Dissent

I’m not sure how to handle disagreements. The thing about social media is that you are being social. The group that you are being social with is usually diverse, with different opinions. So, what happens when you post something that might go against another’s opinions or life experiences? If we post, are we open to disagreement? If not, then why are we being social?

I had an acquaintance that posted something I felt was insulting to someone that I know and love, and I called him on it. It happened to be a religious opinion. I was quickly unfriended. Are religious opinions somehow untouchable? I realize they are beliefs, some profoundly personal, but if your opinion and experience somehow defames another, should we just remain silent? What if it is a close friend that is defamed?

What if the beliefs aren’t religious? What if homeopathy, bigfoot sightings or chemtrails are put forward? Can I disagree? What if it is a known hoax? What if it is just a simple disagreement? Would the mere posting in a social medium invite discussion?

I don’t know what the answer is. If I just want to post to an echo chamber, then what is the point? I get that FB is great for pictures and getting all proud about your kids. It would be kind of silly to disagree with that. But the merits or failings of President Reagan? President Obama? Aren’t those something that can be discussed, even disagreeing with, without fear of mocking or end of friendships?

I’m not sure. It is a question that I ask myself whenever I post.

Anger

As a warning, this post is about my relationship with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. If you do not want to hear possibly negative information to your worldview in regards to that institution, I suggest you exit the essay right now. If you transfer that negativity to me, that is your choice. I am trying to be more honest in what I write and face down emotions and issues that I have in my life in hopes of understanding myself a bit better.

Anger

Today I packed away my white shirts. I never really liked white shirts but for church, it was the standard and requested uniform. I’m not that particularly interested in conforming, but it was just easier for me to handle my wardrobe. When I was a temple worker, I had to wear white and I didn’t see a need to diversify my church clothing. I had in the past worn blue shirts, my preferred color, to church to make sure I wasn’t asked to do certain things within the service. It isn’t that I was afraid of doing it, I just didn’t want to be bothered. You know how it is. At church, I wanted to keep a low profile. With my leaving church, I don’t really have a reason to have these shirts in my closet. I’m not sure what I’ll do with them, but I don’t need the clutter.

Which brings me to the topic at hand, anger. The last 5 years have been transformational in my views of the world. It started one way, and ended another. Perhaps your last 5 years have been more routine. I kind of wish mine was. You see, I’m not an angry person. I rather pride myself in being of even temper. I do get rattled at times but not often. I do have one caveat. I was a big talk-radio fan. I listened to it habitually. At times, that made me angry. I no longer listen as I don't need that in my life anymore.

Now, before I go into details here, I want to let you know that this isn’t completely about my exit from the church. I do have a blog about that but it is written under a pseudonym that I used when I was hitting the religious boards. If you want to read that, you can ask me for the address.

About 15 years ago I connected to the internet and I started reading a few religious boards. I remember downloading “The Nauvoo Expositor” from some site to see what it was exactly that got Joseph Smith killed. After reading it, I thought, “Well, there isn’t anything false in this.” But I didn’t take it any further. Fast forward a few years and after reading extensively about the Atonement, I was facing a dilemma on what I really believed. My world started crashing in, albeit slowly, around me. In one of my readings, I was challenged about why we prejudice our view of history. So, I began to look at the history of my church, initially with historians that were also members. There were some disturbing things that started to come out of this investigation. The sources were credible. They were corroborated with other sources. My faith was being destroyed by the actions of the men and women that gave it foundation.

Now, you can go round and round with trusting the arm of flesh, but these were the people that started it. They weren’t being truthful or moral. When that happens, where then can your trust lie? Do you believe only certain things they say? Which ones do you trust? How do you navigate around the lies to find what you want truth to be? Most of the things that destroyed my faith and trust have been recently admitted by the church. http://www.mormonessays.com/, These essays are found on the church website. I know a lot more about the history behind these essays, and some of them are written with some obfuscation in them. If you want my opinion on them, I am open for questions.

The big things.

