The Body Gathering

What if there were a church…

where every time we gathered we built from scratch a safe container of consent…
where no one was judged for who they are or how they express that truth…
where everyone was honored and supported in the place they are in life…
where we could talk openly about sex, gender, consent, pleasure, and relationships..
where the leaders were open and honest about their own struggles and challenges…
where you, you as a precious divine being, felt truly at home…
where we were engaged in the world, helping the least and lost, the marginalized, sex-positive, kink, and LGBTQAI+ communities…
where a connection to the divine Presence is more important than doctrine or belief….

Would you come to that church?

Would you support it’s mission?

I have, for some time now, been urged by my mentors and friends to find a way to integrate all the parts of my life: fully sexual heteroflexible polyamorous man, pastor, church musician/liturgist, social activist, and LGBTQIA+ ally. There is no church that would welcome me fully in all these parts of myself, even the most progressive ones. So I am going to start one, one that I would want to go to, where I would feel welcome in all my different life-bits.

I am in the process of forming a ‘church’ that will have a local San Antonio, TX real-world component and a virtual component.

Our focus will be to use ritual to heal ritual damages; to help everyone who has been shamed, traumatized, abused, or oppressed by the Church to find their path toward healing. Secondary focuses will be building community, sharing our wisdom, helping those who are living at the sexual margins work out real-world problems, and being a resource and safe haven for anyone being actively hurt because of their sexual orientation, gender expression, or kink.

If you are interested in this in any way, let’s talk.

becoming real

Some churches desire
to make disciples
I desire they allow the Divine
to pitch a tent in people’s hearts

Some men believe
being vulnerable is weak
I desire they learn
that self knowledge is true strength

Some women I love
let the past win
I desire that they
feel today’s breeze on their skin

Alive

I am alive.
I am in love and I am alive.
I am in love with three completely amazing women
and I am alive; I am a fully polyamorous man
and I always have been, even when I denied that;
and for anyone denying some part of themselves,
out of fear or shame or guilt, I ask you to let that go,
and be fully your beautiful alive self.
While I write this I am sitting in my house, the house that once was the seat
of my marriage, which I never expected to end, which was
at least partly, good and happy, and partly terrible and anxious and scary
and I survived that and I am alive.
I am theologically educated, and desire to share
my direct experience of the Divine
and I have the tiny little degree card from seminary in my wallet
to prove that when I am talking to people in bars,
and in spite of everything wrong with religion I am alive.
I am a church musician who doesn’t give a flying fuck
about the church but who still wants,
when I can, to move your soul with beauty,
and I am alive most completely when I am making music.
I am an ally to everyone who is oppressed or shamed
for being sexual and alive
and in love with whoever they want to be in love with.
I have been kicked out of the church I served for 16 years
as a pastor for having sex as a single man
because they are so afraid of pleasure
that they can’t handle it except by controlling it
and for promoting false doctrine, which consists
of telling the world pleasure is our birthright, and I am alive.
I love women, everything about them, their feel and scent and kisses
and pussies and minds and hearts open to me, I am heteroflexible
and in deep like with a lovely man and I am alive.
I am alive all the way, in my skin and my muscles
and my fluids and my bones,
in where my energy starts at the root
and where it channels out the top of my head.
I am alive in this moment, right now,
and right now, and right now.
I have woken up from a deep 30 year sleep
of complacency and despair
and I am alive.
I am here right now, seeing each radiant one of you in your place
feeling your energy, feeling the world,
and I am no longer willing
to be asleep, to be half-dead;
and I want more than anything else in this world
for every one of you who is asleep
to wake the fuck up and be alive.
We are all alive
and if you have even one bit of passion
for your life and being alive
then you can’t help but have this same mission
to wake up the world.
I am, this whole past year,
for the first time maybe in my life,
here in the moment,
and in love, and in pleasure.
I am alive.

3 AM

I wake up at 3am.
It’s not the first time;
3:13 and I are well acquainted,
3:27 is an old friend.
I turn on the rain sound app,
fake thunderstorms on my beside table,
recorded rain on some other sidewalk.
My skin remembers other nights,
ones with yours against mine,
your hair across my chest, silken,
or was that her fingertips,
Pressing into my arm, barely tightening.
In the middle night, in the darkness,
all my lovers accumulate into memory;
my desire for you not exactly physical,
the connection between us not a function
of blood vessels engorging, but memory,
and in my mind’s eye,
I hear your pleasure, each moment of that,
reduced and concentrated into sweet syrup,
imagining all of you, together, heads on my single shoulder,
as rain rolls off my roof to the ground,
and sleep comes back, finally.
In the morning, eyes gritty,
I text each of you, one at a time,
Sweetheart, Beloved, Lover;
another day opens, another chance
to move closer to each of you,
and undo together all the past wounds
that make us think
there is any space at all between us.

Growing Large

increasingly, these words, fumbling
towards reality as they are,
cannot be simply about one love
even when they are;
all love is one, my loves
intertwined in my heart
so intimately with me
that each conjures the rest
thoughts of one leading inevitably
to thoughts of all;
so your head on my shoulder
and her head on my shoulder
are not the same but are,
and your desire for me
your desire to be only mine
at times, is her desire, and hers;
and even, at times, I would be
only yours, yet I am not,
and never really could be;
so, sitting here in another city
between work events, thinking,
about who I will next hold
my heart is thrice-filled
with all that each of you give me;
and I expand beyond these walls,
beyond this town, so that, for a moment
I touch each of your hearts together
and am at peace.

Always

I’ve known you, it seems, always
and yet each time we touch
it’s new, it’s the first time,
and my body remembers yours,
the first touches decades ago,
and still, my lover, still,
each time I see you, newness,
stillness, your sounds of pleasure
are to me totally new, completely
filling my heart, my thoughts,
until all that remains
is the slow movement of my fingertips
over the smoothness of your skin

View

we look out the window,
cold, rainy morning,
of our getaway cottage,
the bed still rumpled from
the night’s pleasure,
but, my Princess, more than that,
more than the joy of seeing your face
from above, your eyes wide,
has been the growing jewel
you calling me Daddy created
in my inner heart.

Spillway

Heart so full it spills out of my eyes,
we walk; I let my finger
run down your spine to the hollow
above your jeans, that last time,
too long ago, I had pulled
from the ankles, down your legs
exposing lace and paleness;
and underneath your talk of work,
family, friends, house paint color names,
Forest Mint, Early Periwinkle,
underneath I hear the same voice
earlier husky with desire, wordless,
that opens in me sensations
I thought were gone, never to return.

Dawn

Each day I wake up, whether alone or not,
with the presence of all my loves in my mind
briefly
if another is in my bed or I in theirs
then my awareness descends into my fingertips
touching the small of their back
their hip, their neck, stirring them from sleep
sometimes wordless protestations, sleepy
sometimes rolling toward me, hands in mine
hands on mine, guiding, hands on me
leg over mine, heat pressing to me
and the light slowly grows in the room,
I can see your face, your eyes, your lips
and words end

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