RFD 145 Spring 2011

Issue 146 Summer 2011

NEXT GEN

RFDis often a place to be retrospective, reflective of the past and considering our experiences but the Summer issue is all about exploring “what’s next” in our movement. As the modern gay movement pushed well into it’s forties (looking fine by the way!), how are we looking to the future generation of gay people. How are we handling issues of young people within the GLBT community and how is the gay movement viewed by the queer youth of today?

If you’d like to focus your submission on how this related to the Radical Faerie movement that’s fine but we’re hoping for the larger view. But of course the personal is always political so speak from the “community” which most reflects on your experience.

We’d especially like to hear how Generation Q reflects the diversity of the queer community–so reach into topics beyond just “gay men” like leather, the bear culture, the lesbian community, people living with HIV, the gay drug culture, gay literati, transfolk, porn–you name it but focus on the positive and think in terms of community building.

And lastly how does a vibrant community and culture made up of young and old, gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered people create a lasting impact on our immediate community but also look beyond it.

As always we’d love to see your artwork and photographs gracing the pages of RFD. So please consider sending in work which reflects on this theme.

S ubmissions can be sent to submissions@rfdmag.org with Summer 2011 in the subject line. Please include within your document or email the title of your piece, your name as you would like it to appear in RFD as well as your mailing address so we can send you a contributor copy of the issue. The deadline for this issue is April 25, 2011.

Artwork & photos should be scanned at least 300 dpi. Color is great! Art and photos should be emailed to submissions@rfdmag.org.

Callfor Submissions

“Rinkle Free Darlings” : Summer 2011 Teaser / Call for Submissions

Retooled Four-color Digest

Vol 37 No 3 #145 Spring 2011

Between the Lines

The Spring Issue

Every winter we dream of warmer days and with most of the United States covered in snow and ice this season, we at RFD can’t wait for the flowers to bloom, our calendar to free up some social time after a long wintry solitude. We asked a number of sanctuaries, faerie communities and our like minded brethren to send in news about upcoming gatherings and to also let us know how life has been going in their neck of the woods. Close to half of the sanctuaries and gathering sites responded and we’re thrilled to share with our readers their plans, dreams and plans for the gathering season.

Our call for spring renewal brought in a bouquet of poems from our readers and we hope you enjoy the variety and color of each of them.

In a bit of hearkening back we are pleased to print an article from Clear about early Running Water gathering times. It’s a pleasure to print the article and we’re sorry it didn’t make it into the issue dedicated to Running Water and Louisiana Sissies in Struggle (#142).

Marc has written a moving piece about how to move on after a relationship changes. It seems appropriate to consider all the changes we face as the wheel of life turns.

The RFD Collective is excited that Mark Thompson’s book, The Fire in the Moonlight, is coming out. We interview him and publisher, Bo Young, about this seminal collection of writings about Radical Faerie culture written by many of the readers to RFD.

We’re also pleased to present our first issue in full color—and in a more intimate format, the same size as the original RFD of the mid-1970s. With this format, we’re able to run more pages and highlight some amazing artists and their work and to show off our readers’ contributions as well candid photos from gatherings past.

We hope you enjoy this issue in all it’s variety and spring colors.

The Spring pansies of the RFD Collective

RFD is a reader written journal for gay people which focuses on country living and encourages alternative lifestyles. We foster community building and networking, explore the diverse expressions of our sexuality, care for the environment, radical faerie consciousness, nature-centered spirituality, and share experiences of our lives. RFD is produced by volunteers. We welcome your participation. The business and general production are coordinated by a collective. Features and entire issues are prepared by different groups in various places. RFD (ISSN# 0149-709X) is published quarterly for $25 a year by RFD Press, P.O. Box 302, Hadley MA 01035-0302.

Postmaster: Send address changes to RFD, P.O. Box 302, Hadley MA 01035-0302 Non-profit tax exempt #621723644, a function of RFD Press with office of registration at 231 Ten Penny Rd., Woodbury, TN 37190. RFD

Cover Price: $9.95. A regular subscription is the least expensive way to receive it four times a year. Copyright © 2011 RFD Press. The records required by Title 18 U.S.D. Section 2257 and associated with respect to this magazine (and all graphic material associated therewith on which this label appears) are kept by the custodian of records at the following location: RFD Press, 85 N Main St, Ste 200, White River Junction, VT 05001. Mail for our Brothers Behind Bars project should be sent to P.O. Box 68, Liberty TN 37095.

On the Covers

Front Cover : Mark Hufstetler

Back Cover: Devin Mohr

Inside Front Cover: Courtesy NASA

Inside Back Cover: Courtesy Walt Whitman Archive

Production

Bambi Gauthier, Editor in Chief

Matt Bucy, Design & Typography

Eric Linton, Editor

Paul Wirhun, Editor

Jason Schneider, Editor

Myrlin, Prison Pages Editor

Photo by Peat

LETTERS & ANNOUNCEMENTS

Dory Previn: A Diva to Inspire Overcoming

My partner and I purchase RFD irregularly, but I had to buy this one because of the short article on Dory Previn. I was introduced to Dory Previn by my mother and I immediately fell in love with her music and her message. I was a young kid when I first heard her music in the early seventies, mostly from the albums “Reflections in Mud Puddle” and “On My Way to Where”. Her music, because it lacked any sort of pop sensibility, never garnered the wide spread appeal that it deserved, but I have never heard truer lyrics in my life and it has helped sustain me during the low times of life (including my mother’s death from cancer when I was fourteen and could have used more than any other time in my life). I cannot tell you how gratified I am to find another queer devotee to Dory Previn out there. She is a true Diva, and without knowing it I have always held her in that esteem.

Patrick M. Dacey St. Helens, OR

Daffodil Meadow Contemplation Center

I look back at how my journey has unfolded, each step giving rise to the next. Embedded in whatever way I may have stumbled is perfect order. This land has called me home to continue my work as a space holder for the unfolding of your perfect order. I have spent the last three years getting to know this land and who I am on it. People have come here throughout this time for healing. Whether people have come for an hour or years, they have all felt the support and magic this land offers. I believe it is time to open the space in a more focused way. Creating Daffodil Meadow Contemplation Center is the next step of the journey.

So here I am living on 56 acres of incredible beauty in a thriving community of homesteaders, artists and craftspeople. Daffodil Meadow is on Short Mountain in Middle Tennessee. Short Mountain is the headwaters for three different watersheds and is the highest point between the Ozark and Appalachian Mountains. Life at the Meadow is deeply rooted in the land. There are no modern conveniences. Solar power, a water system and a bathhouse are in the works. But for the most part it is a place where life can be experienced first-hand, a place where

a connection to the natural world can be deeply explored. The Meadow for me has put a call out to people for the purpose of this deepening connection to our most natural self. I am in service to that call.

I don’t know what will happen. I just know this is the next step. I realize that what happens next depends on the people that come. So I offer Daffodil Meadow and myself as support in your journey of becoming.

Co-creating Space for Love’s Most Bold and Beautiful Expression Retreats

When thinking about retreats to offer, I went to the vision statement for the land, “Co-creating Space for Love’s Most Bold and Beautiful Expression.” I have come to see the land and my work here as an example of love’s most bold and beautiful expression and use it as a guiding principle. The weekend retreat focuses on moving through our next layer to more clearly embody our next expression of our most bold and beautiful self. Drawing on the power and healing energy of the land, we will explore the next layer of what is to be released. Through ritual, we will release what no longer serves and embody the next. The experience will include time spent alone as well as in community.

The retreats begin on Friday afternoon and end on Sunday afternoon. Camping space is available as well as space for special needs. Food will be provided and cooking is done communally. A suggested donation to the weekend is $300, more if you can and less if you can’t.

Retreat Dates for 2011

March 25-27, April 22-24, May 20-22, June 3-5, July 15-17, Aug. 12-14, Sept. 16-18, Oct. 21-23.

Personal Retreats

In addition to the weekend retreats I am also offering individual retreats for those wishing to take time on their own to explore. The individual retreats can be personalized to meet the needs of each person. The suggested donation is $100 a day, more if you can, less if you can’t.

Daffodil Festival March 13.

Cob building workshop June 8-16. See barefootbuilder.com for details.

For more information, visit our website at daffodilcenter.com or to schedule a retreat call 615-653-9182.

With peace and love, Mati Karol

GAYLA Men’s Conference

July 16-23, 2011

Ferry Beach Conf. Center (UUA)

Saco, Maine

Now in its 33rd year, GAYLA is a week of fellowship, fun, and intentional community among Gay and Bi men at Ferry Beach, a Unitarian Universalist Association of Congregations-affiliated retreat center

on the southern coast of Maine at Saco. This year’s theme is “Our Stories” and GAYLA activities (all optional) include a.m. workshops, outdoor chapel (led by a Gay Minster of the Week), afternoon Check-in Circles, sundown Friendship Circle, Free-Time slots, and different events each evening, including a Movie Night and the Talent-No-Talent Show. Each GAYLA brother chooses level of activity or inactivity: Do as much or as little as desired or just enjoy the beach! Lodging and meals included. See www.gayla.org.

Sanctuaries and Faerie Friendly Organizations

Amber Fox

McDonald’s Corners, Ontario, Canada akaamberfox.blogspot.com

Breitenbush (Cascadia Radical Faerie Resource) www.radfae.org/breitenbush

Edward Carpenter Community BM ECC

London WC1N 3XX United Kingdom contactecc@edwardcarpentercommunity.org.uk www.edwardcarpentercommunity.org

Faerie Camp Destiny

P.O. Box 517 Chester, VT 04143-0517

info@faeriecampdestiny.org www.faeriecampdestiny.org

Faeryland

P O Box 495

Nimbin, N.S.W. 2480 02 6689 7070

ozfaeries@yahoo.com www.ozfaeries.com

Folleterre

Ternuay-Melay-et-Saint-Hilaire France info@folleterre.org www.folleterre.org

Gay Spirit Visions

P.O. Box 339 Decatur, GA 30031-0339 info@gayspiritvisions.org www.gayspiritvisions.org

IDA

904 Vickers Hollow Rd Dowelltown, TN 37059 615-597-4409

idapalooza@gmail.com www.planetida.com

Kawashaway Sanctuary

P.O. Box 581194 Minneapolis, MN 55458 www.kawashaway.org

Midwest Men’s Festival http://www.midwestmensfestival.com/

Nomenus (Wolf Creek Sancturary)

Wolf Creek Sanctuary

P.O. Box 312 Wolf Creek, OR 97497 541-866-2678

nomenus@hughes.net www.nomenus.org

Santa Cruz Radical Faeries www.santacruzradicalfaeries.com

Short Mountain Sanctuary

247 Sanctuary Lane Liberty, TN 37095 615-563-4397 Messages only

Starland

Yucca Valley CA www.starlandcommunity.org

Zuni Mountain Sanctuary

P.O. Box 636 Ramah, NM 87321 505-783-4002

zunimtn@wildblue.net www.zms.org

Corrections? Send them to submissions@rfdmag.org with “corrections” in the subject. Announcements can be sent to the same address. Please be sure to list “announcement” in the subject line!

Folleterre France

Folleterre, now into our sixth year of existence, is the sanctuary of faeries in Europe. We are visited by many from all over the world. Folleterre is situated in the Vosges mountains in the east of France, and can be reached easily by train from Paris or Basel in Switzerland. In the centre of western Europe, Folleterre is a meeting spot for faeries from many different backgrounds, and we don’t all speak the same (verbal) language, which raises the importance of exploring other means of communication. With no permanent residents, Folleterre is our escape to nature, a tribal home with open welcoming arms.

Here the info on Folleterre gatherings 2011: read the calls and find contact emails at www.folleterre.org.

16 April–1 May COMMUNITY WEEKS. During these weeks, we will focus on the renovation of the floor above the bathroom we are building.

9–13 May GARDEN WEEK. Gardening and opening the house to make it ready for Beltane

13–20 May BELTANE BRIGHT FIRE GATHERING. Held at the Beltane full moon, offering light nights on the faerie prairie

2–7 July ELDER GATHERING

11–22 July TERSCHELLING XIII Gathering on the island Terschelling, Netherlands... original home of the Eurofaerie gatherings.... details at www.eurofaerie.eu)

22–29 July COMMUNITY WEEK. Preparation for the annual Great Faerie Circle

30–31 July GREAT FAERIE CIRCLE. Our annual circle of the members of Folleterre, covering business, projects and faerie spirit

1–11 August LAMMAS LOVEMAGIC SUMMERFEST. Fires, feasts, heart circles, tantra, shamanism, sunshine...nature!

15–21 August QUIET GATHERING. A week to relax and arrive in the Here and Now in the beautiful nature of Folleterre with meditations, yoga, sweat lodges, heart circles, long nature walks and good food

22–28 August ARTS AND CRAFTS GATHERING

Around 21 September EQUINOX GATHERING

14–22 October LUMBERJANE’S GATHERING

Full details at www.folleterre.org

—Shokti Lovestar

Photographs courtesy of Folleterre

British Columbia Faeries

“We should have a gathering here, in B.C.”

This comment filled a brief silence at the closing of a Heart Circle. The group of men looked at the bold Faerie who seemed surprised as the rest of us at the words which had tumbled from his mouth. The idea settled in the room and the seed of that idea took root in the lovely area rug that all the chairs were circled around. The small group became imbued with possibility; why not create a Faerie Gathering in our own backyard again?

This idea builds on a rich history of Faerie gatherings in British Columbia that dates back to 1993 when a group of Faes forged space on a Faerie’s farm out near Christina Lake in the South-eastern portion of the province, barely a stone’s throw from the American border. There were two consecutive gatherings at this location and they’ve been wonderfully chronicled by Tiger Lily in the Winter 2009 issue ( No. 140) of the RFD. Faeries were instrumental in creating three gay men’s spiritual retreats in 1998, 1999 and 2000 on the Sunshine Coast north west of Vancouver. While they were not officially Faerie gatherings, they were organized by Darlene the Ambassador’s Wife, Sparkie Lamee and Luke Warmwater. Then in the middle of the past decade the Vancouver Green Body Gathering sprung to life through the diligence of Danzante, the Queen Registrar of the first of three urban gatherings. The VGBG was conceived on the concept of keeping Fae energy in the city by holding Faerie activities in urban spaces. Now it’s 2011 and the desire, dare say, need for a larger local gathering has been born. The yearly mini- gatherettes hosted on the Sunshine Coast and Salt Spring Island were successful and well attended, but both were unable to host a large number of Faeries. Luke Warmwater’s enthusiast suggestion at that fated Heart Circle was echoed by the community at large.

I’ve had little experience at helping to organize Faerie gatherings and the overwhelming responsibility at concocting such a venture filled me with trepidation and fear. I’ve been fortunate to have helped our Faerie elder, Tulip, host successful, albeit, small gatherettes, as we were fond of calling them, at the Landing Place, his reclaimed parcel of land on the Sunshine Coast. Tulip and I were hesitant about our first gathering and started off small by inviting an intimate group to his home and land. As our confidence grew, so did the gatherings. I’m filled again with similar feelings of apprehension as my local community of Faeries put themselves out there for a much larger event.

