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Wednesday, March 21, 2012

The Trial 

I was going to tell you the story without this part, but, I lost that argument. Writing about this isn't going to be easy.

Jon has been a dear friend since we were in high school together. As well as being bright, perceptive and creative, he is a spiritual yet grounded person with a talent for love and wisdom. He wanted to become a Roman Catholic priest, but I helped talk him out of it. Although I didn't know as much about the Roman Catholic Church as I know today, I knew enough to be certain that I was helping to save my friend from spiritual captivity. Now I understand that he was in love with me and wanted to follow me. But I didn't know where I was going or how to get there, and I had monstrous personal issues to overcome. After a few years, I proved myself as unworthy a leader as the Roman Catholic Church.

One night in July of 1985, Jon agreed to take LSD with me, as he had done several times before. Even though I had just returned from a rewarding semester in London and an eventful tour of Europe, I felt dead, emotionally, and lost, spiritually. Our previous session, a year earlier, had been a Biblical experience as though imagined by Caravaggio. During that session, seemingly played out for my benefit, Jon found his strength, and our friend, Noj, lost his. Under my moderation, they wrestled soul to soul. It was no contest. I felt sympathy for Noj, and I tried to help him, but his soul was sealed shut. Jon manipulated him like a puppet; it was extraordinary and shocking. I found out years later that Noj developed serious psychological problems after that night.

Now it was my turn to face Jon's light. I asked for his help, and he did it with love, but my beastly ego made it one of the most unpleasant experiences I have ever had. While he held my hand in between his, he showed me the emotional connections that were missing in my life. He felt the pain of the women whose feelings I took advantage of; I felt nothing. He wept for my 3 aborted offspring; I couldn't manage a single tear, although, pathetically, I tried. When he told me that I love men, the shock of that realization caused me to pull my hand away. When he described sex between men and told me that he loved me, I panicked and went home. His energy buzzed in my hand for hours.

I was devastated and thoroughly humbled. God had given Jon the authority to judge and sentence me, and I was appalled at what I had become. It felt like I was fundamentally tainted. After that night, I decided to stay away from women, but I couldn't accept that I love men. That is where I was for most of my senior year of college, and what precipitated my "fear of life" experience.

In addition to conquering my fear of life, I found the way to love men, and keep a woman in my life. And yes, I wept for my aborted offspring, among other things.

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