The First Vision. This actually wasn’t a thing until 1832 in Joseph Smith’s history. That was one version. The version taught in church wasn’t written down until 1838 and wasn’t published to the church until 1842 (Until then, the First Vision simply had never occurred). The 4 versions written during Joseph’s lifetime differed in detail and story. What we have written in other autobiographies about the event, like Lucy Mack Smith’s, was inserted later to comply with later church teachings.

The Book of Mormon was written not by using the plates, but by looking at a stone in a hat. This was the same method Joseph used to find buried treasure. Do I really believe in translating stones that have words appear on them. No. See, once you realize the absurdity of it, it falls apart. Also, Martin Harris stated in the Kirtland temple that none of the witnesses actually saw the plates uncovered or physically. About half the apostles left after this information was delivered to them.

The Book of Abraham was not translated from the papyrus in Joseph’s possession. It doesn’t say anything about Abraham. His translation of it is demonstrably false. The papyri is about Hor, an Egyptian priest, and his trip through the afterlife. Nothing at all to do with Abraham. The specific translations that Joseph provided in the figures are incorrect, completely incorrect.

Polygamy. Yes, I knew Joseph was polygamous. However, the details are so darn disturbing, and the culture that accepted it I determined was going to be harmful to my sons and daughters so I gave it extra attention. He married 2 fourteen year old girls. He was 37 at the time. Do you know how creepy that is? Did you know that other presidents of the church, in their 50s, married girls in their teens? Did you know that working in Joseph’s house as a teen girl or having your husband away on a mission (that Joseph sent them on) was a good precursor to having Joseph end up in your bed? He married other men’s wives. It caused no end of grief. He tried it with William Law’s wife and she said no. Then he proposed a wife swap with them and that was the end of the Laws’ membership in the church. William Law wanted others to know what was going on. This eventually led to Joseph’s imprisonment and death by mob. They don’t talk to you about the details, just that an anti-mormon publication was destroyed for the public good.

Priesthood. No indication prior to 1835 to any kind of ordination from Peter, James or John. It was proposed by Joseph after an authority crisis in Kirtland and Missouri. This is why David Whitmer left the church, as in all his time, Joseph never mentioned anything like that happening. He felt lied to and betrayed.

This is why I sometimes feel so angry. In a time where I needed acceptance, the church was there to provide it. Then, it filled me full of wrong information. The correct information was available, it just wasn’t useful to it. They could have told me that all that anti-mormon literature was actually the truth. That knowledge was available. It was available and they didn't tell me. They didn't tell us.

They could have told me that all those interviews I suffered as a teen were unnecessary, that there wasn’t any shame for being a passionate, loving, emotional, sexual person. No, instead they pumped shame and embarrassment into me that lasted until I was 46 years old! Only when this was going to really start in high gear with my children did I become verbal and try and prevent the same from happening to them.

I work upon gratitude. Because of the church, I was at a great school that I thoroughly enjoyed. I met friends that I love to this day, more than my own life. In order to show my gratitude, I decided to go on a mission. It was the hardest decision of my life. I would be leaving all that I was grateful for. What then began was a two year hell for me. I’m not a salesman. I couldn’t transition the love that I had for my family, friends and god into high pressure sales. I had a nervous breakdown. They wanted me to not complete my mission because I was a nervous wreck. I fought, no, plead to stay because I knew the culture the church fostered. I felt that my friends would desert me, no chance in romance ever occurring, and my school might not accept me back. My life was now wrapped up in completing this. I did my best as a preacher, a preacher of a book that if I was honest, I would admit that it was intellectually embarrassing to me. As I tried to cope with my feelings of never ending failure that filtered into my mind with every district, zone and mission conference, I became a jerk, trying to fit in as much as I could. In the process, I was submarining every relationship that I loved. In the depths of my emotional despair, when I should have come home in what I felt would be disgrace, I decided to remain my last year, working with my emotional wreckage away from everyone I cared about. They didn’t need to see me in the state I was in.

So I finished and came home. I didn’t talk about it for over 2 decades. Why?  I didn't want to be reminded of my failure. The church doesn’t want to hear about failure. Members don't want to hear about failure. My negative experience might turn someone against going on a mission. I buried my failures deep down, never discussing them.