The first step toward our vision of a grander gathering would be to find a space that would accommodate the needs of the Faeries. It had to be private/semi-private and be forgiving and accepting of male nudity. If possible, it would be best to have meals prepared for us so we can focus on play, magic and more play. Being surrounded by nature, as we are in the Vancouver area, we have no shortage of green space, but finding an established locale

British Columbia Faeries Canada

that could house a number of naked, exuberant queer men was slim pickings.

My son and step-son have been going to the Evans Lake Forest Education camp north of Vancouver pretty much their whole youths; in the summer for swimming and archery, and again in December for snowshoeing through a winter wonderland. My son has talked highly and excitedly about his times at Evans Lake. This is the same location that B.C. Witch Camp hosts annual gatherings, so at the very least the staff would be queer friendly.

On the first day of summer my partner Bug, Marmot, and I loaded into my VW Golf and made the ninety minute drive north to Evans Lake. We followed the map that had been printed from the internet site and soon we crested a rise in the gravel road and descended on the camp ground. From the very moment we laid eyes on the place, we were impressed, and as our guide toured us around the grounds, our excitement grew. Marmot and I plied our guide with a multitude of questions that would be unique to an all male identified gathering. Would the staff be OK with a bunch of naked and half naked men running around? Yes. Would there be room for a Love Lounge/ sex space? Yes. Would coffee be available? Yes! Vegetarian food options? Vegan? Lactose intolerant? Gluten free? Yes, yes, yes and YES! This place would be perfect!

Marmot and I brought our enthusiasm and a camera full of pictures to the first planning meeting where it was agreed that we would indeed claim this great facility. Creative discussions ensued around what to call the event. Since Evans Lake was a place for youth camps and many of the men on the planning group had camp experiences in their pasts, it was settled to put out a Call for B.C. Faerie Camp 2011.

From there the meetings took logistical twists and turns. When would we host this gathering? It was decided to put it smack dab between the two Breitenbush gatherings on the third weekend in May, our Queen Victoria Day long weekend. We would need to open a bank account to receive the monies sent in from across North America. Transportation issues were brought to the table, since there is limited parking at the location. There was discussion around alcohol consumption and since Evans Lake is primarily a facility for youth and they preferred alcohol-free events, it was decided to discourage usage; besides our kooky provincial laws required us to get a liquor license for public consumption of booze.

But the real trigger for debate, as so often happens with planning Faerie events, was the gender issue, and it did become an issue. How do we identify ‘male’? What if female-identified Faeries wanted to come? Some men talked about needing male only space. Others talked about the magic of pan-gendered gatherings. This debate spilled over to webmail lists on the internet and many fingers flashed over keyboards as Faeries weighed in on this topic. It was finally decided (and not unanimously) to put in the Call that this was a gathering for ‘male identified queer men, but no one would be turned away’. This seemed to satisfy the majority present at the meetings and importantly, those receiving the Call.

With the Call typed up, edited, re-read, fussed over, re-typed and ultimately posted on-line, we were in business. The B.C. Radical Faeries were ready to host their next gathering. Since then we’ve been excitedly working on what we’ll do at the gathering, receiving registrations and working with the staff to create a menu for the three and a half days we’ll be guests

on their land. Working with a group to organize this gathering has added confidence to this experience and each Faeries’ enthusiasm helped erase some of the fears and doubts that cropped up for me. We’re looking forward to greeting the Faeries, as spring transforms into summer, at this lake side retreat and giving them big hugs, welcoming them home.

You can register by going to: http://www.radfae. org/BCFaerieCamp2011.pdf. Join our event on Facebook under ‘B.C. Radical Faerie Camp’. Feel free to e-mail Stitch at: sir_cum_stance@hotmail.com if you have any questions about this gathering.

—Stitch

Terschelling Netherlands

Thefirst international gathering of faeries in Europe happened during the summer of 1995, on the Dutch island of Terschelling. Since then, the movement has grown both in number of faeries and in number of nationalities, thus melting the North American traditions into a uniquely European movement, with its own international culture and sensibilities. Currently, the EuroFaeries produces an annual programming of meetings, circles, workshops and a few international gatherings, among other events. Although so far most activities are concentrated in France and the Netherlands, there are quite a few events in Germany and England as well.

LoveHändel

Zuni Mountain Sanctuary

Zuni Mountain Sanctuary is situated in the high desert of northwestern New Mexico. At 7200 feet above sea level, this area of the United States has been referred to as the Land of Enchantment. Life in the desert is at a slower pace, which lends itself to greater clarity in exploring Self, creativity and shared spiritual actualization. ZMS is maintained predominately by queer male healers and artists who provide sanctuary for visitors.

As a sanctuary, ZMS is a place for repose, retreat and according oneself with the larger rhythms in nature. As a community, it is a dynamic mix of people, ideas and elements. People come here to explore their ideas about Life, Self and the creative process.

In addition to the seasonal holiday and lunar celebrations, we are home to the annual Qweer Shamanism Gathering, which will be August 12-21, 2011 during the Perseid Meteor shower. It offers faeries and others who are like-minded the opportunity to explore self-actualization and spirituality with both traditional and post-modern rituals.

In recent years, as with some of the other faerie sanctuaries, former stewards and visitors have established homes in areas near the sanctuary. Our fellow residents of Cibola County are an eclectic mix of the indigenous peoples, Mormon families and transplants from other more liberal contexts—most sharing an interest in permaculture and environmental sustainability, spirituality and the arts. We have an active local art scene (art gallery, theatre, open-mic), Farmer's Market, and a local food coop.

ZMS welcomes visitors year-round asking from each according to their ability with no one being turned away for a lack of funds. If you would like to visit, contact us through our website: zms.org or call us at (505) 783-4002. We look forward to welcoming you home. Blessed be.

—Tiny Bear

Photograph by Arkanjil

Photographs courtesy of Zuni Mountain Sanctuary

Philly Faeries

The Philadelphia Radical Faerie Circle hosted an Urban Gatherette on Martin Luther King weekend (February 14-17, 2011) in the City of Brotherly Love and Sisterly Affection. Over 120 faeries from around the world (as far flung as Folleterre, France; Amsterdam, Netherlands; Atlanta, GA; San Francisco, CA; Louisville, KY; New Orleans, LA; and Portland, OR) joined us for our four days of circling, performing, schmoozing, eating, dreaming, and creating. It was a fantastic weekend!

The gatherette emerged almost magically over three months through the hard work of key members of the Philly Circle, including (in reverse alpha order): Tree, Tom, Spirit, Spicerack, Speck, Skin, Purrfessor Glitterbox, Punamaka, Pumpkin, Pay-dro, Notorious OMG, Nicholas, Neptune, MisterMatty, Manifest, Professor Brand, Lady B, Kittyn, Keith, Justi, Jim4Now, Infinity, Hemlock, Geckojeff, Faeriebaer, Eikon, Collander, Carlotta, Brian Again, Aqua, and Albo. We learned a lot from our sisters and brothers (especially the lovely Stella Maris) in Portland, Oregon, who had organized an urban gathering in September, 2010. We used technology (Google documents and Google registration forms, Facebook groups, and cutting-edge design) to facilitate the process. —Lady Bartlett

Memories of a Faerie Organizer

by Faeriebear

“Walking into my kitchen at 2:30pm on the day of the opening dinner circle to hear that we are ready for a 6:00pm dinner ala MisterMatty.”

“Walking into my bedroom in my home to find a show and tell underway on my bed featuring someone’s new genitals! Reacting in surprise. And then reassuring the person that I’ve seen plenty of vaginas including a particular vagina stretched beyond anything imaginable for the birth of two of my three children in that very room about two feet form the show and tell.”

“Welcoming fifty or so faeries

homohme to the Opening Heart Circle of the Gatherette in the living room of my home in West Philadelphia.”

“Singing along with 100 faeries to ‘my vagina is 8 miles wide,’ ‘the merm’ and ‘proud mary’ at the know talent show!”

“Picking up faeries in south Philly, Center City and West Philly in a 15-passenger van to drive to northwest Philly and Professor Brand’s Brunch on Sunday… showing off my fabulous city all the while.”

“Jonsi at Professor Brand’s = sublime!”

“The walk in the Wissahickon”

“Getting a phone call from a faerie that there had been a accident while on the way to my house on Sunday afternoon, that no one was hurt (thank goddess) and could I divert to pick folks up.”

“Getting a phone call from a

20something faerie’s mother while at the OX on Sunday evening, that he had been out of touch for over 24 hours and could I reassure her that he was ok…(how did she get my number?)...and then putting my cell phone in his hand to re-text his mom and tell her he was ok!”

“Sharing the water in the midwynter luminous kommunion ritual in a cold, kerosene smelling factory in North Philly wearing nothing but a flowing white African robe. Brrrr!”

“Unexpectedly facilitating the closing heart circle, using the symbol of my coming out, a pre-historic arrowhead found by chance on a pebble beach in Maine as the talisman.”

“Falling in love with my Philly Faerie community all over again! We did it! I am sooooo proud!”

The Call

“Join the Philadelphia Faeries as we celebrate the cold of winter by creating a warm faerie gatherette. Help us explore the themes of warmth and community: What is the role of the faerie in an urban environment? How do we preserve our faerie magic against the challenges of urban existence? What is the intersection between gay and faerie, and how do we make ourselves available to the broader queer culture? Why are we here? What is our purpose?”

Feedback from the Faes

FromRandy: “The gathering this past weekend was one of the most fantabulous events I've ever attended...and with age 73 approaching, I've lived a long time. I love Philadelphia! Thanks to all those magical people who made this event possible! Why do New Yorkers have to go to Philly to meet other New Yorkers?”

From Darwin: “Thanks to all the Philly Faeries for making my US visit all the more unforgettable and chocked full of good emotions!! You will all be dearly missed and remembered well. There's never goodbye, only a stretch of time until we meet again, and my heart is full of enough Philly love to keep me going all year. But hopefully we'll meet before then.... bring your Faerie Magick to the Netherlands!!! Love to all “

From Eldritch: “Philly Faeries Rock! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

From Brian Again: “I was truly honored to open my home to 90 faeries who blessed my home with their magic and warmth for our Kosmic Lollipop Magick party. That night was an unforgettable treasure, with all their shoes and coats filling my entire bedroom, while everyone cavorted through my house in fabulous drag and cuddled joyfully in massive puppy piles.

From all the Philadelphia Faeries: Thanks for the generosity of all of our gatherers. You transformed our circle and our City, and we are grateful!

Photographs courtesy Lady Bartlett

The Recipe for an Urban Gathering, Philly Style

1Get those faeries out into the City: The City is our Sanctuary. Since it’s an urban gathering, we hosted circles and meals in West Philadelphia, Mount Airy, Germantown, Center City, and Kensington. Participants got to see the broad range of the urban faerie experience in a large city. From cozy row homes, to the OX (a huge warehouse space), to that magnificent Wanamaker organ, to the LGBT Community Center, to a walk through the Wissahickon, to the grassy knoll of our Center City community space, we made sure that all the faeries got to experience Philadelphia intimately.

2Establish a home for every faerie: The City is our tent. We wanted to diffuse the “faerie family experience” over many households. We established 21 faerie house mothers who hosted out-of-town faeries and were responsible for breakfast, lodging, transportation, and overall faerie goodness. Special thanks to Faeriebear, who organized the house mothers and their fae families.

3Treasure Heart Circles: We remembered Harry Hay’s challenge to remember the heart circle and keep it front and center. We held heart circles on Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday. Sunday’s circle was a “Circle wherever you are” at 4:20 PM. The other circles were more traditional. We were blown away that there was huge attendance at each circle. They were warm and grounding. For one circle, Harry Hay’s and John Burnside’s ashes (in a vase) were used as the talisman. The ancestors were present.

4Encourage faerie creativity to emerge: We left space in the non-rigid schedule for “faeminars” (rhymes with seminars)—one hour meetings facilitated by whomever. Faeminar topics included: Subject/Subject Consciousness; bondage and restraint; a field trip to the Wanamaker Organ and Reading

Terminal Market, faerie yoga, and a special faeminar on innovative shamanism. Thank you to the great faeries who made these special sessions happen! And the creativity continued, of course, into the Know Talent Show energetically MCd by the Notorious OMG—with more than a dozen acts that included faerie rap, poetry reading by Sister Soami, an appearance by Ethel Merman singing What I Did For Love, the dripping sensuality of Wanda Lust, and a video tour of the delights of Glacier Bay, Alaska. The crowd was left in a tizzy.

5The Emma Goldman Rule of Dance Church: “If we can’t dance, it’s not our urban gathering.” We were intent upon creating a dance experience reminiscent of a Short Mountain pavilion frolic. We had heard about dances in Asheville, NC that approached the spiritually sublime—and we aimed to create that. Geckojeff and DJ Chip Dish created the sort of dance that left us all remembering why we are faeries. As one faerie said, “The experience of community here reminds me of dancing with my friends at The Saint.”

6It’s the food, damn it!: It’s true that a gathering operates on its stomach, and we planned terrific meals—created by bands of gourmet faeries who bought local produce, cooked up a storm, and presented delightful meals the whole weekend through. We heard from our vegan faes that there’s room for improvement in our vegan menus, and we are on top of it for next year!

7 Celebrating the Urban: (Urbs Sacra Aeterna) In our circles, we celebrated the role that Cities play in supporting faerie culture. We learned that the concentration of people (and faeries) in Cities helps reduce the rate at which rural areas (and our sanctuaries) are despoiled. We spoke of the value of bringing the ideas of faerie sanctuary into the City, where they are so dearly needed. We talked about different types of urban faerie experience: each city has its own flavor and way of organizing (much to all of our delight). We re-remembered The Faggots and their Friends Between Revolutions and the description of the urban faggot life described therein.

Faerie Camp Destiny

Last season, Destiny experienced many beginnings. There was a huge release of trees that took place during the winter and spring that opened up, for the first time, the view of the neighboring mountains. The expanse of sun has brightened the gathering site promoting better visions of garden and cabin placement and overall development. This cutting particularly informs the Destiny community to shape the Master Plan for the Sanctuary.

At the Annual Meeting in March, for the first time, it was unclear if there was the workforce to open the Sanctuary for the first gathering scheduled in May, only weeks after the end of Vermont’s thaw and mud season when the road is finally drivable. A Call went out for help to reach beyond the 7-10 faeries that usually show-up to do this work. Thirtyeight faeries, most that typically don’t make their way to the land outside of gatherings, came to the Land to learn how to “open the Sanctuary.” This has helped spread the responsibilities for maintaining the Sanctuary to a broader swath of fae. This larger group of faeries demonstrated their desire to work service to create Sanctuary. Areas were cleared

for tenting. We moved into the new kitchen with portable prep, dish draining and storage but with a three-bay sink! Three faeries converted the commercial grade stove over to propane making for kick-ass cooking all season. This was our first year with functioning sinks, a flushing toilet, and drinkable water from our well! The dining hall frame was fitted with a new custom shell with the final structure still in the dream stage. The Fae who worked this weekend and many other weekends to prepare and maintain the Sanctuary give enormous gifts to the Whole Community!

The culture at Destiny is shaped by the fact the community is building the Sanctuary collectively amidst gatherings. The summer of 2010 the Gathering Plan-it focused intention to play together while still carrying off the tasks to run and develop a 166-acre property with building, landscaping, gardening, and forestry management concerns.

