The Youngstown Goodfellas Mob Connection...

Back in the early 90s I worked in the up and coming cellular phone industry for a local company called Wilcom Cellular, an offshoot of a local media family. It was a good time to be in the field and I did well for myself (this was how I was able to afford a year of travel...). But I learned how to sell and got to meet some interesting people.

I remember receiving a call late one afternoon from a woman who said she was from California and her boss was coming in to town and needed a local hookup. I said I'd wait. He arrived late and we began talking and he informed me that he was a producer from California who had worked with Michael Jackson and some other well known figures and had been in Goodfellas and was friends with the cast. I was skeptical, of course, but found his story interesting. We talked for a while and he told me he had a home south of where we were. He had a "flip phone" which, at the time, was a big deal as these cost upwards of $1000 at the time. I hooked him up and he was on his way.

So of course I went home and got out the Goodfellas VHS (pre-DVD remember...) and watched the move and lo and behold there he is hanging out on the street when Ray Liotta's future wife cusses him out. Far out. Go to the credits and, yep, there he is, Frank DiLeo. He was also "Mr. Big" in Wayne's World. Apparently, based on his Wikipedia entry, he has been a big player in the music industry. Kinda cool...

But this is not about him or meeting someone famous. I find it more fascinating in a six degrees of separation kind of way.

I remember the very first time I saw the film and was immediately struck at the very end of the film when Ray Liotta, now in the witness protection program, bends down to pick up the newspaper. I instantly recognize the Youngstown Vindicator with its old typeface (anyone know when it was last used?).

I am not too surprised because of Youngstown's notorious history thinking maybe they filmed in Youngstown or something. Goodfellas, mob, Youngstown...makes sense. After meeting Frank DiLeo I knew it was the Vindicator.

Here are some stills:



And, though a bit fuzzy, a better one:

If anyone can find out the exact date of the paper that would be really cool.

For years and years I've thought this and told people about it but looked up the IMDB entry for Goodfellas the other day and found this:

"During one of the final scenes in the movie, Henry Hill is shown opening his front door and picking up a newspaper. Close inspection reveals that the newspaper is the Youngstown Vindicator. This detail was included by Martin Scorsese as an homage to Youngstown, Ohio, which has been referred to as Mobtown USA."

It's August 23, 2023. I finally found out exactly which Vindicator he picks up. 

It's the 7/12/1989 paper. 

A Spiritual Mutt exclusive: 

Unity in Diversity - Worship

Having come from a "shh...we're in church" background, being introduced to the "born again" version of Christianity in a charismatic Oneness Pentecostal church in the heart of the inner city in Youngstown was a swing to other end of the pendulum. However, because of this I was able to discern the cultural elements in this church.

There is a tendency to take the cultural elements and impose them as if they are part of the necessary truth of the faith. So if you aren't doing "X" enough or doing "Y" enough you aren't "saved" enough or "Christian" enough. It's a subtle form of enslavement. This imposition of the cultural elements is a potential in any faith tradition.

When we left there (due, in large part, to the overemphasis on the emotionalism and the cult of celebrity), we found a church with an upbeat style of worship but much more subdued (i.e. white). We thoroughly enjoy the worship even though I miss the style of worship at the church we left.

Anyhow, over the years I've realized that it's really all beautiful. The fact that grown people have found something that inspires them to praise in such a dynamic fashion in whatever form it is expressed is a powerful thing. Sometimes, however, it is easy to look at "other" religious traditions and admire their praise and their forms of worship. For some reason I found the worship within the tradition I found myself in to be strange, weird, overdone.

So at church this morning I noticed the people at the altar and their various forms of expression. At times there is a critical spirit that comes over me and I judge what they are doing. I have to stop myself and realize that it's easy to sit on my a** and be a critic. Instead of lifting my spirit up to God I am playing judge and jury on earth.

I realized this morning that I have no idea what the two men who were laid out on the floor have been going through. I have no idea what the woman jumping and bouncing has been going through. I don't know what is in their hearts. The point is I don't know. So who am I to sit back and criticize? It's a really disgusting feeling.

So with all the diversity within the Christian church, there is a unity in the diversity. It's just easier to notice the division. Embrace the diversity. We're all on the same team.

There is a series of videos circulating on the Web that are brilliantly done and highlight this quite well. For the cynic, it's obviously a slam. The video is pretty funny (and well edited).

But if you just stop for a moment and see the beauty in it the joy will become infectious. It really is pretty cool. Just different.

Enjoy:



Still haven't found any rave videos set to worship music. I think the contrast would point out that music is a form of or means toward expanding the mind toward something "higher". There are many parallels between the "trance" effect of both techno music and worship music.

So for the religious folk who think raves and techno music are somehow evil or some such thing, keep in mind that what people seek at raves are the same things people seek in church: community, relationship, connection, even spirituality.

So we come to where cultures and faith collide: check this video out (sorry if you aren't a techno fan...give it a chance anyhow, it's brief...):



This video is a snippet from a "Club Worship" in Reading PA featuring Andy Hunter, a Christian DJ though if you look at his website and such you may have to search a little to find this fact. His music appeared in The Matrix Reloaded so he has respect as a musician. Here's an interview with him.

So what do you think? Is this "true" worship music? Compromise? Sell out? Something to ponder.

I find it interesting but I'm not sure giving something a "Christian" stamp means a whole lot, kind of like Christian yoga and the Christian martial arts center down the street from my home (now for sale). Can't yoga just be yoga, martial arts just be martial arts, a DJ be a DJ and techno be techno?

