Why HIV Prevention Still Matters for Gay Men

Those who know me well know that I've been thinking about stepping back and creating a new 'what's next' after more than 20 years as an HIV preventionist.  In some ways, I'm lucky to have had something to fall back on after the events of the past month.  I've often stated that I wanted to move on in 18-24 months and retire from the world of HIV prevention.  But I had planned on moving on after ELEMENT was firmly established as its own organization.  While there are some that feign confusion today, this was always the intent of ELEMENT.

As events unfolded, it would seem that I no longer have the choice to move on at an appropriate time somewhere on the horizon.  As even as I continue to create what's next for me, there is a large part of me that would rather just leave the paradigm of HIV prevention and do something that is a complete departure.  But this lacks honesty; I've not yet fulfilled all that is in my heart around gay men's health and wellness.  Which is fortunate, considering that my mind has not yet released itself from thoughts and considerations about things that would make a difference for gay men.  As I think of it, I am more convinced that HIV prevention matters, maybe more now than ever.

Shortly after I moved to Colorado, I was asked to deliver brief remarks during Denver's 2006 World AIDS Day Rally.  I began with remembrance; remembering friends past, fellow soldiers in the fight against AIDS, my best friend....my mother.  I talked about medical advances and the changes that we've seen since the beginning of the epidemic.  I talked about complacency and fatigue; about the weight of losing an entire generation of men.  I shared my thoughts about the state of HIV prevention.


...'If our deepest intent is to positively impact the AIDS epidemic in our communities, we must be willing to rethink everything we know about HIV prevention.  We must be willing to shift the paradigm and inquire into the context of people's lives.  We must abandon prevention models  that are ineffective and be willing to speak truth to power.... We must have the courage to be controversial, not for the sake of controversy, but to advance the science of HIV prevention in a way that is meaningful to those whom we hope to serve."


These years later, as I read these words, I am reminded that this point of view is not simply my own perspective.  These words, informed by men who shared their thoughts and perspectives for nearly 20 years, are reflective of a central truth.  This truth is so true, that we all know some version of it.  Health departments across the country bemoan increasing rates of HIV infection among gay men.  Likewise, local HIV prevention planning groups struggle to identify effective programming for gay men.  Prevention needs assessments mirror themselves year after year.  HIV positive men speak of isolation, stigma, fear and ignorance.   HIV negative men seem to be making their own choices around HIV risk while the mainstream HIV prevention apparatus remains conspicuously silent.  What all these truths tell us is that the nature of HIV prevention for gay men has changed.  And, those of us who care about HIV education, prevention and intervention for gay men must keep up with these realities.  This is one point of view and may not be a global truth, but it is the view from the cheap seats.

I really don't have to look far to have an opinion about HIV prevention.  As a 46 year-old, Black gay man who is HIV negative, I know what it's like to live for more than 25 years in the shadow of an seemingly unending epidemic.  And while its true that I've spent more than 20 years as a champion of prevention, I've spent more than my share of time out of integrity with this truth.  I have been on so many sides of the gay experience that it makes my head spin.

I've been the guy who is up for three days chasing the party.  I've been the guy who has posted bail for my friendly dealer.  I've been the guy at the club that everyone wants to know because I have direct hookup with the best pill in town.  I was always a friend of the DJ, and have danced away entire weekends.  I've been the guy who has spent so much time on line cruising that I used to call it working a shift.  And I've been with so many guys that I call it doing my part for world peace, one man at a time.  I've had a profile on Bareback City, spent entire weekends in compromising positions,  and party and play.....  my understanding is not academic.

I do not own being negative as something that I've done.  In fact, the math speaks volumes.  This is how I know that the very nature of risk gives rise to risk.  I knew that I was making conscious choices about risk and had even developed some interesting thoughts about risk reduction in the chaos of a mansion filled with tweaked out party boys.  At some point, I'd even resigned myself to contracting HIV.  I had considered how I'd explain it to my colleagues.  Once, as I was waiting for my test results, I'd even planned a weekend of partying in Palm Springs.  When the result returned negative, I remember being crestfallen.

Even at this time in my life, with all the insanity going on, I met some of the most amazing gay men.  Perhaps it may have been their circumstance that allowed such an unvarnished glimpse of the beauty and dignity within gay men.  At a time when most would have said that I had fallen the furtherest away from my own values, I found such a wonderfully authentic community of men.  I witnessed great acts of kindness and compassion among men who were deeply mired in their own various and sundry addictions.  I used to love the after hours scene and would often be found with a small group of guys talking about our lives and whatnot.  Among these disparate boys and men, I continued to see their remarkable humanity and a generosity of spirit that I think inhabits all gay men.  I also saw exactly why HIV prevention efforts would most likely elude this part of our community.  And even if there were programs to reach these men, none would dare go that deep into the community to talk to them.

These men inspired Tribal Revival, a five-year project to address club drugs, methamphetamine and poly-substance use among gay men.  Our novel approach was to ask gay men what they wanted from their high and then asking them if they were getting that.  Most often, these men were not getting what they wanted from being high and through harm reduction approaches and motivational interviewing techniques, we proposed that we could create new social norms around club drug use unprotected sex.  But even then, our approach was contextual.

What I've learned over these years is that love, unto itself, is healing.  From my perspective, AIDS is no longer the big, bad boogey man that it was back in my earlier days.  I would argue that the collective silence around HIV/AIDS in our community has less to do with denial, indifference or even pathology; it may be that we've made an uneasy peace with AIDS, each in our own way.

Consider that gay men are making all manner of independent choices, including if, when or with whom to use a condom.  What if, similarly, gay men are making fully informed choices when choosing to use any kind of drug.  Can it be possible that gay men are rejecting traditional prevention models because they are perceived to be moralistic, over simplified, or that they don't fit our own picture of our lives.  Is it possible that younger gay men just want to be free and live lives of their own making, even if those lives look much different that what was possible a generation ago?  Do we have room in our concept of risk to honor the couple that considers all the angles and then make an informed choice to have condom-free sex?  How does the collective mourning and losses of the AIDS epidemic rest in the hearts of older gay men?  And what of the men who have simply given up, and have exhausted their desire to stay HIV negative.   We can really go on and on, but all of these scenarios include a host of contextual factors  that may give occasion to high-risk behaviors.  But programs that simply focus on behaviors will rarely create enough relatedness to have open conversation with these men about the context in which their risks occur.  Even those who may disagree must concede that behavior rarely occurs without a context. And this is why HIV prevention still matters for gay men.

I have yet to see a health department give grants to gay men to support our emotional wellbeing simply because they are concerned about the overall health of our community.  And I've not seen social research firms breaking down the door to study how wellbeing affects the choices we make in our lives.  Local planning groups don't convene to assess how social and political isolation impact the psyche of gay men, nor are they interested in how survivor guilt and fatigue rest in the hearts of gay men my age.  I love my colleagues, but I doubt that without the imperatives of a sustained response to AIDS that we'd get together and explore how to promote healthy social networks.  I am doubtful that the Colorado legislature would have allocated tobacco tax settlement monies simply to have gay men have meaningful interactions with one another.  I've yet to attend a national conference on gay men's sexual health or gay men aging with grace and ease that was not associated somehow with HIV.   Those things that impact our lives on a daily basis in profound ways have no standing onto themselves; it is the lens of HIV prevention that directs funding in these areas.  Without exception, programs funded to reach gay men are in fact attempting to shift behaviors through contextual means.  Just not enough.