What followed was a beautiful 5-day Walt Whitman Gathering with “Faerie Consciousness and Conspiracy Part II,” the continuation of last year’s theme, “Exploring more Ways-of-Being with Inten-

Faerie Camp Destiny

tionality.” The Conspiracy II for this gathering was the combining of much needed work and play....... combining a Literature-based gathering with an Orientation (orientating)-based gathering that was elbows deep in the weaving of prep(-aring the sanctuary) and play. Destiny called forth all brawny roughs, kitchen maids, and comrades to shape and share in our responsibilities to each other and the Land… working for Sanctuary and claiming our Mystical Identity.

At the Governance Gathering Fourth of July Weekend, there were heart circles to share our experiences, comfort, and concerns. Faeries’ relation-

returning to the underworld and the preparation of ourselves and Sanctuary for the coming winter away from each other. The Dummerston Pie Festival was a highlight with Destiny fae interfacing with the locals, church ladies and bikers.

Faerie 101 was offered to newcomers at Whitman. Orientation sessions throughout the season provided more faeries with the ability to troubleshoot the plumbing, the gas system, campfires, and overall running of the kitchen. The weaving of prep and play continued through the season with the sprucing of paths, gardens, meadows, labyrinth, and Dead Faerie Circle. A Wildlife Tree Planting of about 100 saplings was ritualized with Whitman poems for the cutting of the trees that created our meadows and to welcome new bio-diversified varieties. Bambi continues to focus working with agricultural and wildlife agencies to find funding assistance for erosion control, forestry management, and wildlife enhancement projects.

This season the usual check-in circles, heart circles, love/sex/and puppy piles, sunbathing, hammock swings, contact-improvisational dance, and drag congregations on rocks and ridges felt deeper and more heartfelt. It most likely was the joy and gratitude that we were experiencing from what we, as a Community, accomplished together through the years; the manifestations of our Vision and fruition of our frolic and labors. Destiny experienced new and renewed faeries and consciousness.

ships with substances, dogs and children in Sanctuary were explored. Governance has been a gathering focused on Destiny consensus process.

The Mid-Summer Lammas Gathering was set as an adult only gathering with theater and performance workshops. A queered-up version of Pinocchio was told through the brilliant re-write and direction of Contessa with the infusion of faeries that fiercely spun their queerest magical selves into the fabric of this Ritual Theater. A newly installed stripper pole and enhanced theater spaces helped encourage various forms of performance.

Fall Foliage explored the myth of Persephone

Variousfaeries resided on the Land last summer for different lengths of time. Many of those staying on the Land installed the clerestory in the kitchen, opened the outdoor Shower Pavilion, finished the final mudding and “closing up” of the kitchen structure. There was plenty of gardening and landscaping work, logging clean up, along with maintaining our new saplings during one of the worst droughts in many years in Vermont. A small vernal pool was dug to enhance frog life.

There is so much more to tell, including the passing of two loved ones: One Feather and Hiaka.

A lot of planning and dreaming has been happening around the gardens over the last few months. The ritual of leafing through seed catalogs with a hot beverage while the snow piles up outside became virtual, with discussions of what to grow and exchanges of knowledge on the Garden Comet

Photo by Hummingbird

Come Loafe With Me On the Grass…..

Uranian Utopians—Whitman, Carpenter and Our Dream of Sanctuary

For over a decade, Destiny has hosted an annual Walt Whitman Birthday Gathering in May. This year, we want to explore the Utopian ideals of Whitman, his dear comrade, Edward Carpenter, and how the dream of a Uranian Utopia can be found in our work of building sanctuary. This gathering will have the usual faerie fun, but we will also indulge the pleasure of workshops, talks, discussions, and close readings from the poems and writings of these queer ancestors. We are welcoming several “guest stars” from the faerie and queer community to help us better understand their dreams and in their reflection, our own. Rituals, staged readings, performances of texts— even a look alike contest—will blossom from our work and play together. “Come loafe with me on the grass….”

focus on built-ins including additional sinks for food-prep and hand-washing.

An overarching development plan, the Master Plan, will be formulated and committed to paper to plan for next steps. Developing a winter access to the Sanctuary is necessary for year around residency. One particular goal this summer is to erect at least one cabin structure. The Master Plan would include final placement decisions for cabins, workshop, office, and tent platforms now that the trees are cleared.

Gathering Plan-it will host three Gatherings:

Walt Whitman May 27–30, 2011 Worshipping Whitman; Edward Carpenter; and Utopia. Lammas July 29–Aug 7, 2011 Ritual/Theater/ Performance Gathering Fall Foliage Oct 6–10, 2011

Gathering Plan-it offers tools and resources to host a gatherette. There is talk of Sex Magick mid-summer Workshop, an Art Making Gatherette in September, and a Canning and Fermentation Gatherette. Contact Daisy (daisyshaver@gmail.com) to learn more about throwing a gatherette.

list. We are looking forward to a good year (Vermont weather permitting) and an increased role for the gardens in the Sanctuary. Hiaka’s passing has left a gap that is impossible to fill, but his vision and passion lives on and will be felt throughout the Sanctuary.

The new clearing has opened up huge areas ripe for gardening and landscaping. The Garden Comet will facilitate thought about gardens, fruit and nut trees and shrubs, and sustainable practices toward the future.

Three faeries are planning Summer residency in 2011. Shasta will focus on Gardening and meeting our needs with produce. Wave plans to coordinate and work on building projects for half the time and explore Art making and Moon-cycle Labyrinth Rituals the other half. Hoot is interested in exploring the Garden and Spiritual Practices. Nomi may also stay on the land for a portion of his yearlong sojourn.

On-going development work in the kitchen will

Work Weekends will be scheduled throughout the season wherever there isn’t a Gathering scheduled. The work ahead for this season includes completion of the Kitchen and the first phase of the Shower pavilion, extension and production of the produce gardens, more wildlife tree plantings, and our first residency cabin. Some contacts include Wave (ugowave@gmail. com) about work weekends, Shasta (cmoes@gmx.de.) for the Garden Comet, and Endora (dedleson@gmail. com) about Cabins.

The Destiny Community encourages fae to come enjoy the Sanctuary and participate in any of the projects or gatherings listed. Follow our website www.faeriecampdestiny.org for more details and contact information. By registering on the site you can have access to the calendars and further information. As this is being written, much of New England, and certainly the Sanctuary, is neck-deep in snow... but soon, we will be back on the land. We hope we will see you there.

—Wave, Shasta, Endora, and Daisy

Photo by Peat

Midwest Men’s Festival

The Midwest Men’s Festival was formed in the summer of 1982 as a gathering of men working on building community and different ways to be men. Open to men 18 years and older of all persuasions, the Festival is attended mostly by gay, bisexual and queer men. This year the Festival will take place from July 19 to July 28. The Festival is always held at Camp Gaea, a beautiful 168 acre setting, located about an hour outside Kansas City. No one is in charge and all members share equally in decision making and are responsible for sharing in those activities necessary to the functioning of the group. Over that ten day period, we usually expect approximately 100 men, fewer during the week, and peaking over the weekend. We invite people to stay in the camp’s cabins which are available on a first come-first serve basis, though no one will be without a place to stay. The cabins are rustic, equipped only with bunk beds and mattresses. You will need to provide your own pillow and bedding or bring a tent. We strongly encourage tenting. Men with disabilities or those with special needs are encouraged to contact the registrar well in advance; we can accommodate most anything. Should you have special health needs, there is one cabin available with an air conditioner and a sink and toilet. Vegetarian meals are cooked by the community and served in the dining hall. Many times there will also be a choice between meals with and without egg or dairy products. If you prefer to add meat to your personal diet, feel free to bring and prepare your own, noting that proper storage, handling, and preparation is your

responsibility. Kitchen facilities will not be available for personal use during peak times. Leftovers will usually be available for those who have the need or desire for non-mealtime snacks. The camp has plenty of hot water, and the large shower house has sinks and flush toilets.

Activities at the Festival usually include: networking on political, spiritual and social issues; building new friendships and finding individual growth; sharing arts, singing, instrumental performance, poetry readings, skilled-crafts and more; earth-centered rituals including drumming, dancing and a sweat lodge; swimming in the private lake, sunbathing, and boating, costume dress-up dinners; and a talent show, dance and auction. Creativity is usually the order of the day, and comfort is almost a must. Clothing runs the gamut from jeans, tee shirt and leather, to gender bender faerie drag, or nothing at all. There is almost certain to be a “dress-up” dinner at some point, so you may wish to plan accordingly with something fun.

The Midwest Men’s Festival is an ongoing experiment in community building. The health of our community is entirely supported and maintained through the cooperative participation of each person attending this event. In the spirit of give and take, each participant has the opportunity and obligation to sign-up for daily service as each individual’s skills allow. Your participation, no matter the length of your stay, can greatly enhance the opportunities to enjoy yourself and to develop comradely with other festival attendees. Shift tasks you

Photographs courtesy Midwest Men’s Festival

may choose include: preparing meals, cleaning the kitchen and dining hall, cleaning the bathhouse and privies, and sorting and disposing of recyclables and trash. Please sign up for community service at arrival. Overall, though no one is turned away for lack of funds, registration is approximately $100, with a request of $20/per day. Scholarships are available.

The Festival is many things to many men and it changes from year to year. We hope that each participant finds what he is seeking. A principle focus of our community has traditionally been community building. The heart of our community is Circle. Circle provides an opportunity to learn new ways of making decisions that affect a large number of people, and a setting in which to risk deeper levels of honesty and disclosure than many of us may be accustomed to in our daily lives. Attending and participating in circle is an important aspect of the Festival experience.

Whether dealing with an individual, a small group, or the community as a whole, you have a right—and a responsibility—to say no when you mean no and to ask for more when you want more. Respect for the land, for each other, and for oneself, are the only conditions placed on Festival attendees. Personal harassment, put-downs, or other forms of abuse are not acceptable toward you or from you.

If you are new to Festival, this may seem foreign. Most of us live in a world where the biggest, loudest, wealthiest, or most influential are right. Power is managed differently within our community. Participants may discover more self-respect, personal celebration, and empowerment.

To register for the Midwest Men’s Festival online, go to www.midwestmensfestival.com or contact: David at 515.967.2603 email him at: deledwardl@aol.com

—David Lauritzen

Photograph by Clear Englebert

The First Gathering

By Clear Englebert

The first gathering was in 1978 at Mikel Wilson’s place, Running Water, in North Carolina. (It was before the big Colorado gathering with Harry Hay.) Charlie Murphy was the first to arrive, and had stayed overnight. (He sang “Mother Ocean” a lot.) Milo (Guthrie then, Pyne now) and I were the next to get there. We left in the morning and drove up from Short Mountain, Tennessee, in Milo’s truck. Milo was the only resident (besides Joshua) at Short Mountain. He had been one of the founders of the original hippie commune there. He and I had met through RFD, when it was still coming from Iowa. I lived in the woods in south Tennessee, and ran an alternative bookstore, Books As Seeds, in Huntsville, Ala. We had been carrying RFD in the store since Issue No. 2.

Mikel had made hand-drawn fliers inviting people to come, and Milo showed me one, and it changed my life. After we parked the truck, we walked along a couple of dirt roads, and then turned down a pathway that was in places rutted and washed out. My feet slipped, and I landed plop right on my butt. It didn’t hurt, and was actually exhilarating. Looking back, that fall seems like a message: “This is going to knock you off your feet.”

I had long hair and so did Milo and Mikel, so I immediately felt that I was with kindred spirits. Mikel’s home was old and had two rooms—a kitchen on the uphill side (to the left of the front door) and a living room on the downhill side. His bedroom was a loft area upstairs. When we poked our heads up into the loft—there was Charlie Murphy, with his guitar, in Mikel’s bed. Other people started arriving, and with each new person the space became more magical. For the first time we, alternative-minded gay men, were meeting each other! There were thirty or fewer people there and not much nudity; two parents had brought their children, so there were three kids. I don’t remember seeing people smoking pot—though I’m sure it was going on and I was probably just elsewhere.

There was a lot of authenticity because everything was being done for the first time. We didn’t have a precedent for what we were doing. It never quite felt the same at later gatherings, because at least some of the people had been to a gathering already and certain things started to feel like “this is

how we do things at gatherings.”

There was a circle in the evening, and the next day there was a morning circle and more circles. We all felt kind of amazed as we looked around and saw each other’s faces. There were few enough people there that we really could have a chance to talk to absolutely everybody. At one of the evening circles we sang songs and I remember Dimid requested we all sing “Streets of Laredo,” which was totally different and fun. He just liked the song and we all obliged him. I suggested the hokey-pokey and everybody got into that.

The circles were in an open grassy area in front of the house. There were mature fruit trees around the grassy area, and people pitched their tents under them. Near the pathway coming into the area, to the right, was a pine grove where there were some circles and rituals. When you stood outside the front door of the house, looking toward the house, the slope up to the top of Roan Mountain was to your left, and downhill was to your right. There was a porch all the way around the house, and it was largest on the downhill side of the house. There was a porch swing out there and other seating. I think there might have been a swing in the yard somewhere. There was a sweat lodge set up at the edge of the woods on the downhill side of the clearing, close to the stream, which got us wet and cold afterwards. The stream wasn’t big enough to plunge into, so we would get one person at a time under a small waterfall.

There was definitely an element of concern about the neighbors. No one could see us, but we were so incredibly different from anyone living around us that there was an occasional undercurrent of anxiety. At the second or third gathering, some neighbors shot off guns—just into the air, but it was still real scary. I was raised in rural Alabama, and stupid, white rednecks scared me plenty. My brother, who also had long hair, had a big cross burned in his front yard the first night he tried to sleep in a house he had rented in a very Klan-active county in Alabama. (He left immediately.)

The people I remember for sure being at the first gathering are the LASIS people, Dimid and Dennis, (who later crocheted the white phallic Shawl, which got used in circles as a permission-to-talk object), and one more; Franklin Abbott; Phillip Moon and

his partner Lee; and Faygele ben Miriam, who had been instrumental in creating the “Lavender Country” record album, an early landmark in gay independent music. I’m pretty sure that both of the Johns that lived near Milo were there, the John who is now Gabby and John Green when he still lived in Kentucky. Ron Kilgore, Terry Dawling, Ti Barfield, Raven (who was still Russell Craven), Lightning and John Flores were also there.

My dear friend, Pearl Sudds (he may have still been Paul then) was not at the first gathering, but he was at the second or third Running Water gathering. The first time I met Pearl (Purl or Purly) was when Milo and I drove to New Orleans to work on an issue of RFD which was to be put together there. (It turned out to be the only issue done in newspaper format, but with better quality paper like Gay Sunshine. I think it was because the only printer LASIS could find who would print photos could only do it in that format.) This was after Stewart had stopped producing it in Iowa and it was being produced here and there, but before Short Mountain adopted it. Pearl had hitchhiked from Atlanta, and we picked him up at the interstate highway as prearranged.