Henry Corbin and Docetism

Trying to further elaborate on the post on Henry Corbin's discussion on Angelology, he delves further into the gnostic idea and its trajectory. As should be pretty clear, Corbin's writings have had a tremendous impact on me. In terms of comparative religion, he puts to shame the superficiality of many so-called comparative religious studies and gets to a genuine "core", the real crux of where relgions meet, not in doctrine and dogma, which are areas where divisions have been drawn, but in those fringe areas where religions truly intersect and interweave.

The Christ of the Acts of Peter and John has been called Docetic. Corbin notes, however, that Docetism is not a set doctrine but a "tendency" (63). He points out that the Christology of the Qur'an is Docetic as is the Imamology particular to Shi'ite Gnosis and that the "Buddhology" of Mahayana Buddhism is Docetic as well. In terms of a Christian Docetism this is in contrast to the hypostatic union which was "a material fact that entered into history" and became an "external and objective datum" 62). In other words, this is not your "orthodox" variety of Christianity.

This Docetic Christology does not view Christ as a "phantasm" or a spook or a ghost but as a "real apparition" which is "proportionate to the theophanic dimension of the soul, that is, its aptitude for being shown a divine Figure". The soul, therefore, is thus not a witness to an external event but "the medium in which the event takes place" (62).

Peculiar to Ebionite Christianity is the idea of the True Prophet or Prophet of Truth, not the God incarnate or God-man of what would become "orthodox" Christianity.

"Running through the ages since the beginning of the world, he hastens toward the place of his repose".

All that matters to the Ebionites is whether or not Jesus is this Prophet. The first Adam was the first epiphanic Form of the True Prophet, what Corbin calls the Christus aeternus, i.e. Adam-Christos. The True Prophet, having in him the breath of the divine nature, cannot sin. In Ebionism, the True Prophet appeared to Moses and Abraham and in Adam and Jesus the True Prophet was present.

In Jesus, then, the True Prophet finds his "final repose." He is not messianic Lord because his death effects redemption; according to Corbin it is because a community was "waiting for the Epiphany of the...Angelos Christos, the return of him who dispenses Knowledge that delivers and who will thereby establish a supraterrestrial kingdom...of Angels." (71) He is an Illuminator, not a Redeemer.

Now if Adam, the initial Prophet, could not sin, what of the "fall" of man? Providing a unique spin of Satan/Iblis, Adam's "fall" was not sin but of divulging the secret of the end of the Cycle of history, the knowledge of the Last Imam of the Cycle, the Resurrector (Qa'im) and the Resurrection. But this may only be divulged in symbols proportionate to the spiritual adept's "degree of dignity and capacity." (84)

This is where Corbin gets into the meat of his essay. He discusses the hadd, the limit, of each spiritual adept. It is the degree of consciousness, the mode of knowledge proportionate to the mode of being realized by the adept. The next higher hadd is, then, the Lord - that is to say, the Self - of its own mahdud ("limited"), the Self of what which it limits, that whose horizon it is." (85)

Our spiritual journey, in this scheme, is a journey through levels, or horizons or, as Corbin calls them, Angels. Each adept must rely upon his imam who is responsible for leading him up to the next level which thus becomes his hadd and the adept too is responsible for leading the one below him up to his former hadd. Each ascent of degrees, or horizon, is called a qiyamat, a "resurrection." So Adam, as True Prophet, is the repository of all souls, each individual soul on its journey toward the Qiyamat al-Qiyamat, or Grand Resurrection. In Shi'ite Islam this is the advent of the Qa'im, the last Imam. This, according to this schema, is the consummation of all religion.

So where does this leave us besides bewildered? Though this is a weak summation of what is truly a dense distilation of comparative religion in Corbin's work, it is leading somewhere.

Several concepts as generally understood in Christianity are tweaked:

1) Docetism is presented in a different form that is stereotypically understood as mere "appearance" or "phantasm"

2) Jesus is not an incarnate God; he is the repository of the True Prophet and is thus, at least according to Ebionite Christianity, messianic in the sense of bringer of Knowledge

3) Each spiritual adept (i.e. all of us) is where he/she us based on the adept's "horizon" or ability to see

4) The Qiyamat al-Qiyamat (Grand Resurrection) is when the Qa'im (the Final Imam), akin to the parousia of traditional Christianity, will appear to "recapitulte" all souls and religion, the Epiphanic Cycle of this Gnostic vision will be complete.

This connects to another of my favorite writers, Vladimir Lossky and his writings on Eastern Orthodox Theology. The connection between Christianity's "eastern" coloring and its influence on Islam is unmistakable. What is surprising is that in a work as "orthodox" as Lossky's there seems to be a connection, no matter how slight, with Corbin's vision of the Christianity almost lost to the paradise of archetypes.

A great blog about Henry Corbin's works

Here is the link to the blog:

The Legacy of Henry Corbin

A new book is due in August of 2009 which looks quite adventurous and tags right along with Corbin's Cyclical Time and Ismaili Gnosis. Norman O. Brown's The Challenge of Islam: The Prophetic Tradition looks to be an interesting read.

Henry Corbin and Angelology

In Henry Corbin's densely packed book on the trajectory of "gnosticism" from Zoroastrianism through Christianity to its final "resting" place of Shi'ism he discusses the theophanic vision, as I've posted elsewhere quoting the Acts of Peter and Acts of John.

This stuff is heady and my summation is not as clean as I'd like but it's a start. Corbin's stuff is the densest thing I've ever read. But the work is worth it for those nuggets, when they come, make it all worth while.