 After 3 decades of trying to fit in, trying to find some support with the doctrine, scriptures, and history of the church that was the focus of my life, I decided I no longer could do this. My investigations simply said it wasn’t what it claimed to be. In my ever increasing honesty with myself and my friends, I told my wife of my struggles. One by one, it all started coming out, and my frustrations all bubbled to the surface. In the moment of greatest honesty, my wife and I had the hardest times yet in our marriage. I was telling my wife that I no longer believed, and what she heard, what the church had taught her to hear, was that if she stayed with me, she wouldn’t go to heaven, or would have to go there with someone else. Her world, the world the church built for her, came crashing down. Because of what the church taught her, I was destroying her life, her reason for existence. I was destroying her marriage, her family, her hopes and her dreams, her salvation. (I want to add, as my wife no longer attends church either, that she did not leave because I did. This is something that we worked out together, and what we agreed to. I would have supported her in whatever her endeavors were and are.)

No one deserves that kind of pain. No one. All because the institution I trusted to tell me the truth decided some truth wasn’t that helpful to its existence.

This is why I get angry.

Read, learn, dig deeper. Find out both sides of the story.

http://mormonessays.com/
http://mormonthink.com/ (They have a very good response to the Chruch's essay on polygamy here.)

Well, it’s out now. The church has admitted to some of it, but leaving a lot of the detail out, There is still a lot of falsehoods in their essays, but at least they came out about some of it.

Now, that isn’t to say good things didn’t happen in my life because of the church. I met people I love to this day while a member in good standing. My best friends. My wife. My family was assisted by the church. I don’t want to seem belittling of the faith they have or the good they do. However, reality is better. It may be harsher, not as pleasant, but it is reality. Living the truth is better than living a lie.

That’s it for now. 

Is she gay?

I don't know why I'm bummed. but Emily Blunt may be gay.

I've lost a crush.

You can still have a crush on a gay person.

yeah, but the whole chance for sex is gone. What's the point?

and.....

Would you like me to point out the obvious that there never was a chance for sex with her anyway?

there it is.

see what I did there?

Yep...very clever.

Thank you. I try.

Black Friday

Another Black Friday (or is it "Can't have enough marketing crap" Thursday) and my OCD is once again assuaged. I am not too proud to admit that I have a hoarding issues with a few things, pencils, paper and candles. Pencils and paper I get satisfied during the Back to School sales. Candles are more sporadic, only coming to the fore on the cold part of the year.

Time to admit where it comes from. This is all part of my coming clean with my life and my feelings on certain things. There are triggers to aspects of our lives, and I might as well admit to a few.

Paper and Pencils
This really started during high school and perhaps earlier. I always tried to be as frugal as I could and most of the time it was a game. I once copied an entire year's worth of science notes on one 8x11 sheet of paper. I did it mostly to see if I could. It probably helped my memory quite a bit.
College reinforced this. Not having a lot of money to spend on things and the fact that going through paper and pencils (mechanical by this time) at a prodigious rate had a little different effect on the noggin. I don't think any kind of hoarding happened, but I learned to appreciate office products. Does that make any sense?
My mission drilled this into my skull with a vengeance. You see, you can only communicate with loved ones back home via letters. Since the beginning of my mission was overseas, writing on good paper with a fine point became critical. I fell in love with engineering paper during my first years of college so I wrote important people using that. Others were relegated to the smaller aerograms. My depression of that first year made me want to write and write the ones I love trying to make sense of the flood of unfamiliar feelings and try to ease the pain I was experiencing in merely existing. Since the bank wasn't delivering any of the money my parents were sending, I had to rely on food that members gave and the few Francs I could borrow. There were more than a few weeks where I had to choose between eating or writing, and I chose writing. I don't know how much I passed this on to those I was writing. I know I sent several letters to my parents asking for money. I'm not sure I ever told anyone else of the other background things that were going on.
After I was transferred back to the states, the depression still continued. I became more and more desperate in my writing as I circled the drain that appeared to be my life. Writing everyday became one of the few joys in my days. After the depression broke, my writing dropped off markedly. I didn't feel that I could trust myself in writing. My emotions had betrayed me, and that was reflected in my writing and I kept much of my communication at a minimum.
Restarting college ramped up the writing again. I was actually in my major and I went through that expensive engineering paper and mechanical pencils at an increasing rate. I was also a custodian in the business school. I had access and responsibilities to clean up classrooms and an almost limitless access to dropped pencils and pens. I kept them, and I used them, but I never used as much as I found. I still have a lot of them. Granted, I threw away many of the pencils, but I kept the leads. I have a LOT of leads to this day. It reminds me of the most hectic and probably the happiest time of my life.
I also used writing in dating. I had a very welcome habit of leaving love notes and love letters to the girls I was dating.
I buy a small number of paper pads and mechanical pencils every year. I have a set limit so it isn't like I have boxes of the stuff, but I do admit that I like to touch them every once in a while, just to remind me of a different time, if nothing else.