I was quite dazzled by Pearl, and at one of the Running Water gatherings he and I kept the living room people entertained by being caricatures of various people there. He and I were both sarcastic, and if we were together in circles we made a hilarious running commentary of the proceedings for the entertainment of those around us. I totally stopped going to “ritual” circles because I would just accidentally slip into humor, and it wasn’t appropriate. Pearl was the second gay person to live at Short Mountain commune (Joshua didn’t count as gay) and Pearl’s presence revitalized the commune energy—it does take more than one person to make a commune.

Atthe first gathering the thing that bowled me over the most was Dimid’s gorgeous skirt. I’d never seen a guy wear a skirt unless he was imitating a woman, which is so not-my-thing. After seeing Dimid looking so natural as a man in a skirt, I took up the habit big-time. I also appreciated seeing how LASIS had informed themselves of radical feminist thinking. I was inspired to inform myself more and carry more radical feminist writings in my bookstore.

At the second Running Water gathering we received a report about the Colorado gathering, and we were very optimistic that a new way of meeting like-minded gay men was being born. At the second

(or third) Running Water gathering, we were shown a sign-in book from a gathering in the Northeast. It was there that I found out about Tom Seidner, who owned an alternative bookstore, Borealis Books, in Ithaca, NY.

At one of the later gatherings, a black cherry tree in the front yard was in full production and I sat up very high in the tree. I’ve always been a natural tree climber, so I could get to an area of the tree that hadn’t been harvested. I’d never had ripe, fresh black cherries, and they were heavenly. Usually I brought a 40-pound bag of organic carrots as my food contribution. I was a raw food vegetarian at the time.

There was subsequently a winter gathering hosted by the Atlanta people—in a church, perhaps Unitarian. The next winter there was a gathering in New Orleans, hosted by LASIS in a house they rented. I was at the next two gatherings at Running Water, and then after that I went to the first gathering at Short Mountain, and subsequent gatherings there for several years. I eventually became a Buddhist monk, along with my partner John Paul Hollenbeck. (I didn’t stay long as a monk, but John Paul did, and he’s now the Rev. Oswin Hollenbeck at the Eugene Buddhist Priory in Oregon.)

RunningWater was so named because a spring above the house had a water line coming from it into Mikel’s sink, and then down the drain, and it just ran all the time. I think everybody tried to turn it off at least once, and then realized what it was— that there was no water wasted, it was just part of the spring, that ran off into the stream that ran close to the house in the woods.

Milo gave a plant walk in the woods (at every gathering), and it was fabulous—Milo knows every plant in the Eastern woods except maybe the grasses. His hair was straight and black and down to his waist. There was a different kind of nature walk when we had a car outing up to the top of Roan Mountain to experience the foggy conifer cloud forest, which is more like Canada than North Carolina. Water was dripping from trees onto the thickest moss I’d ever seen, and it was quiet to the point of sacred.

At those gatherings my name was Clarence, and I did a legal name change to Clear in 1980 as a result of knowing people like Dimid, who had carefully chosen their names. My e-mail is clearengle@ aol.com and my site is fungshway.com. Thanks to feng shui I met my partner, Steve Mann (known as Woodson at Rainbow gatherings), and we now live in Kona, Hawaii. Y’all come.

“Bashi” by Adrian Chesser and Timothy White Eagle / www.adrianchesser.com

“Sleeping” by Adrian Chesser and Timothy White Eagle / www.adrianchesser.com

Cowboy Love is Just a State of Mind

by Marc Matheson

It’s springtime in West Marin, Northern California. My birthday is coming up—Beltane, May Day, and the anniversary of my Faerie wedding on Mount Tamalpais—and I’m healing from a total hip replacement after four years of increasing pain and immobility. Life renews itself and is so breathtakingly delicious!

It was only two years ago that my husband and I were out on a Sunday drive in the countryside, headed to lunch at the Pine Cone Diner in Point Reyes Station. We were driving alongside Nicasio Reservoir when he began telling me why he was leaving me.

I was stunned. Devastated. Worried I might drive off the road into a ditch.

“Why do you need to do this?” I asked. “After eight years together, working through our issues and learning to hold one another through thick and thin, high and low … this is it?”

“The plain truth is I hit a wall,” Christopher replied. “Standing in that place, I felt scorched, bewildered, heartbroken, exhausted, demoralized and relieved. I knew that I had to separate my heart from my mind.”

He continued, “I wore something out. I know it is the right decision, for me if not for us.”

Hot tears welled up in my eyes as I drove, heightening my vision of that bright, sunny spring afternoon. I held the wheel gently, as if, were I to release it, I would float off into space like a balloon. I’d had that sensation three years before, after nearly being killed in a car accident and “going toward the light”—divested of my body and my place in this world. I’d come back to life then through my love for Christopher, and through his loving care for me afterwards.

But this was a whole new death, déjà vu all over again.

Sure, like most couples, over our time together we’d talked of separating before, but never as definitively and settled as Christopher sounded on that day. I could tell that he was choosing his words carefully, so as to limit my hurt.

“Truthfully, my heart and mind parted company with this decision to separate,” he said. “If it was just left to my heart, I could stay with you. I love you and want nothing more than your well-being and happi-

ness. It kills me to cause you suffering.”

My heart unclenched again, feeling the truth of Christopher’s words and his warm, genuine candor and love. I’m sure that I said something, but all that I can remember now is the grief, the enormous hole that had suddenly engulfed my life.

I chose my words carefully, likewise doing my best to not hurt Christopher. I said, “I can’t imagine how hard a decision this must have been for you.”

We talked, of course, for that’s what we’ve learned to do together—stay close, talk, and hold closely our deep and profound love for one another. My appetite was lost on lunch and I took the opportunity to walk to the ATM—the diner doesn’t take credit—to cry some more. We drove home afterwards, rather than continue out to the lighthouse or along the coast, and held one another on our bed, talking into the evening, sunset light streaming in through the western window.

Of course, like all such peak moments in our lives, there had been signs aplenty in that afternoon’s road trip. We had headed west, into West Marin, moving toward the open, rural and agricultural part of the county that has been for me a destination since high school 40 years ago. I’ve wanted to live in Inverness, on the western shore of Tomales Bay, ever since my first visit in the fall of 1968. I’ve been driving these old and curvy roads for two decades, just to enjoy the air and views of rolling hills and water. I’ve also been coming here for the local food, farmer’s market, rural atmosphere and an intangible sense of belonging.

It was completely natural, as if moved forward by fate, to immediately think, “I’ll move to Inverness,” and to set into motion what has now come into being.

The half-year that followed Christopher’s announcement until our actual move apart—“a separation” has been his description—were for me an idyllic time of experiencing deeply, breathing and swimming in the love, respect and affection we have for each other. For him, it was a frustrating period of feeling the edges of his caged confinement and the obstacles to moving forward with his life. But we managed, day after week after month, to hold one another, literally and figuratively, and to walk

through together our aspirations, intuitions and fantasies for the future. More often than not we spoke of each other’s best interests, not so much our own. We both felt like we were walking off a moonless precipice.

Separating wasn’t going to be easy. We’d developed an isolated social life of few friends, few outside activities and a routine focused on home.

Christopher works from home, and I’ve been disabled since that near-death encounter as a pedestrian with a speeding SUV a few years ago. I’m sixteen years older than Christopher, and about to turn 60. I’d already been feeling disabled and old.

Christopher craves security and stability even more than me, and couldn’t imagine living on his own or without me either. It was a looming dark unknown future, but too late to turn back.

I walk with a painful limp on my right side, and can’t carry anything heavier than a bag of groceries. On moving day, sitting in Christopher’s car watching him and our movers carry his things into his nifty new Sausalito waterfront apartment, I felt useless. “I can carry pillows,” I thought to myself, and so loaded my arms high with them, unable to see the ground in front of me.

My left foot tripped on a concrete parking block, and as it twisted inward a full 90 degrees, I could feel flashes of burning heat in my knee. I fell forward but threw down the pillows in front of me. Fortunately all that happened was a bruised pride and torn ligaments.

It was supposed to have been our first night apart —Christopher in his new bed, me in our conjugal bed in Inverness—but after taking me to the emergency room Christopher brought me to sleep at his place while he stayed up all night finishing the move out of our old place.

Beginning the next night, I was living alone for the first time in fifteen years. Bereft and desolately heartbroken, I spent my first six weeks of this new life on crutches, to unpack boxes, shower and cook. Paradise wasn’t looking so idyllic and that first winter on my own was very, very hard.

Living separated from Christopher, but still even more in love with him, has brought up so much of my childhood patterning, including my gay father’s lifelong addiction to depression and references to suicide. Unable to get out and about much on my crutches, and not yet having connected with my new community, I was on my own for most of that first winter. My every day was painful, slogging through a swamp of mixed emotions, of terror at feeling old and alone and crippled,

despondent with loneliness, and both unable and unwilling to do much to help myself.

Yes, I came face to face with the allure of simply walking naked into the ocean some stormy afternoon at high tide, swimming out into the surf and allowing myself to drown, unwitnessed and without note. That fantasy became, for a period, a vivid, practical and easy solution to my unhappiness.

Whenspring came, life didn’t feel much different, but over the ensuing months I’ve come to both appreciate and participate in what is a pretty wonderful new world. Volunteering at nonprofits, including as a community radio program host, getting together with new acquaintances, and even going out on my first date in ten years have all helped to shed fresh light on what is essentially a fortunate situation.

This new life, lonely but full of activity and community, is a gift that had been waiting to be unwrapped. My Tom of Finland fantasies dashed of being the new gay guy in town surrounded by hunky oystermen, ranch hands and Coast Guardsmen, I’m questioning less and less lately, instead turning more to embrace the possibilities and openness of “here” and “now.”

I recently learned that my hip and leg pain are caused not by nerve damage from the SUV accident but instead because I need a hip replacement. I’ve also begun working with a male psychotherapist, unearthing, examining and dissolving childhood sexual trauma memories of my father.

A student of dream walking and myth, I am stimulated by the allegorical connection between hip and groin, between mobility and sexuality, particularly as I turn 60 this year.

My fears of growing old and being alone are slowly reconciling with a renewed faith: of belonging to a magical place, living in a cottage within a grove of old and mighty fir and oak trees, facing eastward across Tomales Bay. Faith in my good, loving heart and in my resilient body ready for its first-ever surgical operation. Faith in a new hip, new loins freed of the past, ready for springtime, dancing, hiking, maybe even some cowboy rasslin’!

And oh boy, am I gonna be unstoppable! It’s a new dawn here on the western edge of Turtle Island!

Photograph by Devin Mohr / www.devinmohr.com

Beltane

Cold are our hearths on Beltane's Eve, Warm our our hearts worn on our sleeve. Bright is the fire from birch bark kindled By Promethean hand from heaven swindled. White is the hawthorn wreath of flowers, Red is the rowan upon our bowers. Fast are the hands of lovers who sigh, Leaped are the flames so none must die. Relit are the stoves that bake our bread, Faerie tribe fed and the summer's ahead!

Vyvan Chatterjie

The Sphinx is Good in Bed

…. eyes hungry, not for knowledge, for a connection… University Library in spring …he, another grad student, was checkout man for the Reading Room every Monday …I had to get his attention…the clock was ticking… I came with my briefcase: empty except for one red apple…when leaving, I opened it for his okay nod and there was that polished fruit…with an apple there is more than meets the eye or the beating heart or the Destiny… he smiled…wow, his was a magnificent smile, far more than I had bargained for, wow….fast passion forward… we drove into the countryside…that guileless Indiana spring was better than Eden…gentle green, harmony…

spring has always been hot stuff…certain things happen only then: below the belt or between the ears…we took a blanket, bread, orange chicken, and a gallon of hard cider: just half full was enough…we stopped at a boarded-up once white farmhouse guarded by loyal iris, ancient in saffron and indigo… house was lonely, abandoned except for the wind and two young barn owls in the hollow of a black oak dreaming of the Sphinx doing a philosopher on rollerblades…almost sunset looking down from our attic hideout on the apple blossoms just begging to show, we shared that simple basket of supper…

I asked you for a second …you tipped it, our rough molded glass jug...miniature tempest struck...man the ballast… life craft down quick…dying sun through sparkling amber violence is more beauty than I can get at alone...frantic maelstrom of the jostled deep is over…the calm foams into my anxious glass...I am not alone…you are both the wind wild unruly ferment and a warm embrace.

—Marvin R. Hiemstra

Toward Two-Mile Hollow iii

It’s not the beauty of the man that’s haunted me for days. One broad, browned chest would have turned my head, then merged with every momentary god into the surf. The memory of a boy pale, round-faced, curious, repeatedly trudging from plover on to gull, then back again, but furtively inspecting on every pass two aging men–or striving for such discretion as a six-year-old can hope to own: my charmed amusement would have evanescent within the day.

I stood awash, coveting–what? The father’s rippled shoulders? To be the boy? The wave on which they rode? No fantasy could compass what together they stirred up, while from a distance I dovetailed my attentions with the caution an age that brooks no Aschenbach demands. An older son strolled near them up the slope, neither bored nor jealous, but content with calceous fragments, for the moment, and a pit that reached prodigious depths despite the absurdity of one red beach shovel all three had shared with a lean man older than my lover— the grandfather, clearly; in whose presence there spiralled open an abyss of nameless yearning drawing down that sand. iv

The sting of longing, elastic as it slaps into the hollow niche the heart has left it, took me in the chest at first sight of a father with his son in shallow, low-tide breakers: the child pressed between a half-length surfboard and the weight of sinewed arms around him, as they clung resolutely, blissfully, from wave to wave, ecstatic to ride forward a yard or two–the short thrust was enough to span a world.

At last, the boy glanced toward me between waves, and in his flash of curiosity some recognition recognized itself where things converged: his fascination with us earlier in the week; his father’s flanks above red boxers clinging to strong buttocks, athwart the chest to which I’d turned my eyes so briefly down the shore; the father’s joy, losing himself, flesh pressed to flesh, in a childhood his own, and not. It seemed then that desire for once was not indictment, nor conundrum, but a tidal force we shared, and not, defiant of analysis, that bore us up.

—David Townsend

Faerie Camp Destiny / Photographs by Hummingbird / www.flickr.com/photos/hummingbird-dreams

Potage

Hob-snug in the kitchen they table-talk the troubles. We gulp down supper. Mama, Papa, Aunt Agnes and I an ensemble in gaslight. They covet Jean-Claude jumpy that he might be dead. After Beaujolais they crack open the spirit writing of the Ouija board humming to the creepy and the fey for a let-up or truth. He has always loved the stronger sex. A sure thing I'm dreaming. I'm the crystal glass on the mother-of-pearl table. The skintight spirit is in me. I'm scratched by a calling forth, shake, aware of a fire-red stain at my turn-side base, a cold cream smudge, double-sided slimy fingerprints. Well then I adopt you as my child, said the spirit. February's air zinging through the windowpane, a swarm of boys stinging "Jude! Jude!" buzzing up the terrace; I shrink from the pandemonium of cracking glass.

—Christopher Barnes

Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica, 2007

At the Bread and Chocolate cafe Shirtless Tico surfer boys and White girls with plaited hair and few dreads Laze and flirt.

The delirious, delicious myopia of youth is Tattooed onto their lithe, pierced bodies: Designs on shoulders and biceps, Pecs and deltoids, The sacrum.