Here's what he has to say about the theophanic vision:

"There is actual perception of an object, of a concrete person: the figure and the features are sharply defined; this person presents all the "appearances" of a sensuous object, and yet it is not given to the perception of the sense organs. This perception is essentially an event of the soul, taking place in the soul and for the soul. As such its reality is essentially individuated for and with each soul; what the soul really sees, it is in each case alone in seeing." (Henry Corbin, Cyclical Time and Ismaili Gnosis, 60).

And here is the key to this entire essay in the book:

"The field of its vision, its horizon, is in every case defined by the capacity, the dimension of its own being: Talem eum vidi qualem capere potui" (60-61)

Quoting Origen's discussion of the Transfiguration he notes that Jesus appeared in the form in which he was normally seen but also in his transfigured form "he appeared to each one according as each man was worthy."

The core of Corbin's book is in essence the transformation of such a "gnosis" in Islamic, specifically Ismaili, soil. Having traced its origins in Zoroastrianism, Corbin goes on to discuss the connection between Zoroastrianism, Christianity (specifically Ebionite Christianity) and Islam (specifically Shi'ite and, more speficially, Ismaili Shi'ite) in a mindbending trip. Corbin has "no wish to debate the question of historical filiation...nor to determine the 'influences'" which, he says, "reads causality into things" (31). The connection between them is not doctrinal: it is a common angelology.

By angel he is not talking about the winged variety or the Touched By An Angel variety or any of those other media caricatures. For Corbin the "angel" is the "celestial Idea" of all human beings. Writing on Ibn Arabi, he says:

"...that which a human being regains in the mystical experience, is the "celestial pole" of his being, which is to say his "person" whereby and as which, the Divine Being from the very beginning in the origin of origins in the world of Mystery, manifested himself to himself, and made himself known to it in this Form [its own form, the form it was given to assume] which is equally the Form in which he knew himself in it. It is the Idea, or rather the "Angel" of his person whose present self is no more than the terrestrial pole."

And again:

"I am your own Daênâ", -which means: I am, in person, the faith that you professed and that which inspired it in you, she for whom you have answered and she who guided you, she who comforted you and she who now judges you, for I am, in person, the Image proposed to you from the birth of your being and the Image which finally you have yourself wished for ("I was beautiful, you have made me still more beautiful").

These paragraphs draw out the distinctions behind Corbin's aversion to traditional Christianity and its teaching of the singular event of the Incarnation of Christ. Rather than a universal, singular Christ, this Angel of which Corbin speaks is personal, unique to each soul, and is the Image to which the soul longs to unite.

He further breaks down this angelology. Rather than being a "metaphorical luxury" the Angel's significance is twofold, theophanic and soteriological ("salvific"). It can be thought about in several ways. There are angels who have remained in the celestial world, the intermediary between heaven and earth, and other angels who have fallen to Earth. The angels in the celestial world (the pleroma) are "angels in actu" and the angels who are on earth are the "angels in potentia".

Another way of looking at it is that this division may refer to a single being, an unus ambo. The Spirit is the person or Angel who has remained in heaven, the "celestial twin", while the soul is his companion who has fallen to Earth, to whose help he comes and with whom he will be reunited if he issues victorious from the cosmic battle between good and evil. (103)

The human lot is thus, quoting Nasir Khusraw, a transitory status, the "horizon" of which Corbin speaks. Man is a "not-yet": an angel (or demon) in potentia awaiting reunion with his celestial twin, the angel in actu.

Heady? Yeah. And I can't do it justice. But there is a certain logic to it that is quite appealing. Rather than a heavenly Jesus to whom we turn, we all have inherent in us this "Idea" of perfection, this idea of the "Divine" and it is this "Idea" that Corbin terms the Angel with whom we seek union or re-union. It has been placed in us from the very beginning; it is this that guides us and it is to this we seek to return.

Corbin's main thrust is this:

"Man is called, by right of his origin and if he consents, to an angelomorphosis, his acceptance of which precisely regulates his aptitude for theophanic visions." (64)

It is this angelomorphosis (Corbin invents mroe than a few terms in this work) that is the key. Ismailian Gnosis, according to Corbin, in a sense saves a Christianity, specifically of the Ebionite variety, that had long ago been lost to the "paradise of archetypes" (65).

My journey through Islam...

In 1999, having been a "born again" Christian at a Oneness Pentecostal church in the heart of the inner city in Youngstown, I was journeying toward Islam. That is a story in itself. In 2005, having just been interviewed for the CBS Saturday Evening News, I contributed an article to my local newspaper about my experience as a "Muslim" for a weekend.

At some point I will rewrite it through the lens of time and experience. It's pretty airy but if you read between the lines you can get a real point of view. Though it's pretty much as I wrote it, I hated the title and found it interesting to see what was edited ("conflated" in the original was changed to "blended" which completely changed what I was saying).

Even more interesting was the interview on the CBS Saturday Evening News. I was interviewed in my home for about fifteen minutes by an interviewer from New York via phone. The camera man was in my house and I had to look as if I was talking to the interviewer as if he were in front of me. Fascinating the prep and posing we see on the news. Though a great experience, it reinforced my skepticism of the news as selling a point of view.

The questions got to be pretty in depth and the interviewer was genuinely curious as to how a Christian firm in his faith could genuinely study and participate in Islam without feeling threatened and without, in the end, losing faith.

But this wasn't the topic of the piece on the news.

