course it helped me enormously to rant and rave and march and speak out. But what about anger that is a little more general? Will it really help ex-Mormons to work through their anger by making signs and marching on Ward houses every Sunday? Maybe, but only a little. (If you do, please wear costumes and take pictures – then return and report. I beg of you)

What about anger that is focused on something other than [gasp] a religion? All human beings have cause to be angry at something. Be it a religion, a government, a parent, friend, sibling, spouse, former spouse or lover, teacher, roommate, neighbor… We all get angry. Welcome to being human. I don’t think there is anything wrong with feeling anger. It is certainly healthier than depression and it does assist us in looking at things that we might otherwise ignore. Often anger is our deep down guts trying to tell us, teach us, something. It can be our inner selves screaming that something is wrong, that something is out of alignment. Anger makes us feel powerful in the face of something that we once felt, or currently feel, powerless to control. We are usually angry about something that has caused us great pain.

Feeling and experiencing anger is not the problem – it is being unable to move through it, to do something about it and to create something new out of it. It is getting stuck in it and setting up permanent housekeeping on Angry Ave. that becomes the problem.

Here’s how I see it. You’re angry. Okay, great, feel it. Voice it. Have a conversation with it. Out loud. “I am pissed off at --- because it makes me feel ---.” ‘I am pissed off at --- because it hurt me.” Feel the anger and feel the pain without making yourself wrong. Because you’re not wrong. Not at all.

Go running, lift weights, beat the hell out of your couch or bed with a plastic baseball bat. (I, personally, believe this item should be owned by every human being.) Get it out. Have a good cry. It’s not gone? Well, duh. It will be there as long as it’s there. You will feel it as long as you need to feel it. Get angry and then get up and do something about it.

If it gets you to take positive action – great. Feel it and tell yourself, “This anger feels good because it makes me feel ----.” And then, here is the vital part, close your eyes and breathe deeply and imagine how amazing it is going to feel when you no longer feel that anger. Take a few minutes and feel how incredible that freedom will feel. Tell yourself, “I am so excited for the day I no longer feel this anger. I have no freaking idea how I am going to get there, but I can’t wait to find out.” And then go on with your day.

As long as anger is something that we allow to flow through us in order to heal and affect change (rather than something we ball up and store in our guts like a two years supply of food) and as long as we don’t resist it and wrestle too unnecessarily with it and allow ourselves to become angry people, then it is serving its purpose. It is what it is and will be gone when it’s gone. The day will come when you will suddenly grow tired of lugging it around, when you have finally learned and become, and will find that putting it down and walking away is almost effortless.

I promise.

Letting It Go

Okay, so it turns out I’m not actually a gay man. I know – stop the presses. That statement might make you laugh but the truth of it has slapped me upside all four cheeks and changed everything.

A few weeks ago I was talking with a friend about all my reasons for being so pissed off at the Mormon Church and for speaking out about gay rights and, mid-sentence, I hit a wall and literally could not finish what I was saying. And that was it. Just like that I was done. I am done. I can no longer be angry like I have been. I can no longer hate like I have. And I can no longer spend my life marching at the front of someone else’s parade.

That is not to say that I am done caring about the rights of my fellow human beings or that I am done having very specific conversations at very specific times on very specific topics. It just means that I cannot care about someone else’s rights more than I care about my own happiness. I cannot care more about someone else’s sexuality more than I care about the state of my own personal fulfillment. And I cannot care more about tearing down than I do about building and blessing.

I cannot fill my heart with so much passion for gay men that there is no room for the love of a wonderful straight man. I cannot be driven to be a good daughter more than I am driven to have a healthy and autonomous self. And I cannot fill my guts with more anger, more righteous indignation and more piss and vinegar about what someone else says and does than I do with love and kindness and hope and the freedom of forgiveness and passion for being the one in charge of creating my own blissfully happy life and in rocking the planet with as much light and laughter as I possibly can.

My internal scales have been tipped in the wrong direction for far too long. And I am done.

I have been asked by many people what I think of the Mormon Church’s latest statement. I think it is a smokescreen. I think it is an attempt to clean up an ugly and embarrassing mess and a way to get out of the corner they painted themselves into. Is it a step? Sure, but not an enlightened one. It was a PR move, plain and simple. They still referred to full equality as “violence” against marriage. Everyone is Ooo-ing and Ahh-ing because a bully has agreed not to hit so hard. Whatever.