Candles
Not sure where this began. It was fairly recent, but I always have liked fire. Candles and matches have always had a thing with me, but nothing like arson or anything else felonious. I just like a flame, and a small one is nice to have around. I think I have this in check, but to use what I buy means I just have to be more cognizant of lighting them and using them.

Soap
This is more of an opportunity purchase. Walgreens once had good prices on it and I purchased it because it was a good price. Later, I realized that soap with tallow was ruining my skin during the winter months and I started getting soap that didn't have that ingredient. My stockpile in this is also shrinking.
Within this hoarding is the little soaps and shampoos that I collect from hotel stays. I have a small collection of these too, but I consciously use them as I can.

Cologne
Directly attributable to college. A woman I was dating once gave me some samples and during my mission, I would smell them just to remember what it was like being a normal person. I still use cologne as a way of remembering certain people and places. I probably have more cologne now than I could ever use, but I still enjoy the memories I have when I open them. It is like a scrapbook for me.

That's it. I might have a few more but these are the ones that tickle my brain more than others. Whenever I think I'm too smart to fall for any kind of nonsense, I remember that I still have some fairly primitive behaviors in my anxiety closet and I'm in no place to criticize others.

My Name Is Baby

my name is BABY and you lean out of your car and spit at my feet it lands in a puddle in front of me and i am thirteen and in a suburban neighborhood on the way home from school and i gag and run with my backpack banging like the echo of your words against my back like you are chasing me all the way home

my name is SWEETIE and i am fifteen in the city with my friends for the first time and we get a little lost and you follow us for a full block you name my friends HONEY and DARLING and WHY THE FUCK WON’T YOU TALK TO ME

my name is NICE ASS and it’s two in the afternoon and i still feel my heart slam against my ribs because i am under a hundred and fifty pounds and i have weak lungs and weaker fists and while you saunter down the steps, swinging the beer bottle in your fist, my father who is walking behind me shouts, “she’s seventeen, you dipshit” and maybe i’m near my family but i don’t feel safe until we’re home again

my name is JAILBAIT and my friend is laughing and we just graduated high school and we feel like we are on the brink of something beautiful and terrifying and she is in heels and about to throw up and you name her DRUNK ENOUGH and i have to physically drag you off and when we go home she cries for four hours because a night that should have been just teenage fun almost resulted in the end of her trust of humans

my name is LOOK AT THOSE TITS and we are on a college campus and the boy i am with holds onto my waist just a little tighter while you drive up next to me. you name him THUG and throw a bottle at his forehead. i can’t stop shaking until long after it’s over. he says “it happens,” and i say, “it shouldn’t.”

my name is DAMN GIRL and we are walking down the street. there are ten of you and two of us and you snap a picture when you think we’re not looking. you tell us to either come inside or you’ll fuck us on the street. you all laugh like this is funny. this is compliment. this is just something boys do to get ladies.