CAIR was giving away a free copy of the Qur'an to anyone who was interested and the news piece covered this. A professor of Islam at my local university who I had gotten fairly well had been contacted by CBS News and asked if he knew of anyone who was a non-Muslim and a non-scholar who had read the Qur'an in its entirety. He gave them my name. Imagine the surprise when CBS News called my house for an interview. I didn't really care so much about that. I was more honored that he thought of me.

Here's a copy of the transcript:

Thousands of Americans Seek Copies of Qur'an

Out of everything I said, they took one snippet, out of context, and highlighted it. I learned a lot about media and how they "sell" a point of view. Though I meant what I said, without the context it is easy to see how soundbytes get misconstrued. Requests for the videotaped interview were denied and the video of the clip from the news (June 5 or 12, 2005) have disappeared from the Web.

The copies they were giving away was the Yusuf Ali translation (which is the "safest" translation to give away to an American audience). They ran out and sent me a copy of Muhammad Asad's translation, The Message of the Qur'an.

I already had a copy of his so kept the one sent from CAIR (it's beautiful) and listed the other copy online. Were I to become a Muslim it would have been Islam as presented in Asad's translation. In fact, Islam as I had come to understand it aligned with his view even before I had found his translation.

I hold an "if only..." nostalgia for his translation and Islam as presented by the Traditionalist school. On occasion I do read it though certainly not as much as during the period of time in which I lived and breathed Islam.

This period of time radically altered my view of both Christianity and Islam for the better.

It comes down to choice...

It is a choice, certainly and I think that is the key. You might say it's a choice to choose. But then commitment to that choice is just as important. In my case, after the initial choice, my sincere desire to know the answers led me down many a winding path. But it always came back to Jesus. Always.

And the Jesus of Islam wasn't the answer (as I've noted in various places in my blog), nor was it the Jesus of the scholars, the Jesus of the Jesus Seminar, the Jesus of the New Age or the Jesus of historians. I gorged myself on these works, studying them in great depth and detail, trying to justify and prove that the whole thing was a myth, a charade, a lie. In the end I found, by and large, that the Jesus of these methods turned out to look a lot like the scholars the scholars themselves. In the end, ironically enough, it enhanced my faith.

I had some "visions" that were a turning point for me. I've written about them in the blog. We got away from the circus style church and found a place where true and genuine preaching was heard weekly. Practical, earthly, relevant stuff that, when applied, revealed the Truth greater than any studying could ever do.

And, lately, the healing of my soul. I sourced mine to events when I was around ten years old.

Strangely enough, this healing led to and coincided with intellectual rest and freedom. My intellect was a defense, protection of a wounded soul. Rather than be open and honest, I filtered it through analysis and intellect first. It was just another method of numbing the pain I was hiding. Once my soul began to heal, my intellect, though still on hyperdrive, was no longer my idol. It balanced my soul.

In hindsight, by hiding the pain, I learned that it was more painful to hide it than to feel the actual pain of the pain I was hiding...if that makes sense.

Make a choice and watch that party in your head come along and even support you in your choice. Rather than a cacophony make it a symphony. Start exploring the reasons for not being able to make a choice, to what degree addiction and depression are a front for selfishness and what part of the soul is in need of healing.

I'm not all the way there yet. Sometimes my writing is the conceptual grasp that I have yet to achieve but it's a goal. And I do slip back into depression and self-pity and addictive tendencies are always lurking. But I have a consistent hope these days.

But it's taken me over ten long and adventurous years after "accepting Christ" to begin to find it. I do believe, however, that the wisdom I found in diving into other traditions provided fertile soil and I cherish the wisdom and experiences. I remain open to listening to the whisper of the Spirit from wherever it may come.

Stop and smell the roses...

Along with being a spiritual mutt, I have also been a career mutt. It has certainly been an adventure. In late 2004 I was hired as executive director of a local treasure, Stambaugh Auditorium. It is a magnificent structure. Never one for the spotlight, I was even interviewed for radio and had a photo spread in the local paper to put the facility back in the public eye.

I was working as a manager of an Aldi grocery when I saw the ad for the auditorium. I wasn't really looking and gave it a "what the hell" try. After three interviews with various members of a board of directors I somehow managed to get the job. I should have listened to my mother who asked: "Are you sure you can handle those people?" I thought she meant the celebrities with all their brown M&M riders (maybe that's where the brown M&M in my dream came from...). She meant the board of directors. Moms are wise.

The auditorium was built in 1929, long before speakers and amplification equipment. It is one of those rare venues where every seat is perfect and a whisper on stage can be heard in the back of the hall. But, with modernity, amplification comes with the territory. A set of JBL speakers had been placed in the hall but they weren't installed well and had been sitting unused for quite some time. A temporary hodgepodge of speakers acted as amplification and it was generally quite ugly and not very functional.

So, having talked to the stage manager who had been there for almost forty years, give or take, I learned that the JBL speakers should still be under warranty. A phone call and an appointment later, I met with a JBL rep. He wanted to hear how they sounded and asked if I had a CD. I happened to have Paul Oakenfold's Global Underground New York mix, a favorite of mine I used almost daily while stocking groceries at 5 a.m. at Aldi.

So I popped it in and moved it right to Junk Project's "Composure". Give it a listen. It is awesome.

Now imagine an empty concert hall, acoustically perfect and a set of rockin' JBL speakers. It was a magnificent experience. Not quite a rave but truly magical. The concert hall is the photo on top.