"...We must lead our communities through inspiration and passion.  We must stop asking folks to feel sorry for us, and instead inspire them to partner with us....We must speak to each of our communities in its own voice and ensure that cultural competency extends beyond race, but embraces culture, sexual orientation and age.  If we embrace each of our communities just as they are, loving them and accepting them as perfect, whole and complete, our acceptance will pave the way for their participation."


And that, my friends, has HIV prevention being relevant and contextualized in such a way that that gay men can find a place to simply be ourselves and let our our collective and individual wounds begin to heal within the context of community.  HIV prevention matters.

The Sanctuary of the Heart

Lord, prepare me to be a sanctuary; pure and holy, tried and true.  And with thanksgiving, I'll be a living sanctuary for you.

Christopher

How I Got the Gospel of Gay: it was a gift

During the Landmark Forum, it is suggested that most of the pain and suffering in our lives come from our own inauthenticities.  That's a really powerful distinction to consider, regardless if you ultimately agree with it or not.  As I've sat with the possibilities before me I was hungry to distinguish my inauthenticities, if there were any.  Earlier this morning, I was meditating on honesty.  I don't know why, but it was just what was in my head.  After all, I consider myself to be a pretty honest person.  But I got clear that being pretty honest isn't the same thing as being honest.  And then I considered that honesty requires trust.  I'm no where near a place that I can talk about trust.  It was like a light bulb coming on in a dark room!  Being honest doesn't require trust, it requires honesty.

I move on quite well.  Literally, if you look at my resume you'll see jumps from San Diego to San Francisco; San Francisco to Los Angeles; Los Angeles to San Francisco; San Francisco to San Diego; and on and on until I choose to make Denver home.  One of the impacts of this nomadic existence is that I tend to close doors on entire chapters of my life.  Hence I am fragmented within myself.  No wonder some think me odd or that I think too much of myself!  This morning when I was in my practice, these doors came storming open and events in my past were aligned in a way that I really got to see a major inauthenticity in may entire way of being and relating that goes all the way back to 1982.  Something happened that was so major and transformative, yet it had been shoved so far in the back of my mind that I couldn't have imagined that it influences my life today.

When I was 18, freshly discharged from the Army, I took my gay 'ol self to San Francisco to live the crazy gay lifestyle that I'd spent years dreaming about.  Most often, when I talk about these days in San Francisco  the focus is on the beginning of the AIDS crisis.  But even while that was brewing, something else happened.  I nearly died.  Seriously.  How does something like that get pushed to the background?  Especially when I have a deep scar that wraps half way around my chest that I see every day!

I developed an infection in my pericardial sac, the sac that contains the heart.  It was the result of major oral surgery.  My experience of it was simply waking up in the hospital one day.  I woke up with ice and gauze stuffed into hole in my side.  I had a tube in my trachea and couldn't speak.  I think my mother was in the room when I finally woke.  For six weeks, I'd been 100% sedated in effort to quell the infection.  Course after course after course of antibiotics seemed ineffective.  For days the resulting fever would spike to 106 degrees.  I was later told I became delusional because of the high fever and the morphine.  I later remembered a recurring dream that I had been kidnapped by lesbians who had taken my clothes and were shooting me up with heroin!  I remember being restrained and being naked in a tub of ice.  After six weeks, because of the intervention of one of my nurses (a lesbian!) I was moved into a room, weaned off morphine and given no more antibiotic.  Whatever happened to me from there was up to my own body and God.  Defying the odds, I woke up.  I weighed 98 pounds and my youngest sister told me that I looked like E.T.

My mother was told that if I lived, I may have severe brain damage because of the fever and that I may be addicted to morphine.  None of the dire predictions about my fate came true.  I remember my doctor, Dr. Verrier, telling me that someone must have been praying for me and that God had something in mind for me.  A young, bearded doctor with piercing blue eyes, his strong gaze and the tone in his voice remained in my memory for years.  Around my bedside, relative after relative told me how much they had prayed for me and how God had shown me favor.  But I was feeling sorry for myself.   Everything in my life was upside down.  I hated being in the hospital.  I had been very healthy all my life and now I was an emaciated broken man.  Then God sent me Richard.

Being in a V.A. hospital is its own experience.  Being in a V.A. hospital when you are 18 (in peacetime) is something beyond description.  It was an oppressive environment.  I was the youngster, so people always came to my room to cheer me up.  Richard was one of these people.  He somehow became my nurse and everyday would spend an inordinate amount of time trying to get me to smile or laugh.  He was gay and spoke to me as gay men should speak; with concern for my wellbeing and affirmation of who I was.  And he was kinda cute.  I remember doing a lot of crying; feeling sorry for myself and being mad at God.

One day, Richard came into my room and flung open the curtains.  He turned to me and put his hands on his hips.  "Just because you almost died doesn't mean you have to look like you're dying."  His tone was stern and I could see determination on his face.  He went back over to the cart he'd pushed in and moved it toward me.  He had made an entire little spa on that table.  As he raised the head of the bed, he looked me deep in the eyes and said "I saw you had your ear pierced.  I brought a whole bunch of things for you to try on, but I think I'd like the simple gold stud better."  In that moment, his humanity left me so touched, that I found my own humanity and reclaimed my dignity.  While Richard cut my hair, clipped my nails, brushed my teeth and more, I had never felt so cared for by another human being.  He told me how fortunate I was and how this near death experience had given me a second chance.  He said that maybe there was something that I was supposed to do with my life.

This was right at the beginning of the AIDS epidemic.  And the sheer horror of the early 1980s in San Francisco completely eclipsed this major life event.  A few months later, I fell in with a Christian group, SOS Ministries.  These were the Jesus freaks that would hang out on Polk Street singing in doorways.  As I look back, I can't imagine that there was a more confusing time in my life.  What I got from these nice people, their devotion to one another and to God, was a constructive place to channel my new lease on life.  And that's the story of how I ultimately became a preacher.

As I stand here and look back, I can see how being part of a Christian ministry, gave me a sense of purpose and belonging that I lacked.  I was so taken by their faith that I tried to conform to their expectations.  I even lived in a house filled with ex-gay people called the Candlestick house because it was near Candlestick park.  I went to the Exodus and Love In Action support groups for ex-gay people. This is where I met my dear friend Gilbert.  As I write this, I remember Monty, the head gay in the house.  And Joe, he had curly blond hair and twinkling blue eyes.  One by one, we all found our way out of that cult-like environment. Gilbert lives in LA.  I should call him.  These guys, these gay men, are the men who taught me to love and support my gay brothers and how important unconditional support can be.

After I left the Jesus freaks, I began to hang out with my old friends from Polk Street.  But it was different now.  At 18, I was the wise one that survived the streets and a near death experience.  The boys used to call me Momma.  I used to just walk the stroll or hang out at Mrs. Browns, a coffee shop at the corner of Polk and Post streets.  Most often, all I could offer was a cup of coffee, a friendly word or a listening ear.  Every now and then, when I had money, I'd gather up the little ones and get them a hotel room so they could sleep in a safe place. Once I ran into one of the little ones, a 12 year old who was on speed.  He had just been attacked by a trick.  He had a deep bite on his arm where this old man literally took a bite out of him.  Not knowing what to do for him, I saw an undercover cop car coming down the street.  So I pushed him out in front of it.  He was reunited with his family and I hope that he is alive and well today.  I did this without being employed by an organization and with no financial support.