Both Reed and Dustin Lance Black, as well as many others, have spoken out eloquently about it. You all know where I stand and how I feel. Bishop John Shelby Spong wrote a Stunning Manifesto that I echo with all my heart. He will no longer... And I will no longer...

Change is already here. It is a done deal. Many, many individuals and institutions are still digging their heels and will bring up the rear years after the rest – but they will get there. There are many that are still in those institutions and surrounded by those individuals that are working hard to make a difference and then there are those to whom it is all just a non issue who have moved on with their lives and are the embodiment of “being the change they wish to see in the world.”

Memo to my fellow Ex-Mormons: As M, a dear friend of mine, wrote in response to the recent events: “It's part of the historic symptoms of my LDS disease to be looking for crumbs to fall off the patriarchal table. So the moment I start looking, like the abused woman that I am, I gotta remind myself – keep walking away, nothing has changed. Once the spotlight is on – because either the cops have been called or the neighbors have complained – he sends her flowers or can be seen washing her car or offers to take the kids for the day. The woman sighs and says, "This time I think he's really changed," and the community sighs with relief because it wants to avoid confrontation. Morsels dropped to avoid the big one. And yes, the woman experiences momentary relief and is lulled once again into staying in the relationship. Until the next one, or until she wakes up one day all alone to realize she has wasted her life waiting for things to change. And she called it love. And hope. Morsels dropped to keep change at bay. Part of the symptoms of the disease, the dance between abuser and abused, and the community outside marvels. Yikes. This is like saying, ‘Good progress. He's quit beating her. But she still can't own the house, use the check book or sleep under the same roof at night.’ Abuse is abuse is abuse.”

It is time to let it go – the anger, the pain, the massive confusion… Haven’t we had enough? Haven’t our lives been dictated by the Mormon Church long enough? Haven’t we given it enough of our minds, hearts, time and energy? Far too many of us woke up and found ourselves in a mental ward and are still running around the halls yelling and focusing on all the things we see that are crazy – all the things that hurt us and robbed us of so much – rather than opening the doors and just walking away. Rather than basking in the sunshine and embracing lives filled with joy and wholeness and the buckets and buckets of love and freedom that are ours for the taking.

It is time to let go. It is time to move on. It is time to know peace.

The issues are still there and I do still care about them – but never again will I care about them MORE than I care about myself, my children and my loved ones being happy and thoroughly enjoying the playground of this glorious thing we call life.

My Own Little Traveling Guide

After my last post I was asked if I am trying to change the Mormon Church or the country. The truth is it would be ludicrous, and obscenely narcissistic, of me to think I could change either one.

Many years ago I was told the following story: There was once a King who decided to hold a contest. He gathered everyone in his kingdom together at a certain place on a certain road that led to his castle and announced that he would give a great prize to the person who traveled the road the best.

Each person tried to out do the next in creativity, strength and agility – dancing, spinning, walking on their hands, cart wheeling and hand springing… They created outrageous bicycles and other wheeled contraptions. They all did their very best - even when, one by one, they came upon a large pile of dirt and rocks in the middle of the road that they had to stop and climb over.

As every person reached the castle the King asked them how their journey down the road had been. And every person answered the same way – it was great except for that annoying pile of rubble in the way.

The King threw a feast for all who had participated and as the celebration was coming to a close, in walked one lone straggler – a young man, tired and hungry, hours later than the rest. In his arms he carried a large wooden chest. The king asked him what had taken him so long and he apologized for being late, explained that there had been a pile of rubble in the road that he had stopped to clean up. He had found the chest under the rocks and had come to return it to its rightful owner.

The king stopped the festivities - announcing to the crowd that this young man had won the prize, a chest full of gold, because “He who travels the road best is the one who makes it better for those that come after him.”

That’s all I am trying to do – not because I think I am super special or am after any sort of prize but because I really believe that is how I am to live my life. All any of us can do is to share where we have been with others that are traveling on the same road and do our best to make the journey safer and better for them. If people don’t want to listen to what I have to say, or don’t want to be affected by things I have to share, then they absolutely don’t have to. There are millions of people whose life path is nowhere near mine. I’m just doing my best to ease the hearts of fellow travelers who feel the same pain I have felt and are climbing over the same obstacles I have – that’s all.

And, yes, I’m still committed to figuring out how to do this from a clown car rather than an army tank. Maybe we’ll have to settle for a polka dotted tank that shoots bubbles and sunflowers and chocolate kisses. And an occasional shot of Tequila...