In my naivete I had visions of DJs performing on the stage, DJ as art form. Seems the board had visions of opera. We were certainly not a match. At the time of this appointment I was a sinking ship. I lasted 5 months and 31 days there, just enough so as not to collect unemployment. One of the board members with whom I clashed stepped down to take the position when I was gone. She didn't last six months either. Nor did the next director. I wonder what the problem was. Hmmm....

Upon reflection I realize that had my attitude been different, the result may have been different. But it was one of those positions where, within a few short weeks, I knew I was in the wrong place.

Having gotten to explore every nook and cranny in the building and listen to Oakey "live" and see the inner workings of concert promotion and set-up the adventure wore out rather quickly (and sitting through board meetings where board members almost, quite literally, threw temper tantrums was horrifying...).

Reminds me of a Zen story. This is from Zen Speaks: Shouts of Nothingness, a delightful but profound "comic" of Zen wisdom:

But it is still a really nice building and music (like the track above) sounds amazing in the hall.

My grandma's words would ring true: it all works out in the end.

Thoughts on race

My wife is black. I'm not. She is not African American. She is from Jamaica. Jamaican American? Jamerican? African Jamaican? And what is Caucasian anyhow? I'm puzzled when people reference white people as Caucasian. My little niece, when she was a babe, when asked what color we are stated it thus: I am pink, my wife is brown and our daughter is yellow.

I love my wife's blackness. I find it very attractive. Always have. One of my earliest celebrity crushes was the Olympic skater Debi Thomas circa 1984. Kind of a strange crush when considering where I grew up. The race issue made things a bit rocky in the beginning but that was my fault, not hers. The discomfort was mine, more influenced by what others thought than I cared to admit. One of my decisive acts of maturity was the decision to marry her no matter what anyone said. Once the decision was made, people came along. The problem had been me all along.

My wife's race doesn't matter to me in terms of who she is as a person but there is a difference in culture, no matter how similar our worldviews. This has been part of the challenge and part of the growth in our relationship. In terms of her appearance it is a part of her makeup. And I find to be a part of her beauty and thus embrace it. It was she who told me that she hates the statement "I don't see color" from well meaning white people. Though she is understanding of the intent, she says you better damn well see her color. If you don't you are whitewashing (no pun intended) a part of who she is. See it. Recognize it. Embrace it. Value it.

I've had the comment made by black people we know that I am a "cool" white guy, that I don't act white, whatever that means. Maybe it simply means that I am seen as a person first. We all harbor stereotypes and attitudes about race. The key isn't to deny this but to be willing and open to changing our attitudes.

We need to learn to embrace and value our differences, of which race is one difference out of many, and not try and somehow blend everything into one homogeneous stew. Obama's presidential campaign brought this out. For some he was too black; for others he wasn't black enough.

This goes deeper than diversity which has become a legal, institutional effort at making sure that we represent as many races as possible in commercials and promotional literature. It's basically become a marketing tool. It is, for the most part, a positive thing but it doesn't really help anyone embrace the difference; it educates and ensures a level of tolerance or acceptance. It's a great place to start but it has become just too obvious, almost cliche. And once this happens, people stop seeing it.

So I embrace my wife's blackness. I embrace her color. And respect her pride in the same. Yet because of the same, and my relationship with her, I have also learned firsthand about the racism that still lingers in this country. We still have a ways to go.

I have seen it from a perspective I would never have seen otherwise. Why? Because I am part of the dominant culture and, as such, I can't really see it. I take things for granted. I don't worry about being pulled over while driving through my small, suburban hometown because of my color. I don't worry about being profiled or being watched while shopping.

Our daughter, who would probably pass the brown paper bag test, was pulled over the other day in my small, suburban hometown because of a broken tail light. Legally, the officer had right to pull her over. And he did. But I can tell you without a doubt that it was the very large, very dark black man in the passenger seat that raised the red flag.

Paranoia? Not so fast. My wife and I have been stopped on more than one occasion under suspicious circumstances. While using a drive-up pay phone one night, a police cruiser with two officers in front pulled up along side of us and asked if everything was ok. Just being nice? We were pulled over another time for I can't remember what and the officer asked my wife for her license, even though I was the one driving. He most likely thought I had picked up a prostitute.

During the holiday season one year we were going to return a phone that wasn't working. The return line was at least ten people deep so we thought we'd go back and grab a replacement item to save time. My wife made certain that I carried the bag. I looked at her with a puzzled look in my eye. "Trust me," she said.

They didn't have the phone we were looking for so while on our way out of the store we were stopped by two plain clothes cops who accused us of stealing, stating that we placed a new phone in the bag. My wife read him the riot act while I sat there stupefied. It never even crossed my mind that this would happen. Outside, my wife told me that was exactly the reason she wanted me to carry the bag.

We have, however, been able to shine a different light on interracial couples. A woman came up to my wife in church several weeks ago, singling her out to talk to her. After several minutes of conversation the woman confessed that she has always had a problem with interracial relationships but for some reason she had no problem with ours. This is not the first time something like this has happened. We've grown quite comfortable with it.

By and large we haven't experienced much trouble with our relationship as an interracial couple. In fact, if anything, we have many, many more positive than negative stories. But most of this comes from how we present ourselves and live our lives. We are aware of the differences and are quite open about them, seeing the value, the beauty, and often the humor, in the differences.

Pornography is not about sex

I stumbled across two very interesting articles over the past few days. Neither one of them are religious in nature and both of them expose the darker elements of pornography. Both of them are written by individuals who are or were in some way involved in the porn industry.