Once, on a rainy night, I was sitting in Mrs. Browns and one of the older guys (he was about 17) comes and sits at my table and asks me if I can buy him a cup of coffee.  He sits and just stares me down.  After a while, his face begins to soften and I can see that he starting to cry.  But instead he gets angry and clumsily pulls out a pocket knife.  "Why do you care about us?" he asked accusingly.  I told him that it was because someone had to and it might as well be me.  As he began to cry, I moved to his side of the booth and held him as he wept.  His name is Pat Tuttle, and I hope that he is alive and well.

That is how I met Gordon Shaborne, a County Commissioner from Multnoma County, Oregon.  Portland is a stop on migration path for homeless youth.  He was in San Francisco, the next stop on the southern migration corridor, to see what was happening in San Francisco to support homeless youth.  That's how he found out about me.  He was in town for a few days, and we met several times.  The Multnomah County Commissioners were undertaking an initiative called Project LUCK: Link Up the Community for Kids.  He asked me if I would be willing to go to Portland for a while and help them.  Their goal was to improve coordination among youth-serving agencies to the benefit of homeless youth.  The main focus was to relocate a host of services to The Camp, a popular area where these youth congregated. If I came, he said, he would find me a place to stay with some gay Christians.  So Pat Tuttle and I went off to Portland.  In addition to helping establish the initiative, I became its spokesperson.  As this was an volunteer gig, I got a job selling cars at Wentworth Chevy Town.  I stayed in Portland for about a year.  Gordon had come out of the closet and he and I were rumored to be having a fling.  One day, on a test drive, my customer tells me that he is a newspaper reporter and that he is investigating Gordon's secret wild gay sex life.  I quit my job and moved back to California a few days later.  Thats how I ended up at Simpson College.

It occurs to me that I closed this chapter of my life and never looked back.  When I talk about San Francisco, I talk about it from the perspective of being an 18 year old gay boy at the beginning of the AIDS epidemic.  When I talk about how and why I love gay men, I talk about my friend Glenn LaValley, whose death led me to be in action, resulting in my first AIDS-related position at the Inland AIDS Project.   When I look back before that, I call my married year the lost year.  But I've not looked back beyond that.   This fixed way of being is the result of a calling to be of service to my gay brothers. I even pastored a gay church in San Bernardino for about a year.  Our Father's House was an offshoot of the local MCC which had just closed its doors.

Having closed the door to this and other chapters of my life has resulted in an inauthentic way of being.  Having survived a near-death experience, having had gay men show up as angels at pivotal moments, and caring so deeply for an ever growing group of homeless gay boys has etched in my psyche a fixed way of being.  These factors, at that point in my life, gave me a sense of purpose.  Those boys on Polk Street who ate because I fed them or who didn't have to turn a trick because they had a safe place to stay, their faces was over me like a flood as I write this.  Many of them died; drug overdoses.  I have no idea how these men fared during the early epidemic.  My friend Doug, we met at Simpson, was homeless, living with AIDS, mired in addiction, and facing significant mental health challenges the last time I saw him.  It was about ten years ago.  He easy beauty was only somewhat recognizable all those years later and probably only to an old friend.

Just now I am reminded of the scripture that came to me yesterday and it makes perfect sense.  For the gifts and calling of God are without repentance.  Yesterday, I was focused on the gifts of God.  But what I know today is that its the calling is also without repentance.  It is the calling that never goes away. And many are called, and many ignore that which quietly pulls on their heart.  Back in that V.A. hospital, through the sweetness and love of Richard, a gay man who was just doing his job and living his life, I heard God's voice and accepted a call.  I spent the next five or so years trying to live out this call through traditional Christian service.  Hell, I even got married because that's what young preachers do.  But I left that, because it didn't fit.

This morning I am transformed by my own past.  I see my own truth.  I've been seeing my own life through a glass, darkly.  I've known myself only partly.  But now I am face to face with my truth, and I know even as I am known.  And now remains faith, hope and love.  But the greatest of these is love.  For the past 20 years, I've been living out a calling without consciousness.  I've connected this call to love gay men as something that comes from me; but its not.  It comes from something deep within me that is divinely inspired.

So I've got a new gospel now.  Its the gospel of gay and it good and  very good.

The doors of the church are now open...  That's my honest truth.

I Will Lift Up Mine Eyes to the Hills

Sometimes it seems as though down is up and up is down.  That has been kinda what's going on for me for the past couple of days.  I have begun to settle with some news that I didn't want to hear.  The harsh realities of unemployment are beginning to set in.  Getting up and at 'em in the morning is coming a bit easier.   But the sadness lingers, then turns to anger, then calls for forgiveness, and then becomes sadness again.  It is quite an interesting journey.  My mind begs for closure and my heart rebels.  The question of fairness has long since been erased from my mind.  It's like being on an emotional and psychic roller coaster that won't stop.  Down is still up.  Up is still down.  Or so it seems.

For the past few days, I have been experimenting with my own faith.  Sure, faith is easy to profess when times are easy and everything is going my way.  But in the midst of darkness, when hope is lost and the way is unclear, can I still summon my faith?  That has been the meditation on my heart for the past few days.  The truth of the matter is a bit of yes and a bit of no.  But on balance, I'd say my faith is intact.

Yesterday, I was called into remembrance of Sister Terry's words.  Now I've been having a time in the morning, getting into a place of praise and then being in the silence to hear what there is for me to hear at this time in my life.  I mean, how do I sit with all that's going on right now?  Where does forgiveness come from?  Why am I the one who has to forgive?  What's next?  These questions race through my head a million miles a minute.  Standing in a place of worship quiets these questions that plague my heart and my head.  I remember that deliverance comes with praise.

At some point yesterday afternoon, I swear that I'd sang every song that came through my head.  But I wasn't done yet.  I was brought to the remembrance of my old tattered praise and worship song book.  I grabbed it from its resting place and began to turn through it and, when a particular song hit me, began singing.

You are my hiding place, you always fill my heart with songs of deliverance.  I will trust in you.

And as the melodies coursed through me, these simple lyrics inspired by the Psalms were like a comforting balm for my soul.


He is our peace, who has broken down every wall.  He is our peace.  He is our peace.  

And I began to find peace.  I began to let go.  I released expectation and put it all in God's hands.


Cause me to come to thy river, o God.  Cause me to come.  Cause me to drink.  Cause me to live.


I understood that, despite what I might think or feel, recent events have brought me to my knees and have restored my faith.


Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.  

I put my trust in God.


Thou, O Lord, art a shield about me.  You're my Glory.  You're the Lifter of My Head.

Perhaps this is just what I needed.  Maybe I just needed a kick in the ass to get clear about what's important to me.   So I'm releasing any expectation of how things should be and I stand in the here and now trusting that all things will be just as they are meant to be.   I am not concerned about making something happen.  I step out in faith everyday knowing that the good I seek is seeking me.  At the edge of the abyss, I found the voice of God entreating me to jump.  This thing I'd thought to be for my destruction has actually brought me new life.  So I jump and allow it to be.

This afternoon, as I write this, my eyes fall to my open bible and rest on this promise... the gifts and calling of God are without repentance.

So I will lift up mine eyes to the hills, from whence cometh my help (Psalm 121).  I lift my up my hands in total praise.  Amen.

Communities of Choice

Over the past few weeks, I've learned many interesting lessons about community and belonging.  For at least the past two years, I have structured my thoughts about community along with the book that has, in my circles, come to be known simply as The Block Book.  As I find that I have a lot of time for reading lately, I decided to get back into it and see what new thoughts and ideas I could get from a fresh reading.