The Rolling Stones spoon feed Brown Sugar through sweet speakers. The couple next to me are sweet on each other, Their designs obvious, Swilling their mimosas, ignoring Their hot scrambled eggs.

One waitress passes—a shy white girl dodging college, Trying the course of not being her parents. Another, caramel-colored, native, has a toothy smile and a toothpick body, Her tiny torso sculpted by early hunger. Her dirty tee beckons “Welcome to California,” Letters faded the tint of a coffee stain, Like a postcard mailed from the wrong address. Beyond the low lattice walls, A solo weed crowned in red and pink Pierces the dry earth and shoots so high as if to defy, Preposterously, nature. Logic wants The weight of oversized longing to topple the spindly vine That splays and sways yet stays erect.

Eric Clapton now, swooning, crooning, seducing, the soundtrack Sliding in and out, in and out Of awareness

In this café, open to the forces, open to nature, open to the dusty, pot-holed, Pot-laced streets of this sleepy, easy Caribe-Tico town.

The couple next to me slurp now at their eggs, their toast, their juices. I can’t help but look. I want to murmur, good naturedly, “Get a room,” Like I’m part of their gig.

I happily sip my cafe solo, A midlife gut festooning the top of my shorts

Like bunting on a table from yesterday’s party, My chest hair white, a red and pink bandana crowning my head— My bald spot piercing through my hair like a monk’s tonsure No longer fit for the hot tropical sun.

—Steven Schwartzberg

The shapes arise!

Shapes of doors giving many exits and entrances, The door passing the dissever’d friend flush’d and in haste, The door that admits good news and bad news, The door whence the son left home confident and puff’d up, The door he enter’d again from a long and scandalous absence, diseas’d, broken down, without innocence, without means.

—Walt Whitman

Photograph byWalt Cessna / waltcessna.blogspot.com

Photograph by Devin Mohr / www.devinmohr.com

Photograph by Devin Mohr / www.devinmohr.com

SPRING IS

Spring moistens her lips and smiles a ticklish smile while Winter gazes with heavy eyelids and nods napping now and then

Spring giggles and lifts her skirts skipping bare legged through the daffodils

Winter dozes as Spring careens around mossy limbs and rubbing up against their soft greenness laughs outright!

Winter stirs a moment and sighs, sending ice crystal through the air and Spring, catching them on her tongue, strings them with violets into garlands that glitter as she runs, asking all she meets...

"Are you in love?" SPRING IS!

—pj geise a.k.a. Wow

To the Unknown Person Sitting Next to Me on the Beach

Montpelier, France, June 30, 2006

The blue air stills. A breeze hopes. Caress of green leaves. Glances like shadows. Reflecting pond, desire. Yesterday’s tissue-naps.

If you want to kiss me.

Coke Light bottle, empty. Between branches, a cloud. A blackbird’s fat throat. Is green and purple. Four-year-old orange cap.

Do it now, please.

Trash in a gray bag. Thick bough, a father. Too much like a wake. Lettuce, tomato, ham. A corner hopes. A blue air stills.

—Brian Cronwell

Paintings and Drawings

by Bob Maidel / www.primaldad.com

“Comfort in Chaos”

“Youthful

Artist” by Chris Day / www.chrisdayart.com

Interview in the Moonlight:

Interview with Mark Thompson and Bo Young by Bambi

The Fire in Moonlight: Stories from the Radical Faeries. Edited by Mark Thompson with Associate Editors Richard Neely (Osiris) and Bo Young / Foreword by Will Roscoe. White Crane Books / Lethe Press 312 Pages $25.

ISBN: 978-1-59021-338-4 / 1-59021-338-6

It’s wonderful to see a book written by participants from the Radical Faerie tradition coming out in these days of queer theorists writing about “gay culture” and how we shape, inform and refigure our lives as part of community.

Since the book is a little over 300 pages in length and full of various and sometimes differing perspectives on all things Faerie, RFD thought it worthwhile to interview Mark and Bo about the process of selecting the articles as well as their purpose in putting together this book.

RFD: Mark, what were your motives in putting together such a historic book?

Don Kilhefner initially suggested a Radical Faerie Reader celebrating this important grassroots movement’s 30th anniversary. We marked the occasion by presenting a slide show and talk about the history and growth of the Faeries in early 2009 at the ONE National Gay & Lesbian Archives here in Los Angeles. Over 100 people, many of them students, attended and were fascinated by the material. This further underscored the need for a document in book form.

RFD: Why put it out

now?

What better time? The need for queer folk to understand the difference between assimilation and our own cultural integrity has never been more important. Black writer James Baldwin said it best when he asserted that a minority people are always assimilated into the majority culture based on the terms and values of their oppressors.

RFD: The book follows several themes from the

roots of Radical Faerie philosophy to discussions about Faerie Sanctuaries. What guidelines did you have when you started off and what led you to layout the book as you did?

Mark: At first we put out a general call for material of any kind that might reflect the Faerie experience over the last three decades. We received a little bit of everything—poems, fables, the history of sanctuaries, falling-in-love stories, political treatise, and even some critique, which is just as valid. After sorting the material into eight thematic sections, we then began to invite certain writers who has previously published on the subject to fill in some blanks.

We wanted to make sure some important historic antecedents were covered, and that regional and emerging gender issues were also well represented. The section on how the Radical Faeries have spread to Europe, Australia and soon the mid-East was especially fascinating to me.

Bo: And I think Mark would also agree that while every effort was made to be as inclusive as possible, and as historically thorough, there are going to be by the very nature of this sort of project—gaps and omissions. And all we can say is this is by no means intentional, and this collection is not meant to be the end of the discussion, but the beginning of one.

RFD: There is a long section in the book about sex and in these days of assumptions, assimilation and normalization of gay sex. How do Radical Faerie traditions challenge these ways of making gay sex presentable?

Mark: We know that gay men, in particular, are masters at objectifying one another into sexual types and icons. But are there real people behind those beautifully created images? When I lived in San Francisco as a young man in the pre-AIDS era, I often felt sexually objectified—as if I were nothing but a pretty vase in a museum or, in some other cases, just another piece of meat. Flattery can be

nice, but sexual usury is always ugly.

We all have our preferences when it comes to sexuality, but perhaps in the Fae tradition we can begin to connect more from the heart and less solely from the hard-on. Maybe I’m being naive here. But Michael David’s very moving essay in the book, How I Got My Heart-On, which explores his personal evolution in Faerie SexMagick Workshops makes a case.

RFD: I guess, more specifically—how does a Radical Faerie ethos shape gay men’s ability to shape their sexuality in a interesting, nay hot way?

Mark: In the Faerie world, we always see a wide expression of gender—its utter fluidity. Perhaps this is something that can be more incorporated into our sexual play. A stereotype is often hollow at its core. How juicy and alive things can be when we let mystery entertain us!

RFD: Much of what’s been written about the Radical Faeries by outsiders seeking to define us usually lump it into categories like “neo-pagan”, “gay spiritualists” and the like. Yet for many, neither of those or any category defines who they are as Radical Faeries. How would you define the movement given it’s fluidity, it’s contradictions and most importantly its acquisition of other various traditions?

Mark: Terms like “neo-pagan” and “gay spiritualists” hold no meaning for me. They seem trite and academic—not lived or grounded in actual life. I see the Faeries as part of a long and honorable lineage of gay men trying to free themselves from the straitjacket of heterosexual conformity. It has been a brutal ride, historically, for most of us. So why not seek and come to understand our own myths and meanings? Being different does not mean being “special or better than,” but simply separate and apart in some vital aspects of the human story. That is why we exist: to extend the collective narrative forward in unique and needed ways. There are not that many of us, in my opinion, so in the words of the poet W.H. Auden, “Let’s love one another or die.”

Bo: I see those terms, and others like them, as, for lack of a better description “hetero-modeled” words. One of the impetuses to establishing the Sanctuaries was for gay men to come to some sort of self-explanation of themselves…literally to “come to terms” with who we are, described in our own language. It is entirely possible that modern western languages—that are by their very nature patriarchal—are incapable of describing the new Faerie tradition. We may need to reinvent language

to accomplish that. Even the current fashion in the Faerie community of Native American spirituality, with all due respect, is imitative. It is admittedly, good source material…but it is not our own.

RFD: Mark, since you’ve written several books clearly focused on gay spirituality and been an early proponent of the Radical Faerie movement—what have you seen changing in this movement in the last ten years?

Mark: I am pleased with the growth of Faerie Sanctuaries in the past decade, but worry about their long-term economic sustainability. As the common world we know continues on its inevitable downward spiral, places like these—for people like us—will be increasingly needed. Sure, we all want to participate in Faerie High Holy Holidays, but being a year-round Faerie farmer, bookkeeper, or cook is

just as important. The various collectives who have made RFD a regular part of our lives these past 36 years is a good example of this sustained work.

RFD: When the call went out for the Benson AZ gathering [back in 1979] it was a “call to gay brothers.” Since then women and transfolk have become a part of the radical faerie movement you helped shape. While the Radical Faeries can’t be easily compared to lesbian separatists, what are your thoughts about “male only space” within the Radical Faerie community given the inclusion of the full spectrum of our queer community (gays, lesbians, bisexuals, transgender people, leather folk, and straight allies)?

Mark: All I can offer about the issue of “open space” in contrast to gay men-only space is a common model of tribal village life. There are three spaces: for women and children, for men only, and then a place for everyone to gather and share. I am a firm believer that we gay men need our own sacred spaces within which to conduct our specific healing work.

Bo: I think more and more there are questions about the necessity for “gay male only space.” And for some reason we are asked to justify that, when at the very same time, no one questions the need for women-only space, for example. Somehow that is fine, but when gay men ask for space it is “controversial.” One of the problems that I think everyone involved with this book hopes it addresses is, as Dan Vera has coined it, we are a people who are constantly coming out of erasure. Our history has been a fleeting thing that until recent times has not been recorded. Really, for the most part, we are not a child-bearing, reproducing population—and those gay people who are, tend not to identify as “Faerie.” So the need to retreat, withdraw, to reflect and remember…these are needs that we all need to be reminded of. If we have discovered anything with the Sanctuaries we have managed to carve out for ourselves, the need for retreat and male-only solace is not a rejection of anything…it is an embracing of our deeper selves. It is a simple, but emphatic need.

RFD: Many faerie sanctuaries are looking at creative ways to allow for “open space” while also encouraging the space to continue to nurture the needs of the gay men who helped cast and create the space in the first place. Do you have ideas for how to provide both?

Bo: Carefully. Consciously.

RFD: I was encouraged in reading the introduction with the mention of the many various roots of the Radical Faerie movement. Would you

like to comment on some of these roots?

Mark: Historically, the “roots” you speak of go back for centuries. In modern times, certainly back to Walt Whitman and Edward Carpenter, followed by Gerald Heard, Harry Hay and so many others. Think of it as one long daisy chain.

What happened in the late-1970s was that critical mass of gay men came to the realization that gay life (especially in urban settings) was not meeting our needs for a more authentic and soulful connection with one another. We were all coming out in droves—but to what? To becoming more tasteful consumers? There was a deep ache for something more. The early Faerie Gatherings seemed to meet a need for connection and communication that we weren’t finding elsewhere. I think the up-and-coming generation of gay men will find this to be the case today. But one can’t purchase a Faerie identify off a rack like a new suit of clothes. One must have a sense of destiny and purpose about it that must be discovered and traveled to—sometimes with hardship and loss along the way. Evolution can be a scary thing, but that should never let one be afraid to change, make choices, and grow.

RFD: What do you think led to such a wide ranging resurgence in such shared values which now are part of the Radical Faerie communities values at the time in the late 1970s?

Mark: An entire generation of early Faerie leaders were wiped out or deeply compromised by AIDS. I should know. I have been living with HIVAIDS for 30 years now—and over time it takes a lot out of you in terms of stamina and physical ability. But I am still here! And wanting to share my history.

RFD: Early gatherings for me were filled with reminders of the loss that AIDS was taking on the gay community. How do you think it has impacted the Radical Faeries?

Mark: We must have a solid embrace of the past to construct more durable containers for the future. Sometime I worry about younger gay men’s almost willful disregard of their past. It is a dangerous assumption that things were always the way they are now. Perhaps young people of all ilk think this way. I simply want better for my young gay brothers.

RFD: One of the striking aspects of the Radical Faeries and, also I might humbly add, RFD is its use of backwards reflection—looking for sources, seeking out brothers and reclaiming histories. How do you personally see such reckoning with the past as we shift, shape and dance on?

Mark: Being a Radical Faerie is much more than a certain drag or set of affectations—it represents a

Drawing by Todd Yeager / www.yeagermuseum.com

revolution of gay consciousness to me. Contained in that are the ways and means in which we can all treat each other better—with a powerful grace, intelligence, and inner as well as outer beauty. The larger society wants to see us finished off—either sooner or later—as nothing but betrayed and bitter “old queens.” We can think and behave towards one another better than that. Accepting some of the basic tenets of what being a Radical Faerie really means can be a big step in the right direction. You will learn a lot by reading the book!

Bo: The more I read, the longer I live, the more history seems to me to be the rock on which we have to build our identities and communities. White Crane has, for some time now, sent out a Daily GayWisdom Email blast that focuses on just this…our history as a people. And the idea isn’t just an exercise in dates and facts…If you pay attention, there are recurring patterns, archetypes and ideas. There is a lot of be gleaned from these ideas, the “between the lines” reading we all need to develop in some places.

But there is no question in my mind that unless we know our own story…both specifically as Faeries and more generally as LGBT people…and pass it along to the next generation, we will forever be prey to those who would foster lies about us. The kicker

line on the back of The Fire in Moonlight says it all for me: “the most valuable possession a people have is their story…their history.” We have to know who we are, in our own terms, or our enemies, our oppressors will make up a story…and we’ve all heard that one before.

RFD: The book was scheduled to come out in October but the date was pushed back. Any word on when it will go to press?

The book can be ordered now from www. lethpressbooks.com or from the White Crane website, www.gaywisdom.org. The general publication date has been set at March 1, 20011 to give the media time to properly review the book (many journals and publications will not review a book after it has been published). It is also available through Amazon.com in hard copy format as well as in Kindle and Nook eBook format. There will be a reading at the San Francisco Public Library on March 2, featuring several of the contributors. The Fire in Moonlight is the first volume of its kind and tells a sweeping history of a people whose history has not yet been told. I hope there will be other such collections to come. The Fire in Moonlight is definitely a “people’s history,” told in the words of the people who made dreams come true.

Photograph by Devin Mohr / www.devinmohr.com

Radical Nomad

by Nomi

Simplicity is making the journey of this life with just baggage enough.

Author

Unknown

My name is Nomi and I am relatively new to the Faerie community, but from the moment I stepped on Faerie land I felt a sense of spiritual contentment and openness that I’ve been searching for for so long, as if I had found a home that I had long been seeking out. I was thankful and happy with the gratification that came from living simply off the land. When I would come home from a gathering or a work weekend, from living in communion with Faeries, I would walk into my home and it felt strange, as if it weren’t my home; it felt foreign to me. The paint on the walls seemed far too bright and the blare from the stereo was crass and unnatural. And with just a few short weeks left until I graduated college, I decided to make a radical change in my life.