The first is by Evan Wright, perhaps most known for his book Generation Kill which was the basis for an HBO miniseries. His new book is Hella Nation and it was because of this book and an interview with him that I learned of his past. Wikipedia contains a link to his article on Salon.com describing his experience as entertainment editor and chief pornographic reviewer for Hustler magazine (in his interview he discussed, quite humorously, how he landed this job).

The article discusses his experience and how it caused him to wonder if it had made him misogynistic or if it drew out the misogyny already present.

CAUTION: This is not for the fainthearted. Though there are no photos, the descriptions are blunt and graphic. Addicts are at once repulsed and yet drawn to the darkness of the things described herein.

I'm reminded of the words of William S. Burroughs from Naked Lunch (no pun intended):

Look down LOOK DOWN along that junk road before you travel there and get in with the Wrong Mob...

A word to the wise guy.

Maxed Out

The most recent article is from AdBusters magazine and this one came via email as I've semi-followed AdBusters for many years now. This article is by Douglas Haddow, described as "the last of the great film-school slackers." The article discusses the rise of the porn industry and its relation to the "fragmented state of modern masculinity."

CAUTION: This one is even more explicit (i.e. there's lost of profanity and graphic description of "sex" acts). The language is harsh and the subject matter is described in all its rawness, no holds barred. Again, it's not for the fainthearted but it's spot on.

Here's a snippet:

In order to compete with porn, the mainstream media appropriates the pornographic, which in turn forces porn producers and websites to create more vicious and chaotic content. The mainstream becomes porn and porn gradually edges closer to snuff.

Pornocalypse Now

It's refreshing that such critiques and exposes are being brought openly to the mainstream.

Jesus' sacrifice is Jewish, not pagan, in origin...part two

Round two of Conclusions:

1) The Palestinian Targum proves quite conclusively that already in the first century AD there existed a firm belief that the principal merit of the Akedah sprang from the virture of Isaac's self-offering...

2) ...the Akedah, although ritually incomplete, was indeed a true sacrifice and Israel's chief title to forgiveness and redemption. The purpose of other sacrifices, including the sacrifice of the Passover lamb, was to remind God of Isaac's perfect self-oblation and to invoke his merits.

3) ...in the ancient liturgy of Israel a powerful bond linked the Binding of Isaac with Passover and eschatological salvation.

Vermes then goes on, with scholarly support, to further the view that Paul's symbolic use of the Akedah is the bridge between "the genuinely Jewish teaching of atoning suffering" and "the non-Jewish concept of a Saviour who was both man and God." (p. 218)

Vermes notes that Paul follows a traditional Jewish pattern enabling him to "coordinate with the framework of a coherent synthesis the most profound and anomalous religious concept ever known to the human mind....For although he is undoubtedly the greatest theologian of the Redemption, he worked with inherited materials..." (p. 221)

Using the premise that the early chapters of Acts are from a Palestinian stratum more ancient than Paul's writings, he notes that Jesus is called "Servant of God" and ties this not to Psalm 2 but to Genesis 22. On this premise he poses the possibility that it was Jesus, not Paul, who introduces the Akedah motif into Christianity.

Finally, noting that the Passover lamb of John's Gospel is problematic in many respects because the Passover lamb is not an expiatory sacrifice, he notes that, for the Palestinian Jew, all lamb sacrifice hearkens back to the Akedah and its effects of "deliverance, forgiveness of sin and messianic salvation." (p. 225) Jesus is the new Isaac.

Vermes does qualify this by noting that the Christian doctrine of Redemption is not just a Christian version of the Akedah. He simply emphasizes that the essential role of the targumic representation of the Binding of Isaac in its development.

"Indeed," he notes, "without the help of Jewish exegesis it is impossible to perceive any Christian teaching in its true perspective." (p .227)

Jesus' sacrifice is Jewish, not pagan, in origin...

I'm going to ease into this one as I haven't read all posts so am not certain what has been covered. However, this is primarily in response to the debate about dating Mithraism and whether its predating Christianity would equate to Christianity borrowing from it.

Geza Vermes, a Christian who reverted back to Judaism, discusses, in a stellar article, the conncetion between the Akedah and Jesus' crucifixion and its redemptive power. The article itself is over 30 pages long and is thick with exegesis, drawing from the Midrash, the Targums and Second Temple literature to draw out the connection. It can be found in Scripture and Tradition in Judaism: Haggadic Studies.

While not his primary focus, this article does reveal that the crufixion of Jesus is drawn from within Judaism and accusations of "pagan" borrowings are quite simplistic (making the early Christians look like a bunch of comparative religious scholars which, ironically enough, looks a lot like the scholars who make such accusations). In fact, these accusations are not necessary at all. In fact, by drawing the "pagan" connection, it actually casts misunderstanding on the significance of the crufixion from the understanding of the early Christian movement as many of these scholars may point out the similarities but they often fail to spend any time on the differences.

Anyhow, part one brings forth the following conclusions:

1) The two main targumic themes of the Akedah story, namely, Isaac's willingness to be offered in sacrifice and the atoning virtue of his action, were already traditional in the first century AD.

2) Genesis 22 was interpreted in association with Isaiah 53. That is to say, the link between these two texts was established by Jews independently from, and almost certainly prior to, the New Testament.

3) The theological problem which apparently led to the creation of this exegetical tradition was that of martyrdom.

4) The tradition must consequently have established itself some time between the middle of the second century BC and the beginning of the Christian era.

I'll try and draw this out more but questions are welcomed to help focus my responses.