Oddly, even though I've picked my this book and read from it literally hundreds of times, I didn't make it past the second page of the introduction.  Often, when we talk about community, we talk as if there is some monolithic group of people who make up the particular community that we're talking about.  Even among sociologists, it is difficult to nail down a particular definition of community.  But here, not two pages into it, Block makes an important distinction that may throw traditional definitions on their head.  Block distinguishes community as the experience of belonging.  Each time we find a place of belonging, we are having the experience of community.  To belong, he asserts, is to be related to and a part of something.  This belonging is membership, which he distinguishes as being at home in the broadest sense of the phrase.  Having recently come to know the feeling of exile and exclusion, I have learned that when push comes to shove, the math of community changes drastically.

I hold myself as a community activist.  I certainly understand the importance of belonging and creating spaces that contribute to a sense of belonging.  For my whole life, I've been blessed with wonderfully diverse grouping of friends.  I've known men and women who, for whatever reason, have felt displaced and without community.  I've heard stories from many of my friends here in Denver about how they just don't feel connected to our local gay men's community.  It really doesn't take much to excite me about the notion of community or for me to be passionate about our community.  In my own life, in my partner's life, and in the lives of so many gay men with whom I interact, I see the difference that community makes.  A bit cautious, I still believe in community, but I've gained a new understanding and respect for what takes to be authentic in community.

Most often, when I think about it, I have experienced the most enduring sense of community among strangers.  This week, again, I had the occasion to be in community with a relative stranger.  I had a meeting with a young man who was visiting Denver.  He had I met for breakfast simply because a mutual friend, Scott, suggested that we know one another.  The only things that I knew about him was that he was flying home to Seattle later in the day, he had just recently attended the Gay Men's Health Leadership Academy, and that we shared a mutual friend.  As I walked into Racine's, he saw me enter and waved to me so that I knew where to find him.  When I approached him, we greeted one another with a robust hug as if we'd known each other for years.  I was surprised to learn that he had only met Scott the evening before, at the suggestion of yet another friend.  For the next two hours, we had the type of fellowship that only folk who are willing to be known can have.  My new friend, Paris, and I were experiencing community as a choice, just because people in each of our lives were in community with one another.  Community isn't a mystery; it's a conscious choice.

As I look at my own blind spot and inauthenticity about community, I have seen how community can be such an empty word.  Its like my Facebook friends, many of whom I do not know and don't rise to the level of friend.  Or in other areas where those whom I'd thought to be my friends demonstrated that they are not.  No harm, no foul; it's just nice to know what's what.  I was having lunch with one of my young friends yesterday.  We talked about the notion of friendship and how the word is used to connote things other than markers of friendship or mutual commitments.  Really, when used without intention, these words are empty and meaningless.  My own authenticity was not because I didn't have intention, but because I left no room for choice.  But here is another place I can take responsibility, be authentic about where I've been inauthentic, and create a new possibility.  So I'm taking on authentic communities of choice and a new possibility for gay men in Denver and the surrounding areas.

Right now, my community is small.  And I think that its a good thing.  But what I know is that the wonderfully diverse people who come into my world will find a sense of belonging and membership.  Even before I see their face or know their name, I set my intention to being a welcoming and loving space.  The choice to be in community will always be present in my actions and in my speaking.   I will actively reach out to those who are seeking community invite them to join.  I will resist easy labels of friendship or community for their own sake, but will hold open my heart as if it has never been hurt and continuously extend the invitation to community.  And I am okay knowing that not everyone will choose to be in community with me.  After all, its the choosing that makes it so special.

The doors of my heart are open..... and you are welcome here.

Have Faith in Your Dreams

This morning, as I was in my Spirit mind, I was startled by the still soft voice asking me to listen.  I took notice of the voice and was open to what needed to be heard.  As I opened myself to listen, I was still in worship, singing along to a Ricki Byars Beckwith tune.  A bit more insistent, I was entreated to listen.  In that moment, I realized that my listening to God wasn't much listening at all.  Hearing and acknowledging the urging to listen, I continued as I had been and still expected to hear something.  So I went into the silence so that I might hear.  "When did you stop believing in your dreams?"  My first thought was to deny that I'd stopped believing in dreams.  But, when I looked to see what was true in the question, I began to remember how I used to believe in dreams.


At some point along the way, I got it mixed up a bit.  Back in the day, I knew that my dreams had power and I acted like I knew it.  But as I look back, I can see the slow erosion of that faith.  I'm not sure when I began to have more faith in my ideas than I did in my dreams.  I think it may be cumulative affect of having to articulate cogent ideas in grant applications.  It may be the result of participating in so many planning groups and community meetings.  Or maybe I just got my priorities mixed up somewhere along the way.  Even over the past few weeks, I can see how visioning for Manifesto (that's what's next) has been influenced more by ideas than by dreams.  In some ways it made me sad to sit with the truth that I'd stopped believing in dreams; I mean really believing in them.  


I used to have an old Peugeot 505.  I bought the car with a salvaged title and I liked that it was a bit quirky and different, like me.  It was a great car, until one day it just stopped running.  Having spent what should have been my senior year in high school in servitude to my father's high school auto shop classroom, I had a basic understanding of how the mechanics of cars worked.  I could tell that the car wasn't getting any fuel to the fuel pump.  But I couldn't figure out why.  Peugeot had long stopped selling cars in the U.S. and it was hard to find a mechanic who specialized in Peugeots and didn't charge an arm and a leg.  I kept reading the service manuals, trying to find the answer myself.  After a few weeks, I had a dream that I'd taken my car to a mechanic.  In the dream, he looked under the hood, fiddled with this and that, and kept eliminating possible causes.  After a while he told me that I needed a fuel pump tachometric relay.  He showed me where to find it under the dashboard.  In the dream, he pulled it from under the dash and unplugged the old one and showed me what and easy fix it was.  In the morning, I was so excited that I jumped from the bed and ran to my Peugeot Service Manual, and sure enough, there was a part called a fuel pump tachometric relay.  I grabbed the phone book and turned to the Yellow Pages and found a dealership that had sold Peugeots and still had parts in stock.  The part cost about $160, and it was an hour drive to the dealership.  Long story short, I bought the part and plugged it in as I was shown.  The car started right up and never gave me another problem for as long as I owned it.  My father, a highly skilled mechanic, never believed that I fixed the car myself.  He said there is no way that I could have had a dream and then fixed the car.    But that's the gospel truth.


Another example comes from when I worked for the American Red Cross.  As we were launching our first major donor campaigns, I was tasked with researching donor recognition systems, including a donor acknowledgement wall for the lobby. The challenge that we'd identified was installing something that was a reflection of the esteem in which we held our donors while not being so nice that it looked like we were squandering donor dollars.  Some of these systems were so elaborate that they cost $50,000 or more.  At this time, it was not uncommon for me to have a dream and come to work the next day and tell my assistant, Cindy, about them.  Often, we followed my dreams.  I remember the mornings when coming to work, as she entered her office directly across from mine, I'd call to her with fierce urgency.  She would ask "what, did you have another dream?"  Anyway, I had a dream that we were having the major donor function where we were to unveil the new donor wall.  And there it was and it was beautiful.  The next morning I met with my executive director and drew it for him.  He liked it enough that we had a nicer rendering made.  This system was simple yet elegant.  And best of all, we found that we could have it custom fabricated for less than five grand.  I left the American Red Cross a few months later to work for AIDS Foundation San Diego.  A few years later, I randomly stopped by the Red Cross because I heard that Bob Wussler, the executive director for more than 20 years was retiring.  As I walked into the lobby, my breath was taken and my heart skipped a beat.  There, on the wall, was the donor recognition system that had come to me by a dream.  Even the small details like the lighting was as I remembered it.