Most after college try to find a high-paying job and a larger house and purchase expensive electronics that they have long been coveting. My plan is to sell or discard all of my earthly belongings other than that which I have necessity for and live simply while traveling the country and living in a van. Spend my time exploring the woods and hugging the trees. Seek out Faeries and the lands that they inhabit and commune with them. Dance around fires and lie in open fields as the stars shower down around me. I will look into myself and my heart to find solace in the spirituality of life rather than the material things we possess.

Although I anticipate much time alone, I look forward to the times I will commune with others and possibly find travel companions to accompany me along part of my journey. My journey begins on Feb. 1 and I will be blogging my adventure along the way so that Faeries can track my progress. And if you find me in your area, I am always open for a warm meal, a hot shower and a little company. Follow me on my journey and look for me as I explore the country and the land of the Faeries. Blessed be….

—Radical Nomad (radicalnomad.wordpress.com)

As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler; solitude will not be solitude, poverty will not be poverty, nor weakness weakness. —Henry

David Thoreau

Drawing by Todd Yeager / www.yeagermuseum.com

Spring Fling

by Pj Geise aka. wOw

I’m queer. Queer as a five dollar bill, as I have come to joke. Like the famous man whose face holds space on that rapidly deflating piece of currency, Abraham Lincoln, another boy from Illinois, who enjoyed the friendship and the intimate company of a male shopkeeper during his early years on the road and later, as the 16th president of the United States, signed the abolition of slavery act. I wonder what would old Abe would think about the current fight for same sex marriage? Well that’s another story altogether.

As I was sayin’, I’m queer. Country queer. Just a small town boy from Illinois. Not a gritty city boy but a mild mannered and tender country kid, raised in the Village of South Holland, a Dutch Calvinist settlement on the banks of the Little Calumet River, 22 miles south of the Windy City.

Even though Chicago was a mere 50 minute train ride from the house on Elm Street I called home, I knew little of the grit and hustle of that sprawling metropolis. It might well have been half way across the globe for all the influence it had on my first 12 years of life. That exciting urban influence came to me later.

The place I knew as a child was a sleepy river valley town where old oaks had plenty of room to spread their limbs high and wide. A place where roosters crowed and horses grazed and kids roamed freely, day and night, without much fear of street traffic and strangers with candy and malicious intent. A place where just to be different was almost the worst thing you could be. And boy was I different.

“He’s too pretty to be a boy.” That was what they said and that’s what truly influenced my early years. Not a problem for the first 4 or 5 years but then it’s time to go to school and that was a whole new game to play. Kind, sweet, and gentle I was not prepared for the challenges that lay ahead. And challenges were around every corner.

The story I am about to tell took place one late spring day around my eighth or ninth year. By then

it was clear to anyone with eyes and ears that I was a sissy-boy from the get go. Why at the tender age of three our neighbor Barbara Koshus, who came from the root stock of the hill people of Kentucky, a prescient tribe, had my number.

Fond of giving pet names to her kids, one son Howard who stammered and stuttered she called “Fuzzy” while another daughter prone to being plump got saddled with ‘Meatball’. As for me, I was aptly referred to as ‘Prissy Passionflower’. That’s right. Prissy Passionflower was what she called me and boy did she have that right on the mark.

Dressed in my sister’s clothes I stole off with her dolls when I could and still I enjoyed being outdoors in the dirt and mud. I read a lot. Was more inclined to dance ballet than play ball. Sounds familiar, right?

I was a hybrid. A tom-girlie-boy who loved to climb trees and jump rope. Chase lightning bugs and occasionally get chased by a local boy or two. So it was no real surprise when one too warm spring afternoon I became the center of attention for three or four of the neighbor boys who decided if they couldn’t catch me out right... I was always a fast runner, they might still manage to take me down some other way.

Let me set the scene to give you all a little more detail of life in this sleepy conventional village. A fertile river valley with prairie to the west and the remains of forests to the south. Indiana just east and the the beginning of the Chicago south side sprawl to the north. South Holland was a village of about 8,000 in the mid fifties. Settled by a small group of Dutch immigrants in the mid 1800’s, we lived in the first subdivision in what was at the start of a boom era. The banks and real estate were owed by the descendants of the first settlers who were devout religious types know as Calvinists.

Dutch Calvinists are an austere tribe who don’t go for the simple pleasures of life like song and dance and certainly not the ingesting of spirits.

Liquor was not sold in this rural village. Fact is they aren’t even supposed to whistle let alone wet their whistle. Life is for hard work and devotion to the the Lord Almighty followed by rest and devotion, followed by more hard work and of course more religious devotion. Suppressed is a word that comes to mind. Now let it be known that all the residents of this place were not Calvinists. There were other types of God-fearing Lutherans and, horror of horrors, even a small collection of Catholics though they had to send their kids to the next town for schooling.

My family was an odd lot with a choir-singing Lutheran mom, much loved by the community for her generous charity work, and a lapsed Catholic dad, also held in good stead by neighbors for his kindness and willingness to help anyone in need. We were five in all. Mother and father with one daughter and two sons. Well sorta. That is to say the older boy was all boy. Rough and ready and a prime player on both baseball and basketball teams. The youngest, that’s me, was a bit of a nancy boy. Too pretty to be a boy don’t you know. All in all we fit in well enough being fair haired freckled and blue eyed. Looks aside, I still stood out for my sissy ways but with the town being small and my parents wellliked, kindness prevailed for the most part. The part that wasn’t the most part was often mighty tricky and sometimes downright dangerous.

Well nine is a funny age with no longer being a baby and still far from the independence of a teen. I have no doubt I was sometimes moon-eyed at the sight of a cute boy and there were a few in the neighborhood for sure.

Now this is where memory goes astray. I can’t truly say which of the town boys was involved in the event I will soon reveal, but there were, to my keenest recall, at least three, maybe more, boys involved.

It was a warm spring day with the ground still damp from melted snows.

Our house was on the first of many blocks of houses that had been built at the edge of a prairie. Our backyard blended in with a wild stretch of growth that continued west for miles, sliced by a two lane road. Further out was a series of railroad tracks that guided freight trains as they moved slowly through the village, moaning and sighing and occasionally crying in shrill sharp tones. This back prairie was a great place to explore and scout for small snakes and generally get away and enjoy my own company.

On this particular day I wondered what was

in the stars, for despite the sunny warmth of the weather, a black cloud descended on me in the form of a few other boys from the neighborhood. Boys who, for reasons inexplicable to me, were not interested in quiet exploration of the prairie, but seemed intent upon a more aggressive form of play. I was first alerted to my company by a shout of “Hey sissy!” Something that I had heard before and which did not portend a friendly encounter. This was made most clear when a volley of stones began whizzing by my head.

This was new to me. Up until now I had, more or less, cohabited in our tiny town with a variety of boys and girls, some friendlier than others but up until this day, none had been threatening. This

with the exception of my older brother but that, is also another story altogether. No, this was a novelty and one that I was not thrilled by. Dodging their projectiles I ran for cover finding it behind a large old billboard that was slowly rotting away in the seasonal turmoil of the Midwestern climate.

Safe for the moment, there came a series of stones crashing against the old plywood covered with peeling paint and faded messages. My heart was pounding and every crash of stone against the wood sent a shudder through my body. Why were they so mad at me? What had I ever done t these boys? My mind and heart now racing, I could only think of getting home to safety.

Three houses from were I stood was my home. A row of cypress trees planted along the property of the end house would provide the cover I needed to get home, but a good twenty-five feet of open space stood between my shelter and those trees. More stones pelted the decaying wood. How long had I been there? Would they grow tired of their game and leave me? The prairie was filled with stones and

Now this is where memory goes astray. I can’t truly say which of the town boys was involved in the event I will soon reveal, but there were, to my keenest recall, at least three, maybe more, boys involved.

rocks so there was no shortage of ammunition.

Determined to escape I waited for another volley and then, taking in a breath, I ran faster than I can say... more stones flew and then in that moment when all time seemed to stop I was struck in the face. A sharp pain pierced my flesh. A stone shard had split my upper lip and blood was spurting from my mouth .

Blood was everywhere...

Everything stopped. The wind and the sunlight and the flying stones and the boys and my breath all stopped. Even my heart seemed to stop and now, so does my memory. From this point in the story I have no real memory of what happened next.

Somehow I made it home. Perhaps one of the boys came to help. They all knew me after all. We had grown up together. Went to the same school. Attended church and cub scout meetings. Dressed for Halloween and trick and treated together. Their parents knew mine and everyone knew where everyone else lived.

My lip was stitched and it swelled to three times its normal size. I remember going to school with this wound and it was weeks before it healed. I was marked in a way no one could ignore and yet that’s what happened. It was ignored. No one said anything and no one came forward to confess and no one, it seemed, was even confronted let alone counseled. The community failed in its responsibility to one of its younger members and I felt invisible and broken and more alone than ever before. All this was unspoken and, as it turns out, for many years unremembered.

It wasn’t until recently, in the past couple of years, that I did remember this story. The stoning of a young boy by other boys in his community one fine spring day. And in this remembering I thought not only of my pain but of the shock and pain the boys who had hurt me might have felt. It had been a sport to them and so long as the stones were pelting the billboard it was all fun and games. What must have it been like for the one whose stone struck my face? Could they have known between them who had cast the stone that spit my lip and sent a gusher of blood pouring out of my body onto the sidewalk?

I wondered, and felt compassion for this boy and wish we could have been part of a caring community where parents and teachers would hold space for the pain and stigmata of this sad event. Where kind and caring elders could address the root cause of such a tragic conflict of confusion.

I imagine now a different conclusion, a con-

clusion in which we circled together and sought understanding and forgiveness, for none of us were evil untouchable things that could not be loved and allowed to grow from this most unfortunate event.

Recently

I heard the story of a village practice in some African tribe. In this tribe, when a person who has caused harm through their actions, that person is called to sit a few hours each day for some days in the center of the village and all those who pass this person are called upon to remember some simple act of kindness and generosity this person has performed.

“Remember when you helped carry heavy wood for the old man across the river?’ or “Remember when you nursed that sick dog back to health?” or “Remember that time that you carried your little sister after she fell and cut her leg?”

In this way the person who was guilty of some unkind act could be reminded of so many other acts of kindness and could be reformed rather than reviled and condemned for a mistake that had caused harm. Encouraged to be the best that we can be at those times that we need guidance along the way, when we need to nourish that which needs to grow stronger in us. By feeding kindness and compassion in the face of violence and ignorance we can grow ourselves into more peaceful and caring creatures.

I for one feel strongly that we who are in-betweens hold keys to these portals of transformative behavior. How do we behave in the face of those who are different from ourselves? How do we address diversity of behavior and make efforts to embrace rather than destroy? We are all faced with these kinds of choices in the course of our lives.

My story is but one of so many untold stories that needs to be told in order to feed greater understanding and compassion. I hope it is one that may encourage us to face our mistakes and heal our wounds directing greater efforts towards growing greater understanding and compassion and ultimately greater peace in this strange amazing diverse world.

Namaste

Paintings

by Chris Day / www.chrisdayart.com

“Bunkhouse” (above) “Gymnasium” (left)

Sheikh Jamshed Ken Storer & Me

March 9, 1940 – October 8, 2010

by Rosemary for Remembrance/Steve Muchnick, Ph.D.

This is a personal reminiscence of Sheikh Jamshed Ken Storer, my closest friend from 1996 until his passing on October 8th, 2010, and our deep friendship. It is designed to supplement his mureed Yusuf’s (Damien/Leo Schuman) biography of his first 50 years.

Jamshed and I met through the Radical Faeries. The first gathering we both took part in was the Coming Home Gathering at the Wolf Creek Sanctuary in summer 1986, though neither of us had any memory of the other from that gathering.

A few years later, in February 1988, I was at the Breitenbush Winter Gathering sitting in the lobby of the Lodge facing the front door one evening when a totally exhausted-looking man walked in. I stood up and walked over to him. He said “Is this where I need to be?” I responded, unintentionally channeling the Mormon leader Brigham Young, “Yes. This is the place.” He gave me a strange look, as if (I thought) I had said something inappropriate; I put my arms around him to welcome him; he told me his name was

Ken; I told him I was Steve, though I was known as “The Bead Faerie” (perhaps the subject of a future article); and I led him to the check-in desk, where we found out what cabin and bed he was supposed to be in.

Two other faes joined me in helping him get his stuff from his VW van—he told us that he was so tired and out of breath that he had needed to stop four times to rest on his way from the parking lot to the Lodge—and we got him settled in. He was suffering from stress-induced asthma from running the Shanti Project in Oregon, caring for men sick and dying from AIDS, caring for these men at a time when there was still no effective treatment, and he had an inhaler with him he’d been using for months. The inhaler ended up at the bottom of his suitcase, and he never took it out again during the Gathering. Our friendship began that evening as we talked about my doing work as a volunteer in San Francisco evenings and weekends (while I continued working at Sun Microsystems) the kind of loving, caring work he had been doing full-time and longer with Shanti in Oregon.

A few months later, Ken moved into the house at Breitenbush that had been vacated by the only gay man who had been living there, and it was his home for the rest of his life. Breitenbush is now turning it into office space!

I told Ken that for me the heart of each gathering I’d been to since the founding in 1979 was the heart circles and invited him to come to the next morning’s circle. We also shared that weekend that we were both HIV infected and had both probably been so since the end of 1982 at the latest, because we had both played with abandon until that time and then stopped, having both become convinced that

Photograph by Yusef

whatever was killing our gay and bi brothers was almost certainly sexually transmitted. I also told him that I was at Breitenbush with my lover John Bandy, whom I had met in L.A. in summer 1978, and who had begun showing early symptoms of AIDS in late 1987. Jamshed was fortunate to be able to control his HIV infection without chemical intervention until about 1½ years before his death—but I digress.

John died August 9th, 1988, in San Francisco and the Kernunnos Shawl, which I had the privilege of caring for and circulating among gatherings, played a big part in his memorial. I also met my husband Eric Milliren of the last 22½ years the week John died, and we became madly, passionately in love that same week on August 14th. We were legally married in San Francisco on our 20th anniversary near the bust of Harvey Milk. We had hoped that Jamshed would be able to take part in the wedding and perhaps perform the ceremony—unfortunately for us, he was involved in a Sufi dance-leaders event and couldn’t come to it.

While the gathering mentioned above was the beginning of our friendship, we didn’t begin to become really close until Gryphon Blackswan (who had been my closest friend) passed away in 1996. Happily, Eric and Jamshed easily became very close friends, too.

Exactly when Ken became deeply enough involved with the Sufi Ruhaniat order to change his name to Jamshed, I honestly don’t recall, but it was some time between 1993 and 1996.

After Jamshed passed away, Peppermint (Yusuf’s husband) gave me back a couple of cards I had sent to Jamshed in 1999 and 2009. The first of them responds to a telephone call from him that “It was wonderful to get some time with you [at Breitenbush] and to hear that you’d like to spend some time here just visiting us.” Following that time, he did visit numerous times—almost every time he was in San Francisco, when not at the Ruhaniat’s Mentorgarden, and occasionally just to get away from its internal politics. The three of us did a wide variety of things together, from exploring the City, to going to Fields Metaphysical Bookstore, to cooking meals. He also made sure to spend time with us separately, finding very different qualities in and sharing distinct activities with each of us.