my name is LITTLE LADY, my name is FINE MISS, my name is FUCK YOU AND FUCK YOUR FRIENDS, my name is LOOK ME IN THE FACE, my name is STOP FROWNING, my name is SMILE, my name is WHY DID YOU EVEN GLANCE AT HIM YOU WERE ASKING FOR IT, my name is THIS IS A COMPLIMENT so i looked it up according to Oxford that’s “a polite expression of praise or admiration” i think you’ve got the definitions mixed up

my name is PRETTY THING, my name takes nice words and make them into bullet wounds my name is NICE BODY and no girl i know has dated a man who catcalled her, my name is GREAT RACK and it turns out that if you shout things at a stranger, they sound like knives more than flowers, my name is WOMEN LIKE YOU NEVER KNOW THEIR PLACE and every single “nice” thing you say to a woman is something you’d never utter to another man because you know that it’s derogatory, my name is PRINCESS and A REASON TO GET PUT IN PRISON and if another man spoke to your mother sister girlfriend like that, you’d kill him

my name is SEXY and every time i hear someone raising their voice i am thirteen again and i don’t know who you are and i’m running home with a weight on my shoulders and your words like a slap to my spine and your laughter like a hanging, i am scared and alone and suddenly so small,

and compliments are supposed to make me feel good not afraid for my life, compliments are a way of saying “i care and i appreciate you and i thought you should know it,” and if you really meant it as a compliment, you’d care about how i would take it - but you don’t mean it like that, you mean it to show off, you mean it to make us object, you mean it to shove our names into your back pocket so you can tell your friends “i saw the HOTTEST LITTLE THING yesterday” and they can groan about how we just walked away because you don’t see us go home with keys in our fists and all the lights on and we keep 911 dialed just in case and we triple-check our locks and we don’t fall asleep at all because your compliment knocked us over and took who we are

if we are all saying “it doesn’t sound like a compliment, it sounds like a threat,” if you really wanted to make us feel good - wouldn’t you stop doing it?

—COMPLIMENT =/= CATCALL

Location, Location, Location

I think it is about time I tell some of you where I am in my life. 18 months or so ago my family and I stopped attending the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. For some, this isn’t new information. For others it may be. I just want to say that we’re fine. Tracy and I are doing fine and the kids are thriving in their schooling and other aspects of their lives. We are happy where we are.

Why we aren’t attending is a personal question, one I won’t address here. It was a major life change and one that upset how I identified myself. It wasn’t an easy road re-evaluating how I felt about certain aspects of my life. However, it was a good move for me. I don’t regret it at all.

I’m not here to preach any new-found insight. I’m just here to announce that I’m finally comfortable in my own mind to state where I am in the world.

And a beautiful world it is.

Sooner or Later

I have always used my trips and my rides to try and calm the demons in my mind, to think over the questions and the quandaries that exist in my reasoning. I took my last rides as part of that continuing task. Aside from my falling from the bike, as documented earlier, I really didn’t do any demon killing. The absence was startling, and refreshing. After one of the most emotional times in my life, I’m feeling that it is over. My normal interests and passions are returning, hopefully without the annoying things that I’ve purged from my life.

I had a song go through my mind during my ride up to Minneapolis. While the song is directed at a person, my own take on it wasn’t pointing to another person. I generally don’t want to purge people from my life. The reference that I used was towards the person that I used to be. I think I’ve figured some things out in my life and had to change for my own sanity. I’m content with where I am. It's about time.

Alan Parsons Project
Sooner Or Later

Oh what a price we pay
For the things we say
And the closer I get to you
The further you move away

All the lies we tell
In the games we play
And the longer I think it over
The harder it is to stay

Sooner or later I'll be free
To leave the past behind
Sooner or later you're gonna be
The last thing on my mind
Little by little I'm finding out
The truth behind your eyes
Maybe if I don't show
I thought you might like to know
You're gonna be the last thing on my mind

You didn't want to know
I could have told you so
But the moment I think it's over
The further there is to go

Just a little word
Such an easy way
But the longer I think about it
The harder it is to say

Sooner or later I'll be free
To leave the past behind
Sooner or later you're gonna be
The last thing on my mind
Little by little I'm finding out
The truth behind your eyes
Maybe if I don't show
I thought you might like to know
You're gonna be the last thing on my mind

Youtube Lyric Video