Never been a religious man. Not one now. But faith and religion are not the <\/p>\n
same thing. <\/p>\n
There has been only one symbol which sums up my feelings of faith, of how the <\/p>\n
universe works. Kali,<\/i> the Devouring Mother. The answer to why bad things <\/p>\n
happen: To pay for the good things. All beauty is paid for in blood. <\/p>\n
Everybody pays<\/i>.<\/p>\n
She has always made herself known in my life, but that’s the sort of thing you <\/p>\n
only see in retrospect.<\/p>\n
First in art. In my kink, in my needs- but disguised. As time has gone on, She <\/p>\n
has made herself much more apparent. I do not see Her as an entity, as a <\/p>\n
Goddess. Not exactly. But She is the symbol for things that not only resonate <\/p>\n
with me- but things I revere<\/i>. Things that are holy<\/i>. There is no <\/p>\n
name for these things- so I have given a symbol all that that I can. She is a <\/p>\n
Goddess, a figure built on the foundation of ancient reverence, by people far <\/p>\n
wiser than I who felt her touch in their lives, in the tides of their blood, in <\/p>\n
the ruin of their bodies, in the sand of their time. She is divine<\/i>. All that I <\/p>\n
find miraculous and terrifying. The things that remind me I am a fool, grateful <\/p>\n
that I am at all, for as long as I am allowed to stay.<\/p>\n
I walked into the Metropolitan Museum, For the first time, I was left cold. I <\/p>\n
found nothing which inspired me. I ended up wandering among the Egyptians, tall <\/p>\n
and impassive, regal, sexless, glacial, graceful, enigmatic, but ultimately <\/p>\n
antiseptic. Dust and ashes in my mouth. Then I turned the corner.<\/p>\n
India.<\/i><\/p>\n
They were dancing. They were fucking and crying and raging and blazing and <\/p>\n
curvy and sexual and angry and happy and alive<\/i>. I sat there, staring. I <\/p>\n
don’t know how long. I think my mouth was open. <\/p>\n
I have written about the cost<\/i> all my life. The cost of leaving home, <\/p>\n
the cost of going home. I am looking down the barrel of the latter now. <\/p>\n
She is the cost of all things. <\/p>\n
I had a ceremony with my boy. It was about price. He wants to learn what it <\/p>\n
is to be a man in our culture. <\/p>\n
I paid for my part- I hate ritual, I hate telling people anything about myself <\/p>\n
in honest terms, I hate admitting to my spiritual convictions. Talking about <\/p>\n
this is part of the price, the things I brought to the table. I don’t ever <\/p>\n
expect to write about it again. This is what I owe. <\/p>\n
I took a cutting from my boy. A key. It was rubbed with the earth from my <\/p>\n
Property, and the cigar ashes of my brothers. ("My <\/i>Property". Boy, am I <\/p>\n
ever ahead of myself. But I’ll leave it as I typed it.) My boy took the same <\/p>\n
cutting from me, over his womb, which was rubbed with the same ashes. I have <\/p>\n
always referred to my boy as "she". For the next year, it’s "he". He is busy <\/p>\n
earning that every day. maybe sometime I’ll write about what it means to be a <\/p>\n
man, what I have learned by teaching and being faced with his questions. But <\/p>\n
that’s another time. I mentioned it because at the opening of the ceremony, I <\/p>\n
asked Kali to be part.<\/p>\n
Do I think a Goddess showed herself because I said a name? Not on your life. <\/p>\n
I did it for me. I did it to try to be connected with the guiding principle of <\/p>\n
my universe. I did it to promise myself that someday I will listen to the rain <\/p>\n
from My House, on My Property, with the people that matter most. They may not be <\/p>\n
there all the time- but they will have keys. It’s as close to a holy oath as I <\/p>\n
could make. I bled on it, I scarred myself for it. I’m not yet done. I just <\/p>\n
affirmed to myself that I am ready to pay. Kali gives us only so much time. She <\/p>\n
is the price that is paid, the end of all things.<\/p>\n
She is also the beginning of all things. <\/p>\n
My boy was the beginning of this cycle, the door through which I passed to <\/p>\n
start the cycle in earnest. <\/p>\n
There is another- the second part. A different name, a different arrangement. It <\/p>\n
is very, very difficult to explain. She is family, she is like my sister. The <\/p>\n
connection is so profound, and so simple… I don’t know what else to say. I <\/p>\n
cannot imagine this person not being in my life. Not in the future, and oddly, <\/p>\n
not in the past. She is another part of this. <\/p>\n
I have to assume ownership of my Property. <\/p>\n
I cannot go on like this much longer.<\/p>\n