He, the Sufi mystical seeker, and I, the thoroughgoing Buddhist meditator rationalist, had numerous arguments, but we always ended up

close friends, never letting our spiritual differences get in the way. We cuddled, with or without Eric; I bought him books (especially Coleman Barks’ translations of the Sufi Rumi’s poetry); and he became friendly with a tall, slender AfricanAmerican butcher named Bobby at our neighborhood supermarket. Bobby always asked about Jamshed when we saw him, Jamshed invited him to visit him at Breitenbush, but, somehow he never did.

In2002, Jamshed took part in a Sufi event in Katwijk an Zee on the Netherlands coast. We had made arrangements for him to meet me in Amsterdam afterward and to travel from there through Belgium, stopping in Bruges and Ghent (which are mini-versions of Amsterdam with canals and similar houses in their old parts), to Paris, and London.

In Amsterdam, I took him to see many of the things I love about the city, and one evening through the Red-Light District to a three-story leather and toy shop—he confessed, with a mixture of sadness and glee, that, if he could afford it, he’d buy one of everything he saw there! In Ghent we marveled at Jan van Eyck’s altarpiece “The Adoration of the Mystic Lamb” and began telling each other stories about Catholic art—yes, we were a Mormon-born Sufi and a Jewish-born Buddhist discoursing at length about another religion’s art we both loved and both knew a lot about.

As we approached Paris, I told Jamshed, who was driving our rental car, about how the nine lanes of traffic around the Arc d’Triomphe are unmarked and that we needed to go ¾ of the way around it, out onto the Champs Elysee. I offered to take over the driving, but he went on, and, as we entered the circle around the arch, I could almost see his antennae go up as he perfectly negotiated the traffic!

We spent a week in Paris, visiting the Louvre, the cathedral, the incredibly beautiful small royal chapel known as the Sainte Chapelle, and eating very well, including what was probably Jamshed’s most expensive meal at the eponymous restaurant Lucas Carton. We took a day to go out to Chartres to see the cathedral (my third time there and Jamshed’s first), and, again, after Malcolm Miller’s masterful hour-long English tour, we wandered around for about another 1½ hours marveling at the stained glass and telling each other stories about the Catholic art we were seeing. Jamshed was so taken with Chartres Cathedral that he told virtually everyone he knew from then on who was

going to France to go there. We took the Channel Tunnel to London, arriving there on a Bank Holiday, so we had to wait over an hour for a taxi! Going to London was simply an inexpensive way for us to get home from Heathrow Airport, so there was no art touring there.

In 2004, Jamshed came to San Francisco for several months to archive the papers of Samuel L. Lewis, known as “Sufi Sam” for his introduction of Sufism to the hippies still in the City in the late 1960’s and early 70’s. Lewis had been Jamshed’s introduction to Sufism, as he was for many others. During that time, he often escaped from the work by spending at least a day a week with us.

One thing Jamshed did in an afternoon at every Breitenbush gathering at which he was able was to lead Sufi Dances of Universal Peace, which attracted many participants and were almost as important as the morning heart circles.

In 2006, Jamshed had a serious upper respiratory infection during the Breitenbush winter Gathering and spent much of it in bed. I very much wanted some time with him, so, throwing caution to the winds, I knocked on the door to his house. He coughed and said “Come in.” I spent at least two hours holding him, with him occasionally telling me I was going to get sick, too. I stayed and didn’t leave until a group of about 15 other faeries appeared (outside in the snow) at the picture window at the foot of his bed. I did not get sick!

Jamshed was beyond delighted that his son Jared—whom his (Jamshed’s) former wife Janet had done her best to cut off contact between them—asked him to perform his wedding in 2007. He told me several times about being asked, he performed the ceremony, and he talked about it at length afterward.

For several years the only time Jamshed and I got time together was during the February gatherings at Breitenbush. This was especially so in 2008 and 2010. I had applied for and received registration scholarships to CROI 15 and 17 (the Conference on Retroviruses and Opportunistic Infections, the biggest and best annual scientific HIV/ AIDS conference). Unfortunately, each of them overlapped enough with the winter Gathering to make it totally impossible for me to do both.

In 2009, Jamshed came to the Bay Area to formally be made a Sufi sheikh by his primary teacher Murshida Rabia Ana Perez al-Chisti. Rabia had asked him which of the two Sufi movements in the U.S. he wanted become a sheikh in—the Ruhaniat or the Sufi

Order. He thought for a moment and replied, “Can I do both?” She said that was unusual at the least, but certainly possible. So, on a beautiful late spring day, after he had done his morning devotions, Eric and I took him out to Rabia’s home in the East Bay, where we were privileged to be the only witnesses at his dual final initiation.

As a result of my going to CROI 17 and Jamshed’s deteriorating health, the last time I saw him was at the 2009 Breitenbush winter Gathering, when I happened to be Queen Registrar for the third time. I will hold him in my heart as long as I live, as I know many, many others will. Eric and I will always remember Jamshed’s starting phone messages with “Hello, you handsome men!”

Jamshed passed away from a very aggressive B-cell lymphoma on October 8th, 2010, in Portland, OR, where he had been very lovingly cared for by a group that had an email alias called JamTeam. When it became clear that he was not going to last much longer, he asked that Riversong (Peter Vennewitz) and I be added to the email alias. I flew to Portland the day he, as he would put it, “left his suit,” not knowing that he had passed away at about 3:15 that morning. When I got to Portland, I found the home where he had been staying nearly deserted; I had two voice-mail messages on my cell phone from Yusuf’s husband Peppermint (Michael Hemes), the first saying to call him, and the second telling me what had happened—I was about 12 hours too late to see him for the last time. His suit was bathed, he was placed in a simple coffin made by a Breitenbush-community carpenter, and he was interred there that afternoon, following Islamic (and Jewish) custom to bury as soon as possible.

A surpassingly wonderful memorial titled “Jamshed—a Celebration!” was held on November 20th in Portland that brought together over 200 people from his many communities: his son Jared, many Sufis, Faeries, Breitenbush community members, and other friends. Jared was the first speaker, and I was the second; I had originally been scheduled to speak first, but I asked that Jared be given that honor.

In closing, I will point you to a beautiful interview of Jamshed titled “What Is Wonderful!” done by Stardust Darkmatterji (Will Doherty) in Jamshed’s home at Breitenbush that is freely available online at http://vimeo.com/16000070 and is about his history with the Radical Faeries and his view of what we’re all about. The interview is itself quite wonderful!

by Chris Day

Rev. Sheikh Jamshed Kenneth Mark Storer

Ken “Buddy” Storer was born into a hardworking family of A&W Root Beer Stand proprietors, as one of two premature twins who couldn’t have grown more distinct. His brothers Roger and Rodney, and twin sister Karen, provided all the … entertainment … siblings often do, though only Roger stayed in touch over the years. Their parents, Mark Arlo and Evelyn, taught young Ken many things, not least of which was a lifelong appreciation for a fine, fresh-cut French fried potato.

If you imagine this man you may know and may love, and then a mid-1950’s Idaho Mormon adolescence, you’ll know how he learned to dance. By himself. His abiding passion for embodied spiritual practice began joyfully, dancing alone under the stars on solo teenage camping trips. Seem a bit queer? Perhaps …

After his 18th birthday in 1958, he escaped as many do. He joined the Navy to see the world. Six years of tedium and adventure: San Diego, Kingsville TX, Memphis, Sanford FL, and spots in Europe, North Africa, and the Middle East. With honorable discharge, he was living in San Francisco by 1964.

Ken’s career guiding others began there, working as a freelance tour guide for Greyhound, Trailways, and more. His passion for opening gates took him—with busloads in tow—to Australia, Japan, and all over the USA … always staying at least one page ahead in the guidebook. By 1966, it was time to study at Brigham Young University, though Summers kept him touring, often to Alaska. His Bachelor’s Degree in History was earned from BYU four years later, in 1970.

And of course, marriage. For a Mormon boy of the 1960’s, it was simply what one must do. So he did. On August 1, 1968, Ken married Janet. During this period, he also took his first formal steps towards spiritual ministry, as a Mormon Temple worker in Salt Lake City. His marriage, though, led to a foundation event of his life: the birth of his dearly beloved son, Jared. But, within a few years his growing awareness as a gay man combined with the repressive social and legal politics of that era to end this marriage. In 1974, he was separated from his son, against his will, though Jared never left his heart. Despite this turmoil, he completed his Master’s Degree in Organi-

zational Behavior at BYU in 1974, following an arc of study including stints as a desert survival instructor. Good practice.

Inlate 1974, Ken escaped Salt Lake City for Atlanta, and fell in love with Roger Hurd, beginning six years with a man he would leave, but never forget. He wasn’t long for the South, though, and by 1975 he and Roger returned to Salt Lake City to be closer to his son. There he began several years of work as a vocational trainer, eventually leading him to Portland and a long stint with the Portland, Oregon, Job Corps. He also entered the next phase in his vocation for spiritual ministry.

The Universal Fellowship of Metropolitan Community Churches formed in 1968 to provide a spiritual home for gay and lesbian people, who in those years were near-universally condemned and cast out by every faith tradition. Ken’s lifelong call to spiritual practice and ministry brought him to MCC in the mid-70’s, as the world transformed around him. By 1977, he was on the Pastoral Staff of MCC Salt Lake, and in 1978 he proudly served as founding pastor of MCC Boise, near his childhood home in Idaho Falls. Upon learning that a local son had opened a church for “queers”, though, the regional Mormon leadership instituted formal excommunication proceedings against him, while also refusing his participation, comment, and defense. Like many ex-Mormons, he was happy to be excommunicated from such a church, framed his excommunication notice, and continued to serve as an MCC Pastor in Boise and Tacoma until 1984.

Then AIDS entered his life. By 1985, this pandemic was slicing down the gay men’s community like a scythe, while most Americans averted their eyes. Answering his next call, Ken began three and a half years of deep service as Director of Shanti in Oregon, a direct AIDS service organization. His work was essentially to travel throughout Oregon to help men die, and their families grieve, due to a then-mysterious, visually deforming, panic-inducing plague. There are precious few who truly, personally understand what he experienced during these years; a truly precious few. He carried HIV himself, while ministering to a world bursting silently into flame.

Three years later, seeing him approach emotional

known among the faeries as Elk of the Armadillo Clan Some backstory on the first 50 years...

collapse, a dear friend suggested he join the Radical Faeries—a sexually and spiritually conscious community of gay men—for a 1988 gathering at Breitenbush Hot Springs. So he did. To condense an epic into a line: these two communities held him, began healing him, he joined them both, and never left.

Yet he still hadn’t found his spiritual home, until meeting Rabia—Murshida Rabia Ana PerezChishti, a senior teacher of the Inayati-Chishtiyya, a mystical Sufi spiritual lineage brought West in 1910

by Pir-o-Murshid Hazrat Inayat Khan. She visited Breitenbush shortly after his arrival. They met, they connected, she named him Jamshed, and they spent the next 20 years blowing each other’s heart open.

Many can tell stories of those next 20 years, so this particular story is finished.

Words aren’t enough, but … no, and ... Thank You, hon. So very much. You were fun to play with ...

With eternal love and friendship, Yusuf

Jamshed / Photographed by Adrian Chesser and Timothy White Eagle / www.adrianchesser.com

Hummingbird

September 9, 1944 – October 9, 2010

by Teddy Bear

Hummingbird was born in Long Prairie, Minn., in September 1944 and passed away Sept. 28, 2010, at his final destination, Solvay Hospice House. He was an avid traveler but landed most often at his hillside home in Duluth, Minn.

Many friends and family from Duluth, the Twin Cities and beyond attended a farewell celebration service at Peace United Church of Christ. The pastor described him as a non-churchgoer, but the spirituality of his quest to help and love friends everywhere was his real destiny. The October blue of Lake Superior lit the sanctuary. Later Gitchee Gumee will claim his ashes, along with Kawashaway Sanctuary, Long Prairie, the headwaters of the Mississippi and the Pacific Ocean.

Hummingbird’s Faerie name celebrated his life well and he died from a brain tumor while hummingbirds start their migration of thousands of miles. He changed his name permanently and legally in 1991. It was always interesting to travel with him. Bureaucratic agencies like car rentals insisted he be “Mr. Hummingbird” so they could fill two fields on their computers.

His life nurtured community everywhere: Zuni Mountain Sanctuary at its beginning in 1996, several visits to Short Mountain over the years, the Midwest Men’s Gathering and naturist venues wherever he could find them. He was a founding steward of Kawashaway in 1989 and later revived interest in the land and stewardship. His Duluth home hosted many circles and helped combine forces of northern Minnesota and Twin Cities Faeries.

In Duluth, he was a Veteran for Peace, a Gay Pride Committee member and 5K Fun Run Coordinator, constant usher at theater productions and audience for friends’ artistic efforts. He was Minnesota’s smiling carpenter, handyman and electrician for countless satisfied customers. He probably used his Qwest employee free phone retirement benefit more than any other retiree.

For this writer, it’s difficult to believe a friend so down to earth is flying so high. Whether showing patience with his roommate, organized religion, his self-absorbed friend who could not do his own income tax, or being single, he commanded a calm with life that made him a gentle man and beautiful Faerie. His departure leaves inspiration for his loved ones and our world a better place.

Top: Hummingbird and Teddy Bear

Bottom: Hummingbird

Hiaka

January 25, 1954 – November 26, 2010

by Hoot

Iinterrupted his nap when I arrived at my room and my key didn’t work in the door. I met Hiaka as Thomas Reed Markham in February 2010 at a Quaker gathering for LGBTQ Concerns at the Graymoor Spiritual Life Retreat Center in Garrison, N.Y. He was my roommate for the weekend. Thomas was weary from an emotional journey. He was in the process of moving to New Hampshire from Arkansas, where he was looking after his aging mother, to live with his son and be closer to his two daughters and his grandchildren. This was our first midwinter gathering. Thomas was a 25-year Quaker and I an enthusiastic newcomer to our Religious Society of Friends.

Late that first night, we got a knock on the door. It was a frustrated and sleepy fellow, unable to sleep in the adjacent room thanks to the talking and laughing we were sharing together. Unfortunately, after we apologized and settled down, neither the neighbor nor I got much sleep that night, for Thomas was a mighty snorer!

Our rich connection continued beyond that weekend. Out of my own exploration of sexuality and yearning for community, I told Thomas of my intention to register for Faerie Camp Destiny’s Walt Whitman gathering that coming Memorial Day weekend. I wondered if he might like to come along, since he was now living in New England. Though familiar with Faerie culture and community from his life in San Francisco, Thomas was glad to learn that Faeries were alive and thriving in Vermont.

When I arrived to Destiny for the first time, I met Hiaka in the kitchen. He was chopping garlic in black bikini briefs and wore a necklace of tiger-eye beads with a pendant around his bronzed neck. He seemed to be emanating light; his bright smile was like a warm embrace. Hiaka had already been coming for weeks, and it was he who introduced me to my new family of Faes!

He had found his home. It felt as though he had

been coming for years. His romance with the land and his care for all life were nurtured in Destiny’s garden beds. He weeded, planted, harvested and shared his love, not only of gardening, but all of his spirit and varied experiences with us.

