I Am No Longer Interested

I am no longer interested

I am no longer interested in your condemnations of me.

I am no longer interested in your anger

or your pity

or your guilt trips

or your judgments that my sexuality is wrong or unnatural.

I am no longer interested in your clippings about how homosexuality can be cured.

I do not view myself as a disorder to be healed

or a political argument to be refuted

or a theological position to be debated.

I am no longer interested in responding to your arguments

or your Bible verses

or your propaganda downloaded from < billygraham.org >.

I have moved beyond grief at the way you exclude me.

I have moved beyond anger at the way you condemn me.

Now all I feel is sadness:

sadness that you will never know me (this is your loss);

sadness that you will never know the wonderful others who love me;

sadness that you are held captive by your fears;

sadness at the joys you’ll never know;

sadness that you live in a black-and-white world

and will never know the vivid and wonder-filled technicolor world in which I live.



Welcome to the ranks of those who feel

deeply. This is not an easy path.

You will be subject to both anxiety attacks

and random attacks of grace.

You will have days when everything is crystal clear

and days when everything is murky grey.

You will have days when you will feel such joy

you’ll think you might explode.

And you will have days when you will feel despair

so deeply you’ll long to be shallow again

and wonder if you can ever return to normal.

The answer is no.

Your capacity for love — the depths of your compassion —

your ability to experience the emotions that make life worth living —

these are directly proportionate to your ability to feel pain.

This is your blessing and this is your curse.



The Job

Buddhist monks in long robes drumming handdrums chanting

na mu myo ho renge kyo

carrying banners for peace as their pilgrimage

leads them through another small-town square

and the townfolk gather to stare at them

with amazement and confusion

as if they were alien beings from a distant shining planet

and a cashier sees them through the window

over the rows of carton cigarettes

and shakes her head with disgust and says

if those assholes had jobs they wouldn’t have time for all this shit

as if the job of peace were not important

as if the job of prayer were not what holds this world together