The other work that is significant in this regard is Shalom Spiegel's The Last Trial. He shows, in much greater detail (Vermes references this work), the tradition where Isaac was actually killed and resurrected by God.

Though not a common belief, it is not unknown in Jewish circles. This idea is mentioned briefly in the movie The Believer.

Again, this stuff is dense but it convincingly shows that there is no need to go outside of Judaism to explain the core of Christian beliefs. If there is any "pagan" influence it either came to Christianity through Judaism (what Spiegel calls the residual "dust" of paganism) or by those who interpreted Christianity once it left the environs of Jerusalem.

Samson and the Pirate Monks

God is a trip. Sometimes you can pick up a book and you don't know why. You may even try to read it. But it doesn't click. So it sits on a shelf. But sometime later you pick it up and at that moment it is exactly what you need. I have lots of books like that.

But sometimes a book crosses your path at just the right time. You know it. You may not know why but you just know.

Nate Larkin's Samson and the Pirate Monks: Calling Men to Authentic Brotherhood is one of those books. It is one man's journey through addiction, specifically sexual addiction, and his way out. For those of us who have suffered silently, independently, stubbornly alone, this is a refreshing book. He taps into the experiences of men who share this worldview.

Traveling through life alone, living to share the adventure stories of what he calls his "persona" with arm's length friends, all the while slipping from "deprived to depraved" he bares his soul as a mirror of our own. I can't recommend this book enough. It isn't just a vomit blog of horrible escapades. No, these escapades are a premise, a mirror against which to reflect the saving grace of the Gospel message.

It's real. The grace is not the hard part; the hard part is the surrender. The ego, in all its guises and trappings, is a tiger that does not go down easy. But it can be tamed. Nate Larkin is an excellent guide on the Path we all travel down.

Here's a snippet from the first meeting of the Samson Society:

"Welcome to the meeting of the Samson Society...We are a company of Christian men. We are also natural loners, who have recognized the dangers of isolation and are determined to escape them, natural wanderers who are finding spiritual peace and prosperity at home, natural liars who are now finding freedom in the truth, natural judges who are learning how to judge ourselves aright, and natural strongmen who are experiencing God's strength as we admit our weaknesses." (p. 115)

It is in sharing, in openness, in honesty, in accountability that freedom is found. It may be painful, it may expose every weakness, flaw and shame you've ever tried to conceal but these are all "persons" (in the sense of character masks) that we've created. They are as big a lie as the counter-person created as antithesis to these things you hide.

Nate Larkin describes these well: Church Nate. Date Nate. Mate Nate. All Alone Nate. We all have these personas we create that keep us disconnected and far removed from the present.

You are not alone. Your story is not unique. We are all in this together. The body of Christ is the entire human race, though not all realize who they are in the body. The body of Christ, in harmony, is the most powerful force on the planet. Even if it just a portion of the body, those who believe, there is power in communion. And communion requires laying aside the ego and dying to self so that Christ in us may shine.

Don't be fooled into thinking no one understands, no one cares or that you are the only one going through what you are going through. It is the silence that is cancerous. This book is a great starting point. But then take it somewhere. Do something with it.

The depth of darkness...

When I was in high school I used to write stories. Aside from the "porno stories" I used to write in middle school (!), in high school the escalated. I used to write stories about blowing up the school and killing I don't remember who. I don't know that I ever named names nor did I ever necessarily have anyone in mind, though it's quite possible.

But I was so detached and everything so external I tended to categorize and label rather than personalize anything. It led to a certain form of schizophrenia. I was able to get along with pretty much everybody and didn't really dislike anyone (though my middle school yearbooks tells a different story) and had some really good friends. I had many "girl" friends but didn't date much and this, of course, is also a pretty curious detour to travel upon.

But there was a growing darkness, a gap between who I was and who I perceived myself to be. I don't remember when I did this, but below is an image of an artistic creation of mine.



And the reverse:



It's kind of bizarre looking at these things almost thirty years later. Creative? Certainly. But pretty disturbing.

Would I have ever really gone off and done the violence I fantasized about? I may have. I found enough outlets, negative as they may have been, to distract this impulse. Perhaps this is how copycat killers evolve. Perhaps these dark dreams lurk in the shadows and are brought light when seeing others pull it off.

Perhaps that is my ego rising up again, the flare for the drama to attract attention. But in digging up this past I am seeing the signs, the answers to those drives that seemed to mysterious and so compulsive. I also see it now through the eyes of love. True healing will be present when I have worked through this darkness that seems so clear now and begin to look back and see the good. When we live in a state of anger or despair or depression, we either idolize a past golden age or we filter everything through these lenses and thus only see those things that align with how we feel.

The obsession now isn't that my past was bad. I have had a good life. But right now I have become obsessed with laying these ghosts to rest. In uncovering the source of these wounds I will be able to close the door for good, heal up the gap and live in the present with no denial, no distraction and no imitation of life.

The reality is that I did have a strong support system growing up and I did have a strong sense of right and wrong, some sense of hope, that there was a future, even if that future was only dreams of escaping the stifle of small town suburbia. In hindsight, I don't know that I ever contemplated the reality of it.

There was always a part of me that was longing, love buried deeper than the hate that covered it.

Why not a sex addict?

My ego would prefer to be a sex addict. Being a porn addict sounds sleazy, cheap, creepy, perverted. At least as a sex addict you've got what it takes to get some. Even though it hurts another human being, at least there is another human being; at least there is contact. The porn thing is introverted, i.e. loser.