There was surely not an aspect of life that Thomas was a stranger to, from teenage street hustler to Quaker mystic, loving husband to leather daddy, AIDS activist to licensed massage therapist, community organizer, father and grandpa. Thomas lived in the Truth and the Spirit of the present moment. In his own words from his blog, aptly named Wide Awake.

“I am… a Proudly queer Quaker, Druid mystic, poet & healer, an oak duir, roots deep in Gaia, quickened by nwyvre (Spirit) growing in gnosis of Cosmic Christ Consciousness.”

He was an activist working for inclusive community. He was a messenger, advocating for compassion, cooperation and mutual aid. While his heart was full of poetry, his head was a hotbed of practicality. A self-proclaimed anarchist-collectivist (libertarian-socialist), Hiaka lived out his ideals with a fullness few rarely fulfill. He passed away unexpectedly the day after Thanksgiving, which he spent serving dinner at a local homeless shelter. He was 56. Shortly before he left us, Thomas’s mother reported that he told her in a phone call, “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Hiaka, your life is a blessing. Thank you for sharing your gifts and your needs. You touch, teach, and empower so many. May our beloved community carry on your legacy of service and stewardship, and the awareness of the Divine in everyone and everything.

Hiaka's family wishes to bring his ashes to Destiny for commitment to the land. A ritual ceremony will be observed over the Walt Whitman Gathering, May 27-30, 2011.

—In Love & Light, Hoot

Hiaka and Hoot

Dedicated to fellow Radical Faeries everywhere and especially to my new-found tribe and home, Faerie Camp Destiny, remembering our awesome weekend together at our 2010 Walt Whitman Gathering!

Faerie Love

Rising fecund from the clay In dark communion with what is. As artisans we give shape to more Than lonely quests begot us. We reawaken to the truth Present to its deep embrace Vanguards of leviathan force Erupting from a dreamlike trance. Eros, aldelphos, agape Sensate in a ritual dance Every father, brother, son We move the earth; we shape the way Envisaging a passion play. Dust we wear, Spirit breathed, Our flame that burns erotically. More than I, beyond us two Our coupling joins with fellowmen In ecstasy complete.

—Thomas Reed Markham/Hiaka

To read more of Thomas’s poetry and essays, please visit his blog at: www.tmarkham.blogspot.com.

Hiaka / Photo by Hoot

"Papa-oom-mow-mow"*

At grips with 35 folds around the eyes, a baffling sketch. It's a day to remember —a day when centigrade sun stirs against rayon trousers. Relive with me the withdrawal of a brushed-off childhood perspiring in this black-and-white close-up. As if discovered in those speckledy pyjamas, effusion of straw-coloured hair, it's the music outlasts, a shattering other-worldliness spiralling through the decades. The dapple-grey sky so bright, the call-and-response of the song ocean-going shadows are glowering, dark.

—Christopher Barnes

*by the Sharonettes, Harlem Records

Prison Pages

Edited by Myrlin

As I write this column there are hints of spring and hope for brighter days are in the air. I can only hope that this bit of optimism can and will begin to blossom for those held in the many prisons and jails in this country. Even when one has done all required to obtain parole, the system can and often does throw one roadblock after another toward preventing release. It becomes the inmate’s responsibility to develop a “home plan” or “employment plan” in order to obtain release. As is often the case, the whole incarceration route has removed a person for many years from all of the resources that might normally be at one’s disposal.

This is clearly illustrated in a letter I just received from James Webb, an inmate in Pennsylvania. He writes, “Thanks for your kind words concerning me finally making parole. Yes I have enough money saved up to rent a place, however I have included a copy (for your laughs) of the report I received for my placement in a CCC (community correction center). As you can see they denied me my CCC due to no home plan, then they refer me back to my institutional parole officer for placement in a CCC. Just a merry-go-round. The odd thing is at 49 years of age my parents have passed away. I was living in Jersey most of my life, so I know no one out here in PA. I will never be able to supply a home plan, as I don’t know anyone. I need to get in the CCC so I can find a place to live... The sad thing is I only need someone to vouch for me, because once I’m in the CCC (I have to do 90 days) I can file to change my home plan. I don’t want to stay in prison the rest of the 10 years I have left, but may not have a choice in the matter. This is just an example of how screwed up the prison system is, and the needless expense put on the average tax payer.”

Editor’s note: The options on the accompanying paper clearly indicate that if the original home plan is refused, the inmate must apply for placement in a CCC and this appears to be what he has done. The comment in the report reads “CCC referral refused due to lack of home plan.” A Catch 22 for certain. I have known quite a few who have stayed for a year or two under such a circular situation.

To write James Webb AJ-1741, 1100 Pike Street,

Huntingdon, PA, 16654-1112.

It is very hard to leave a controlled living situation where all of your decisions are made for you and jump out into a society that may have moved 20 or more years since you last moved about in it. Add to that the problems of losing family and friends and friendly places to turn to. Then comes the expectation from parole agents that you find housing and a job within a couple of weeks or be in violation of your parole rules and you begin to get the idea. Our society just does not afford many opportunities for people coming out to get re-established. Often it can be a circle of pen-friends that can make the difference, perhaps in just providing a support network to assist when the circularity of the prison process is in full swing. A gentle ear may make all of the difference.

As a result I ask that our regular RFD readers and others consider writing in to request the quarterly pen-pal listing “BROTHERS BEHIND BARS” which can be ordered directly from BBB at PO Box 68, Liberty, TN, 37095. The current “Winter” issue contains 26 pages of ads and 2 pages of art and poetry. We ask a donation of $3.00 to $10.00 for a copy of the list. You can also e-mail the editor, Myrlin, at bbbmyrlin@yahoo.com. Printing and mailing costs are partially supported by inmate contributions and offsets from RFD for some of the mailing costs. The editor’s time is completely voluntary.

How do you read a man’s heart and thoughts? How do we even know our own heart and thoughts? It is many times in the things we write down and share with others. Are all of these written musings of great artistic value? If they aren’t perfect should they be edited out and not allowed the light of day? I am always honored when our Brothers Behind Bars share their written thoughts in poetry and prose and their Artwork and other graphics. I want so badly to share them all with you but simply do not have the space. I continue to hope to get a website up where I will have the space to put up many of the examples that I can’t get into print in BBB or Prison Pages. Please watch for it.

—Myrlin

“Sometimes I Cry”

Sometimes when I’m alone I cry because I’m on my own The tears I cry R bitter and warm They flow with life but take no form I cry because my heart is torn and I find it difficult 2 carry on. If I had an ear 2 confide in I would cry among my treasured friends But who do U know that stops that long to help another carry on? The world moves fast and it would rather Pass U by Than 2 stop and C what makes U cry It’s painful and sad and sometimes I cry And no one cares about Why.

—Donald Edward Harrell, Jr. ADC# 109600 East Arkansas Regional Unit, Bks 16-04 PO Box 0180 Brickeys, AR 72820-0180

David Lucas (KY)

Craig Loomis (WI)

Harol Jordan (CA)

Alex Fernandez (FL)

Some of the men you will meet in BBB

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Prison Pages

Edited by Mylin

“Hurts to Be Alone”

I’ve been waiting for so long—To find someone to call my own, So I won’t have to wander in this world all alone, I know I’m not the Perfect Guy—that you’ve been looking for, But I promise, I’ll be a friend—Gentleman and a whole lot more.

Every night I lie alone, I wonder how could this be, Could this really be a Dream—and this not be happening to me. I know I can’t hide from memories—which day after day I tried, I seem to keep lying to myself—saying it will be all right. But One Day I’ll find someone out there for me. Someone that I’ll call my own!—Cause if you’ve ever been In my situation, you should truly know “It Hurts to be alone!”

—Ivan Anderson #W15617

110 Melaleuca Drive Crawfordsville, FL 32327-4963

For Shits and Giggles

I was a porn Star, but I couldn’t keep it up. My Boss kept looking over my shoulders. And he could tell I was in and out of it. And every night we had to use the Back Door! That a long ways just to get in. Sometimes there are too many coming In at Once. Not a Big Place, but it was a tight squeeze. Nice view. You know I got laid off cuz I came too early!? Well it was a good shot, but I just couldn’t swallow it. It just wasn’t my taste. Drove home and got pulled over and he could tell I had too many stiff ones in me. I hope to get a call back. But they’ll probably just blow me off.

Well I did get a call back. I guess I did have the balls. A cast member died of an overdose of Viagra and the lid wouldn’t shut. So they had to have an open casket.

Well I guess they were short and just really needed a hand. Well I have to be at work in ten minutes so I’ll leave home in half an hour. Don’t want to come too early.

—Noah Hans Frieden #527353

Wisconsin

Resource

Center PO Box 220 Winnebago, WI 54985-0220

A Blend of Bliss

To make a final, sweet conquest, of this lonely heart of mine Aphrodite did not compose her heavenly best, when a male and a female she did entwine’ So that both masculine and feminine wiles should blend in a subtle, sexual harmony; And beauty and beast could oft beguile lovers to heed this perfect symphony.

She cast from a mold, a lady so soft, with doe-like eyes that pierce my soul; And sculpted from stone, with a rigid head aloft, a stag-like phallus, for an alternate role; Like a majestic ram, so proud, so sure, Yet delicate and graceful as a gentle eve; I could naught but submit to the bewitching lure, of her horn of plenty, kept just out of view.

Perhaps I could have fled from a lady fair, or stood an’ fought a man of steel; Conceivably escaped her feminine lair, or struck a blow to Achilles’ heel; But how could I avoid becoming the slave, of such an androgynous blend of bliss; As she who can pillage the portals of the brave, while offering the sweetness of a delightful miss. So, upon thy honeyed lips, so soft, so sweet a million kisses I shall pour; And as our beating hearts do meet, my arms shall hold you, with sweet succor; And upon bended knee, I shall honor my duty, and a trillion kisses there I’ll tender, As I thank the goddess of love and beauty, for angels with courage to recast their gender. —finis—

—C’Leo Michael Pavia #837816 Men’s State Prison G-12 PO Box 396 Hardwick, GA

310343

Back Issues

We are still working on the task of counting up the back issues in our storage unit. Please bear with us if you’ve asked for back issues. Once we get shelving in place we’ll be in a better position to do the count of the remaining boxes. We’re three quarters of the way there. So with that in mind, we’re providing you with info on the back issues we know we have on hand.

Folks can email their requests for back issues submissions@rfdmag.org. Prices vary according to rarity of the issue.

We’re also looking to create a crisp clean com-

plete set of RFD’s for possible use in a scanning project. We have a working set but many of the issues have notations from an early indexing project in them. So we’d like to find some of the missing issues (1-10, 12, 13, 16, 18, 24, 25, 27, 29, 30, 35, 48, 49, 52, 53, 74-78) which we no longer have in storage to complete this set. If you have copies of the following issues and want to consider donating them to the Collective we’d be most appreciative and would consider offering folks a renewal subscription for their efforts. We’d also love to create more complete sets to be able to offer them to sanctuaries which do not have full sets. Any help around this will be greatly appreciated. Contact us at submissions@rfdmag.org with “Back Issues” in the subject line.

Advertise in RFD

It really helps keep this magazine in production. We offer affordable rates and a growing subscriber base. If you have questions about advertising, please contact Bambi at submissions@rfdmag.org or visit our website at www.rfdmag.org/advertise.php.

the skinny.....

SUBMISSIONS

We accept submissions via U.S. Mail, or email at submissions@rfdmag.org. When sending electronic files by either method, save the text files as an MS Word Doc, Rich Text (RTF), or Simple Text. Images should be high resolution (minimum one mega-byte (1 MB) in TIFF or JPG. Your work may also be used on our website.

WRITING

We welcome your submission. Suggested length is 500 to 2,500 words. We will carefully edit. If you intentionally mean to vary a spelling, let us know. We will contact you if your submission is selected. Contributors receive one copy of the issue in which their work appears and a second copy upon request. Your may also be used on our website.

ART

We always need fresh drawings and photos. Drawings should be quality black and white. Photos can be color or black and white. Original digital camera files work well. Original artwork should be scanned at 300 dpi or higher. Line art should be scanned at 1200 dpi. We may crop your photo to fit our format.

DUE DATES

Advertising Rates

October 20th for Winter, January 20th for Spring, April 20th for Summer; July 20th for Autumn.

ADVERTISING

For rates, contact us by phone or email or get it from our website.

BACK ISSUES

Recent issues are $7 postage paid. Many earlier issues are available. Call us or email us at business@rfdmag.org for availability.

COPYRIGHT

RFD is copyrighted. Credited material remains the property of the contributor. Non-credited material may be republished with attribution.

MAILING

RFD is published quarterly and mailed around the Solstice or Equinox of the quarter. Second class mail can take a while. Let us know if you have not received your copy after a month. Second class mail is NOT forwarded. Let us know if you move.

Our basic advertising rate is $4.00 per square inch per issue. For repeat issues we offer discounts of 5% for two issues, 10% for three issues, and 15% for a full year (four issues).

If you do not have a prepared ad, the RFD staff can prepare one for you from your photographs and text. We charge $75/hr for layout.

Prepared ads should be provided in PDF format or high resolution JPG or TIF (300dpi or 500KB minimum file size). We will scan ad artwork for a fee of $20. RFD is not responsible for poor reproduction due to low resolution artwork.

Following are some examples to help you size your ad.

We accept advertising for products or services that we feel may be of positive value to our readers. Repeating ads will be re-run as given unless new copy is provided by closing date. New ads coming in late will be run next issue unless otherwise stated. Full payment for ads is required by closing date for ad to appear in the new issue.

Subscriptions: subscriptions@rfdmag.org

Submissions: submissions@rfdmag.org

Advertising: advertising@rfdmag.org

NEXT GEN

RFDis often a place to be retrospective, reflective of the past and considering our experiences but the Summer issue is all about exploring “what’s next” in our movement. As the modern gay movement pushed well into it’s forties (looking fine by the way!), how are we looking to the future generation of gay people. How are we handling issues of young people within the GLBT community and how is the gay movement viewed by the queer youth of today?

If you’d like to focus your submission on how this related to the Radical Faerie movement that’s fine but we’re hoping for the larger view. But of course the personal is always political so speak from the “community” which most reflects on your experience.

We’d especially like to hear how Generation Q reflects the diversity of the queer community -- so reach into topics beyond just “gay men” like leather, the bear culture, the lesbian community, people living with HIV, the gay drug culture, gay literati, transfolk, porn–you name it but focus on the positive and think in terms of community building.

And lastly how does a vibrant community and culture made up of young and old, gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered people create a lasting impact on our immediate community but also look beyond it.

As always we’d love to see your artwork and photographs gracing the pages of RFD. So please consider sending in work which reflects on this theme.

Submissions can be sent to submissions@rfdmag. org with Summer 2011 in the subject line. Please include within your document or email the title of your piece, your name as you would like it to appear in RFD as well as your mailing address so we can send you a contributor copy of the issue. The deadline for this issue is April 21.

Artwork & photos should be scanned at least 300 dpi. Color is great! Art and photos should be emailed to submissions@rfdmag.org.

“Rinkle Free Darlings” : Summer 2011 Teaser / Call for Submissions

a reader created gay quarterly celebrating queer diversity