Back in those days, I had faith in my dreams.  I'm not sure exactly what happened, but I know that I have to get back to that place.  As I move forward in developing a new nonprofit and a consulting practice, I know that there is something instructive in my dreams.  In my dreams is where the fertile soil of possibility and divine inspiration meet.  


I know now to trust and rely on my thoughts; but I must have  faith in my dreams believing that they are divinely inspired.  I tap into that which is greater than me and place my trust in its keeping, knowing that what has been promised will be fulfilled.  And that is the nature of God; the nature that I choose to plug into and hold in my awareness.  And so it is.

Don't Wait Until the Battle is Over, Shout Now!

Over the past few weeks, I've been praying to be the person who I say I am, even in times of trouble.  From somewhere in my childhood I remember being instructed to pull myself together before I went out in public.  Its not that my problems completely disappeared, but it was a way of having me be present to choice.  In that moment, I could either stay in my own mess or I could make another choice.  I could choose another way of being.  This, of course, it the metaphysical approach to my own childhood and in no way represents what I actually felt and thought in those moments.  The point remains, that I have an obligation to 'remember myself' and act like I was raised.  Fortunately I have a ton of people in my life who know me and remind me everyday of who I am and what I have chosen my life to stand for.  I value consistency.

Last night, I was bored with the TV and listless in general.  For some reason unknown to me, I was led to grab a bible and sit for a while with Jesus.  So I grabbed my old bible; the red one with my name inscribed that was a gift from someone long since forgotten.  Even though I consider myself to be Spiritual, my roots are definitely Christian.  Sitting for a while with Jesus seemed to be a perfect prescription for what was on my heart.  I needed and ol' fashioned Word from God.  So I open the Word and began to read whatever was there.  I was home alone so I read aloud, as if standing in a pulpit.  I could've preached, to be honest.

Now, back in 1984 when I first entered Simpson College in San Francisco, a Christian college run by the Christian Missionary Alliance, the very first class I completed was The Parables of Christ.  I can break down most parables forwards and backwards.  I can talk intelligibly about why a particular parable suited the times or what cultural context was being used so that listeners understood the message in the parable.  My favorite parables are the tripartite parables. In these parables, its as though the Christ is saying, "here, let me put this another way as to deepen your understanding. I digress...

I when I got to the parable of the talents (Matthew 25: 14-30), I was reminded of the value of service and contribution.  I got clear that our gifts and talents are to be used for the greatest good, not just for empty service or to maintain status quo.   God expects an increase!  Ah ha!  I knew it.  God, as I was raised and taught, expects us to take what we are given, and do something with it.  My mother would call this being productive members of society.  In the mystic world, its creating in every moment a new possibility.  I got clear once again about my own purpose, and that which I believe that I was called to do.  I also spent some time with the Lord's Prayer, but that's another sermon all together.  But I’m gonna take on forgiveness like nobody’s business.

This morning, in my inbox, I found an email from a friend and mentor on whom I've come to rely greatly for a Word to remind me of who I am.  He sent me the transcript from a message that Dr. King once preached.  When I began reading it aloud to Damon, I didn't know the source of this text and only as I read was I present to the moment in time, the context, in which these words were first spoken.  In this text, he tells a story that I had heard many times before; the story of Sister Pollard.  

Sister Pollard, at seventy-two, was still working.  During the bus boycott Sister Pollard would walk every day to and from work.  One day, a woman stopped and offered her a ride.  She politely declined.  The driver moved on, but then thought about it and backed up.  She asked Sister Pollard, "Well, aren't you tired?"  Sister Pollard said, "Yes, my feets is tired, but my soul is rested."

He (Dr. King) spoke of a particular time when he was beginning to falter and to get weak and to lose his courage.  He went to his meeting a little discouraged and a little afraid. When it was time he got up to speak, all the while wondering if they were going to win their struggle.  Sister Pollard came up to Dr. King after and said, "Son, what's wrong with you?"  She said, "You didn't talk strong enough tonight."

Dr. King said, "Nothing is wrong, Sister Pollard, I'm all right."

She said to Dr. King, "you can't fool me."  Said, "Something wrong with you."  And she went on to ask, "is the white folks doing something to you that you don't like?"

Dr. King responded, "Everything is going to be all right, Sister Pollard."

Sister Pollard finally said, "Now you come close to me and let me tell you something one more time, and  I want you to hear it this time."  She said, "Now I done told you we is with you." She said, "Now, even if we ain't with you, the Lord is with you."  She concluded by saying "The Lord's going to take care of you."  

In the oral traditions of my family, these words still have power, reminding us to continue to trust in God even when the road gets long and the way gets weary.  When the load is heavy, I know that I am held lovingly and that no harm can come to me.  Just as Sister Pollard said, even if no one is with me, I can take rest knowing that God is always with me.  Even in times of confusion, when all the voices and opinions become a bit much to bear, I know that God is with me.  When I'm feeling inspired and when I'm feeling upset, God is with me.  Moreover, I know that God is for me (not the to exclusion of anyone else) and if God be for me, who can be against me?  Now, I mean really.  I know that God will never leave nor forsake me.  I feel God all around me.  Even in those who would do me harm (stay tuned for more on forgiveness, y'all).  Yes, my feets is tired, but my soul is rested.

And then, I had a breakfast meeting with my new friend Paris....  Sometimes we entertain angels unaware.  But sometimes we see them.....

So, as the old battle hymn encourages, I ain’t gonna wait until the battle is over.  No, I'm gonna shout now, thank you.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes (turn and face the strain)

Change is inevitable, growth is optional the old saying goes.  I think that I'm finding this truth for myself.  As I've been sitting in my practice, I keep coming back to the themes of authenticity and choice.  One of the things that I know is that possibility is birthed simply by being authentic about where I've been inauthentic.

As I sat with my own fear the other day, I realized that I had created an inauthentic relationship with fear, for example.  I loved to say that I am fearless.  This is not quite correct, I've discovered.  Fear is very real in my life.  The truth is that fear finds no resting place within me.  It has no hook that keeps me powerless when it does show up.  It's not that it's not there, it just doesn't get to call the shots.  As I've said, fear acknowledged can provide access to personal power.  This is a more correct description of my relationship to fear.

But I've struggled with the notion of authenticity as a whole.  So much of this, I am aware, is because its a buzz-phrase that is sometimes used without intention.  But that is because I've allowed my focus to turn outward.  As I read from The Sacred Yes this morning, I came across a letter about trusting my authentic self.  Too many of us, the letter asserts, have been taught not to trust our authentic selves.  Authenticity is often found in moments of pain, "when you could no longer go along with the program, as it were, when you were suffocating, strangling, caving in under the weight of other people's ideas, behaviors or expectations for your life."  Wow, what a profound understanding of how inauthenticity separates us from possibility from within when our search for authenticity turns outward.  I am encouraged to choose authenticity as a lifestyle, rather than a truth that I step into and away from as it serves.  I choose authenticity.

In this space, turning within, I read these words:

Find yourself.  You are not stuck or trapped in a particular outer form.  If you sense that a change is in order in some area of your life, know that it is merely to make room for a better fit.  Would you rather keep clunking around in shoes that are too big or tiptoeing around in shoes that are too small?  You cannot swim in a football uniform, and you wouldn't want to golf in bowling shoes.  You would be hard-pressed to do ballet in hiking boots, and soccer shoes won't improve your jump shot.  (from The Sacred Yes)

So what's true today is that my authenticity is not an outer expression, but rather an inner truth.  There are many things that may provoke fear responses, but the truth of my heart calms fears and claims possibility in every moment.  And I am honored by change as it recognizes untapped potential and creates new openings to be in action as the creator of my own destiny.

From my reading this morning, I am left with three distinct promises:

1. God knows exactly the game that I was sent here to play.  Everything that I need to be successful will be provided.

2. I dwell in the Inexhaustible Supply that meets my every need.  I stand in abundance as it is my very nature.

3. I'm not so worried about what others think; I strive to love and be at peace within myself as this is my most authentic expression in the world.

At this moment, I am present to choice.  And I still choose love.  Happy Thursday.

Turning Fear into Power

Yesterday afternoon, I allowed myself to sit in an interesting place.  As I was thinking about all the moving parts of my life, I noticed that fear kept coming up.  Now, I am not a fearful person and don't often allow myself to sit with fear.  After all, I was raised with the understanding that God has not given us a spirit of fear.  This is not to suggest that I'm fearless, because I'm not.  I just don't like to give fear rent-free passage in my head.  During the Landmark Forum, there is an exercise when you get present to fear.  I struggled to find a memory where fear was so present that I could recall it all these years later.  But what I got present to yesterday is that fear is very real in my world.  But what the heck am I fearful of?  It was an interesting place of inquiry to simply be with.

As I sat in my practice this morning, I was led to read from The Sacred Yes.  I opened the book to a letter related to authenticity.  "You must be naked to find yourself, to see yourself in me," the letter read.  Being naked?  Finding myself in God rather than finding God in me?  Hmmm.  As I read, I was present to the many struggles I've had in life.  Not judging them as good or bad, I am clear that these struggles had little to  do with what I perceived to be going on in the moment.  These struggles, almost without exception, provided new openings for authenticity to be present.  In some cases, these experiences have called forth authenticity.  These are the highlights.  But, if I'm truly honest, mostly what has emerged has been compliance and conformity.  But as Reverend Deborah would remind me, we all express at the level of our own consciousness.

Growing up as a young Black child, it was not uncommon for me to accept the verdicts of others in my own life.  It was my mother who encouraged us to have our own thoughts.  I remember once when she told me that I need to know what I know for myself.  If I didn't, she told me, others would be happy to tell me what I think or what I know.  By thinking for myself, I would always be my own man.  At the same time, it was not uncommon to be derided by others for holding onto my own perspectives.  Even now, I can hear the taunting voices in my head that ask "who do you think you are to start something new?" "Oh, you just need to get over it and move on."  "Yeah, right.  That was just a fluke. You'll never get people to support a new non-profit."  These voices live in my head and echo from my childhood.  But they are nowhere close to what the gentle voice in my heart is telling me.

You play ignorant as if you do not know what to do.  Just because you have never experienced something before does not mean that you cannot imagine what it would be like.  The process of imagining is not about creating fantasies in your head; it is for the purpose of moving your attention to the possibility of it all.  It is about enabling you to see from another perspective.  If you are too afraid to imagine something other that what you have experienced as true in the past, then you have set your own upper limit for your future.      ( from The Sacred Yes)


I am happy that I've sat with my own fear.  I realize that I'm not afraid of trying to do something.  I've made a career of that.  I was afraid of what others would think.  I became afraid of the resulting narrative.  From the past, it is much safer to go along to get along.  Don't call unnecessary attention to yourself.  Nobody likes a show off.  Get over yourself.  I realize that I am free to listen to these voices.

I am creating my life as a life of my own choosing.  If I were playing rigorously, like I was really in it to win it, I would recognize these voices for what they are: limitations.  But I know that there is something larger, much more profound, that is waiting to be birthed.  I am willing to be used in accordance to a big vision.  In fact, it's exactly what I used to pray for as a young preacher.  Now that I've sat with my own fear, all that there is to say is 'thank you for sharing.'  I'm choosing something different.

This endeavor might just fail.  But that's okay.  At least I will have failed in pursuit of something rather than failing by giving in to the voice of fear.  Besides, it's in my heart to try.  And I've not been given a spirit of fear, but of power, peace and a sound mind.

And so it is, and so it shall be.  Amen.

Remembering Eric Rofes

Outside of my former office, I placed a framed picture of Eric Rofes.  Eric was a longtime educator and activist who worked for a range of progressive causes, including gay men's health.  I first met Eric at the second Gay Men's Health Summit in Boulder, Colorado.  I had read two of his books, Reviving the Tribe and Dry Bones Breathe.  Our friendship was more like conference mentorship.  When I first met him, I was struck by a few things.  First, he was nothing that I had expected.  He was a bit normal and I was struck by his thoughts and actions around gay men; it was a radical departure from the many trainings and conferences I had attended focusing on HIV prevention issues.  He was insightful and colorful.  On more than one occasion, he left me bewildered by his attitudes around gay men of color and how we fit into the larger movement.  Most important, I was impressed with his ability to own his own perspective while allowing room for dissent and disagreement.  I kept that picture visible so that I could check in from time to time and imagine what he might say about what we'd developed.

This morning, I picked up my copy of Thriving: Gay Men's Health in the 21st Century.  Again, I wanted to check in with Eric and hear what he might have to say.  First, I was reminded that Eric, while seeking consensus, held a point of view.  He had laid out a series of principles while acknowledging that these are not consensus principles, but rather his own set of guiding principles.  These principles created for him a foundation for his own work on gay men' health issues.  From reading his work, sharing moments of time during national conferences, and the ongoing legacy of his leadership, my own perspectives are informed.  And Eric certainly had his share of detractors.  Today, I am reminded of his leadership and inspired by his perspectives.

While my ongoing work with gay men will include health, it will not be organized around health issues.  I'll continue to talk with rank and file gay men in the community to learn more about what's important and what would make a difference for our community.  I'm not exactly sure today what that might look like.  But I can assure you that it will be principled.  Among these principles is the belief that many gay men are seeking to tap into sources of resilience, creativity, determination, humor and playfulness while celebrating the diversity of our communities.  The approach will be holistic, asset-driven, relational, informative, trusting and celebratory, multicultural and intergenerational, community-focused, and grassroots.  These values will be evident throughout our new organization.  I know that not every gay man in the Denver area will find relevance in these efforts.  But I know from experience that there is a market place for these particular ideas.  It is for these men that we will build newly.

Like Eric, I do not claim perfection nor do I set myself up as an expert in the area of gay men.  I'm just a guy with a point of view who's trying to work on behalf of my community.  More than anything, what I've learned from Eric is to trust in the work and to trust in my point of view.  So thank you, Eric, for your generosity and taking the time to share your humanity with me.  It has made a profound difference in my life.

Advancing a Specific Point of View

Yesterday, after church I spent a chunk of time in my prayer closet.  I had asked a for a bit of feedback from a respected friend.  And boy did I get it.  I think I was a bit surprised to hear his perspective on things and, as difficult as it was, I really wanted to just sit with it.  Certainly, there was something constructive in his thoughts.  But my heart was heavy when he expressed concerns about my character.  So I prayed on it.  I mean I really prayed on it, searching my own heart to find my own truth in his words.

The first thing that I got was that, in one particular way, he was right.  I didn't begin the blog to exercise my personal demons or to disparage others.  Rather, I began it to provide a space for my own thoughts.  I intended it to be a constructive outlet to channel all that was coursing through me.  In fact, it almost doesn't matter if people read this or not.  This is my process.  As I move forward, I will refrain from cheap shots or reference to others that are not positive and uplifting.  I have no desire to reinvent myself as a bitter person.  And those who know me, know that this is the furthest thing from the truth of me.  I am appreciative of this feedback and can be in action around that immediately.

But as I set with the assault against my character, I couldn't find agreement.  Trust me, I wanted to.  I have not been much concerned about how people perceive me.  Honestly, it never occurred to me worry about the perceptions of others.  No, really.  I'm a pain in the ass.  I know this about me.  My friend Bill used to call  me a boy scout.  He would chide me for being too idealistic.  He said that I fixated on the details.  He was right.  But I don't think this to be a bad thing.  Back in the day when I was learning program development, we referred to this as maintaining fidelity to the model.  As I read the words about my lack of collaboration or failure to appreciate group consensus, I found a bit of understanding in his perspective.  I don't agree with it, but I understand it and respect it as his experience.  First and foremost, my allegiance has been to a very particular point of view.

Over the past three years, I have engaged in hundreds of one-on-one conversations with gay men in Denver.  This was a result of my first contract to continue the community dialogue about re-engaging gay men in HIV prevention.  These conversations were informed by surveys submitted at the Out for Denver event in 2007, the 2004 and 2006 HIV Prevention Needs Assessments, an exhaustive literature review, and CDC promulgated approaches.  At every step along the way, I communicated these findings to the state health department and recommended a series of approaches to address the findings.  This is what informed program design and the implementation strategy.

I guess it is fair to say that what we constructed was a specific point of view.  Also, the program, while possessing a very 'wide net' approach, was actually tailored to reach a very specific type of participant.  While most programs focus on segmentation by race, risk behavior, etc., that was not what we were up to.  (This is not the fault of any program, it's just the way the system is designed)  Intergenerational and multiethnic, we were stoking the fires of possibility for men who have not found resonance in other parts of our community.  I understand how some men think that what we were doing didn't resonate with them.  But these same men can walk into dozens of existing spaces and find a sense of belonging.  For the men that we served, this was not the case.  For these guys, we were a breath of fresh air and created a space where they belonged.  "You are welcome here" was not a slogan.  It was a promise.  And agree with the point of view or not, for these guys we achieved our purpose.  We did exactly what we said we'd do.  I'm rightfully proud of that.

I think it is an error to simply encapsulate this as my point of view or to make it too much about me.  As much as possible, I stayed in the background and worked to create conditions for the program to thrive.  I trusted others to be in the foreground.  And for the most part, this was a successful approach.  But the guts of the program, that which was non-negotiable, didn't come from me.  It came from the community...it was what men told me directly. That is why the program was successful; because it addressed the areas that men, time and time again, have said were important to them.  And it worked!

How to Make Lemonade.

Last night Damon and I hosted a small group of friends at our place.  This is the first time that we've ventured out into social life since the coup at ELEMENT.  One of our friends brought me a basket filled with lemons.  Also in the basket was a nice, sunny yellow pitcher, a citrus reamer and a 5 lb. bag of sugar.  It was a wonderfully appropriate gift that spoke to both folly of the past few weeks and the lightness that comes from being able to move on powerfully.  When life serves you lemons.....

But I'm not too sure about these lemons.  I think they may be special.  Evidence over the past few days make me nearly certain that everything is happening exactly as it should.  For a few years now, I've been aware that the power struggle over ELEMENT would erupt one day.  I just didn't expect it so suddenly.  I had long ago abandoned the idealistic thought that the director of our host organization would willingly release the program to its own destiny as long as there were grant dollars involved.  Nor could I have anticipated that a dear friend would trade friendship for the illusion of power and position.  I think that these lemons are being served up just in time.  And I think that having the opportunity to step back from the madness has provided great clarity about exactly what it is that we were creating.  And I am quite clear who we were creating it for.  I have not forgotten these guys and my commitment to them is stronger than ever.

For the past several days, I've been developing the next chapter of my life.  When I sit in inquire within myself, I remember one of my Landmark course leaders talking about the nature of commitment.  She was talking about those things that we are so committed to that we are willing to give ourselves over to them.  It was the second workday for the Introduction Leaders Program.  Sitting in that classroom, I was clear that I was willing to give myself over to developing a gay men's wellness initiative.  The next week, I withdrew from the ILP and began developing Men4Men4Life in earnest.  This was the first seed that was planted.  And from this seed, we developed a highly successful program.  Even as those who are orchestrating ELEMENT's downfall seek to discredit me through rumor and innuendo, the truth of ELEMENT is that it was created from nothing.  The creativity and imagination that created ELEMENT remains embedded within me.  What a wonderful opportunity I have been afforded to go all out in creating something new.  That's what's next.

So, I'm going to be making some lemonade; both figuratively and literally.  First, I'm going to recognize that I don't need all that the lemon has for me.  I just want the juice.  The peel is just the outer covering.  To focus on the peel undermines the value of the juice.  Then, I'm going to add just enough water to get the desired strength.  I tend to not like overly bitter things.  I'll add sugar and sweeten it to my own taste. The nice thing about having a lot of lemons is that you can make a lot of lemonade.  Have some.

I am intrigued by these particular lemons.  I know that they are a gift and I know that they are meant for my good.  Hey Life!  Thanks for the lemons.  But I also know that the river of life that runs through me will keep the bitter at bay.  And my friends, I love you.  Your kindness and generosity are sweet to me like honey on the tongue.  So I say Yes to all of it.   This is the perfect recipe for fresh lemonade.

Revolution. Revamped and Redesigned.

As I sit in my daily practice, I am clear that I have been pursing my work with gay men as a secular endeavor.  The truth is that this is quite a spiritual pursuit.  Loving gay men isn't simply skin deep.  Its a fire that is stoked by every interaction with gay men in my community.  To me this is a sacred trust; a commitment to do this work for as long as necessary. One of the best things that has come from the insane events of the past few weeks is that I've reclaimed this truth for myself.  It's amazing how alluring comprise can be.  Regretfully, I have come to learn that I've comprised with folk who only have their own interests at heart.  I have entered into false partnership with men who have no real passion for my community.  They say the right words, but their actions scream the truth of their commitments.  Now free from these constraints, I'm ready for the revolution.

When I speak of revolution, I have no militaristic intentions.  In fact, in the past few weeks, I've been asked a number of times why I've not fomented a communal outcry in response to having the intentions of ELEMENT be usurped by organizational greed and personal ambition.  Trust me, I've thought about it.  But the truth is that ELEMENT wasn't built that way.  It was built on the possibility of gay men being in community such that we are inspired to be cause in the matter of our own lives, rather than victims of circumstances and conditions.  This endeavor was asset-based and focused on what we saw as possible rather than a response to things that we saw as wrong with our community.   The mission spoke for itself: ELEMENT is the invitation to engage in a shared experience of being gay men celebrating limitless possibilities.  

Don't get me wrong, this is not to say that I haven't wanted to have a less gentle revolution.  The truth is that as I learned that the powers that be were cowardly having the locks to ELEMENT's studio changed under the cover of darkness, I had a moment of pure reaction.  I posted a call to action on the website and on our Facebook page.  ELEMENT UNDER FIRE! the startling announcement read.  Scott, who had been the convener of our steering committee, reminded me of why this was not the best way to respond.  As the architect of ELEMENT, I had created a standard of how we engage community.  In the studio, I had often reminded those on the crew of how important it was that we be consistent.  Inciting our participants to be angry would have undermined all that we created.  While there are those who have no problem undermining a successful program, I don't want my name on that list.

Yes, there will be a revolution.  But it will not be fueled by anger or fear. Our revolution will be revamped and redesigned.  And it'll be fun.

So, what's the revolution?  Our revolution will be to inspire gay men to stand in possibility for ourselves as individuals and for our community as a whole.  We will continue to claim possibility as our creed while creating spaces for gay men to come together to be in community.  Even now, new space is being created to welcome men who are out to make a difference.  And new futures are being created as perspectives are enlarged as we explore our shared experiences.  Just as we did last summer, we will launch something that will capture the imagination of our community.  Even more, it will be structured such that no organization can claim it or its resources.  I've received the memo on that one.

This is the new revolution.  I invite you to join us.

Ask for What You Need, Christopher

The good that I seek is seeking me, Reverend Deborah would say.  As I sat in my morning practice, I was clear that anything could be accomplished.  Every resource that I could imagine is available to me.  I'm equally clear that these resources do not all lie within me; they are simply around me and available to me.  Ask for what you need, is how I'm being led today.

So, I got on the phone and starting asking for what I need.  And guess what?!?!?  Everything that I need is coming forward in support of a new vision.  I stand empowered.

Watch my next trick!  I am committing myself to generating $50,000 by June 30 in support of what comes next.  Stay tuned Denver.  We're gonna knock your socks off!

Stay in Your Own Lane, Christopher

I know that people sometimes think me odd because I tend to entertain grand visions of what's possible.  It is a gift, I think, to be able to stand in a situation and see new possibilities as if in technicolor.  Sometimes this can be a doubled-edged sword.  The challenge of vision is that often only a few people get it.  If vision and idealism were too common, then there would be nothing special about it.  To hold a vision, one has to be willing to stand in the face of no agreement and trust the small voice within.  Today, I am being led to stay in my own lane and trust that which waits to be birthed is inspired and attainable.  What's that old saying?  If my mind can conceive it, then I can achieve it?  So I'm gonna stay in my own lane and work it out to the best of my ability.  And I know that the secret to leadership is simply leading.  My entire life has led to this moment.

My mother used to always accuse me of being a bit flighty.  I suppose from her perspective, this was true.  I was always running around trying to create something.  Whether it was taking things apart to see how they worked, or building things from scratch just to see if they would work.  As I grew, so did my desire to create.

Years ago, most of my work was with young people; as a youth minister, a staff person at St. Katherine Home for Boys, and later working my way up from a relief worker to a house manager for Olive Crest Treatment Center.  At Olive Crest, I created a house-wide point system, linking the achievement of all six young men.  Within in a matter of months, my house (Joyce Street) went from being number 24 of 24 to being number 1 of 24.

At the Inland AIDS Project, I was the first outreach worker and was tasked with developing the grant-driven work plan while creating a strategy to achieve the program's goals.  While at IAP, a friend from the local health department told me that he wanted to make an investment in me.  He was working on a grant application for the United States Conference of Mayors.  He suggested that I work with him on the application to learn program development and grant writing.  In many ways, Alex Taylor changed my life and provided me with early skills development that has resulted in programs being designed (and funded) in San Diego (Recreating Our Future), San Francisco (New Village), Los Angeles (AIDS Prevention Team), Tuscon (Tribal Revival and Eon), and Denver (ELEMENT).

I addition to program development, I was trained extensively in fund development and held membership in the National Society of Fund Raising Executives.  While I was working for the American Red Cross of the Inland Empire, I was invited to stretch myself and take on the creation of a new development apparatus.  At the time, I knew nothing of fund development.  For two years, I worked closely with a Senior Vice President from the National Chapter in D.C.  I was also provided with a consultant from the Russ Reid Company with whom I worked extensively as I learned the development craft.  Our development framework was called Emergency Response 2000.  The lead donor, who had given to the National Chapter but never to the local chapter, gave us our first $100,000 gift.  Years later, in her will, she would bequeath the local chapter several endowments worth millions of dollars.

The marriage of program development, grantsmanship and fund raising is in many ways the perfect nonprofit trifecta.  Conservatively speaking, I would estimate that I have raised over $25 million in the past twenty years.  I also have in my bag a tricks a successful record of advocacy.  While at the Santa Cruz AIDS Project, we (and most smaller counties in California) were at risk of loosing significant HIV prevention funding as the larger jurisdictions laid claims on the lion's share of state funding.  My friend Katherine, the executive director of our neighboring local AIDS project, and I agreed that if they were going to cut off our legs, then they would have to watch us bleed.  We started a statewide grassroots initiative that we called the NUDGE Coalition. NUDGE stood for 'Non-Urban Density Geographic Entities.'  Our goal was to nudge the process along to restore equitable funding to all California counties.  With the support of our local Assemblyman (who chaired the Assembly Budget Committee and had also served as executive director of the Santa Cruz AIDS Project), we were able to secure a $6.5 million appropriation that effectively restored funding levels to the smaller counties statewide.  The funding remained until California's severe budget crisis.  There is a record of accomplishment on which I stand with pride.

Years ago, I attended the 70th birthday party for Chip Murray, pastor of First A.M.E. in Los Angeles.  Now, if you don't know First A.M.E., if there is something happening in LA's black community, First A.M.E. can usually be found.  In fact, when President Clinton would come to LA, his trip always included a stop at First A.M.E.   I had never met Pastor Murray, but I'd seen him preach several times because my boyfriend at the time, Eric, sang in the First A.M.E. Choir.  I reluctantly attended the party because it was important to Eric.   I was a bit self conscious to meet Pastor Murray as both Eric and I were openly and obviously gay.  As I approached Pastor Murray, he beamed regally.  He embrace was engulfing.  Intimidated by his embrace, I was shocked when I held me tenderly and then moved me back and looked directly into my eyes.  His gaze was piercing.  "You are born to create," he told me.  He then told me that I would never find happiness unless I was creating.  All these years later, I remember that as if it were yesterday.

I remain prepared to lead.  I am open to creation.  I celebrate and bless what comes next.  So I'm going to trust what I know and who I am.  I'm staying in my own lane, knowing that it is inspired and that every tool that will be called for resides somewhere within my reach.  I'm excited to see what unfolds.  I hope you are too!

Stand in What's Possible, Christopher

The other day my best friend Greg sent me a link for a personality assessment.  I wish I could say that I'm one of those folks who think that these assessments are useless, I'm not.  The first time I took the Briggs Myers assessment, I was absolutely floored by how accurate the results seemed.  Back then I was an INFJ.  Now I'm an ENFP.  Anyway, this particular assessment (keirsey.com) says that I'm an idealist.  That was almost like taking an assessment to learn that I'm Black.  Those who know me well know that I nearly always have a grand scheme in my head.  If truth is told, my success has much less to do with talent than it does with inspiration and imagination.  Not to say that I don't have some kills!  In everything, my goal is to have it be for the best and the highest purpose.  Who I am is the very possibility of possibility itself.

From this place of possibility I know that a vision will come.  And I know that even now, before it is fully realized in my mind, I must be in action.  You see, standing in possibility is no passive proposition.  Standing, in the spiritual sense, isn't just to stand somewhere; it's to take claim to that ground.  It's holding an intention with great fidelity of purpose.  So I stand in the knowing that there is nothing that can be created without first being created in mind.  The place of possibility is the pregnant womb from where vision is birthed.  In scripture, God has promised that he would pour out his spirit and young men will see visions and that old men would dream dreams.  Whether this is a vision or a dream, I know that there is something beyond my wildest imagination that it wanting to come forth that will make a difference for gay men here in Denver.  I would love it if you could stand in that place of expectancy with me.

More to be revealed......