It's the paradox of being an addict. My addiction is compared to another's. If I'm going to be an addict, I want to be the "best" at it. Believe me, there are competitions when it comes to swapping horror stories of addiction, a sense of pride in divulging just how low a person has been. It isn't just the sharing and depth of horror shared that determines one's level of recovery but the amount of pride or humility in which someone shares the story.

I'd say it's a continuum. The truest of healing is reflected in pure humility (and not self-degradation or self-deprecation); someone still in the throes of addiction will speak with pride, even braggodocio, of the depths of depravity to which they've sunk.

But the reality is that each form of addiction is still that: an addiction and, as such, is on par with alcohol, drugs, food or any other form of addiction and all, in some form or other, harm others as a consequence, though all addictions can lead to total and complete isolation as well when the addiction causes one to be so self-centered that all choices involve the addiction over or at the expense of any and all relationships except those that somehow benefit the addiction.

So in pondering the attraction of pornography, I have realized that in the objectification of the actors what I am really doing is role playing my psyche. I am at once the one in power and the one whose power is being taken. There are times watching porn where I have a moment of conscience that usurps the numbness and I see, in horror, the look of pain in the eyes of the woman. Instantly I'm torn. There is arousal, yes, but not so much "sexual" arousal but the arousal of being in control, of having power to have said woman surrender her power, and simultaneously desiring to help, save, even love the woman who is longing for the same, her surrender of power actually a desire for love.

I am at once the perpetrator and the victim, both sides of my psyche being played out and watch live in front of me. I am the man assuming power; I am the woman who needs saved. In a sense, I am taking my own power and longing to save myself. It is the disconnect, the barrier I have created around my wounded soul, that allows this distancing so much so that I can watch "objectively" without the pangs of conscience, the lack of recognition of the symbolism I am witnessing on the screen.

Any and all fetishes or deviations venture forth from this premise, the darkness in said fetish representing some aspect of self-identification based in lack of love.

So pornography addiction isn't about sex. Sex is an objectification of interior battles, scars and hidden spots that are manifest un- or even subconsciously onto the screen. This is how women become sex "objects" and how men often devalue the personhood of women in an effort to resolve, unaware, their own inner demons.

Why Write About This? Who Cares?

Those are valid questions. It can appear as self-absorption, drama, attention getting or just plain strange, especially to those who know or have known me or carry some memory of me. It would seem my life is defined by addiction. This is true on some level as I have, over time, been addicted to pretty much everything I came into contact with, whether it be eye or nose drops, various caffeinated things, sleeping pills, drugs, alcohol, pornography and the addiction of addiction.

So who cares? No one, really. As Gordon Gano wailed: "...we've all been through some shit." People may relate and may find interest or curiosity in it but unless there is hope, unless there is a way out, it's just self-absorption, self-pity or self-congratulations.

I write not to vomit the details of an individual's past. We've all got messy pasts, things we're ashamed of, thing we'd go back and change if we could, regrets, the whole shebang. This isn't that. At least it isn't meant to be.

No, I offer hope. I am a living testimony to finding a way out of the darkness. Nothing weird, nothing magical, nothing pie-in-the-sky, nothing threatening, nothing instant. I simply offer my life. I have become much more comfortable, perhaps too comfortable, in discussing these things. Why? They are no longer a secret, a source of shame, something to hide. I'm not there anymore. Oh, the wolf is always at the door. But I'm seeing it from the outside now, much more objectively than when living in the midst of it.

And in openly discussing it, in bringing into the penetrating brightness and heat of the light, all the illusions and delusions and madness of these things melt away and that innocent childlike love that was kept locked inside for so long is allowed to shine forth.

The journey, in the end, is about love.

Pure Love

The purest of love would be so externally "other" centered that such a love could not love singly. It would be an all encompassing love.

As humans, though we may have an unlimited capacity to love, our nature is such that we only have a limited ability to actually do it. We often love out of lack, out of need, out of want.

The purest of love would come from someone so complete that love would flow from abundance, out of a "knowing" of the depths of the human condition and still the choice would be made to love, not in a dichotomous fashion, but in a pure "knowing" of purpose, in spite of, even because of, the knowledge of the human condition.

Daoist critique of Christianity

"When everyone knows good as good, this is not good." Dao De Jing, Chapter 2, Thomas Cleary translation.

That's not a very literal translation but Cleary's was my first Dao De Jing, the one I was reading when I entered the stream.

A fairly literal translation would be:

"When all know the good (shan) good,
There is then the not good (pu shan)."(Chen translation)

This doesn't take into account any philosophical insight into how "good" or "not good" is understood but the meaning is pretty clear in the overall context. Opposites give rise to one another. You don't recognize good without an understanding of bad. These are distinctions in the mind. To transcend this leads to the realization that everything just "is" and any distinctions or labels are constructs of the human mind.

But Cleary's translation provides some penetrating insight. In terms of the culture at large, think of those things that become popular. Popular is somewhat akin to vulgur, common, base. In order for something to be popular it must be watered down, filtered, reduced to its lowest common denominator in order that it reach a mass audience.

The easiest example would be pop music. Heavy on hooks, light on substance. It reaches a mass audience. Think about "alternative" music or music that just isn't mainstream. It isn't "popular" in this sense. There may be many who like the music but in the end it has a limited audience. The more "popular" something becomes the lighter it becomes in order to do so. There may be exceptions to this rule but Top 40 captures this for a reason. Commercial radio today longs for this. In order to reach the largest audience it cannot have music that targets only the few. The advertisers on such a station want the same: maximum reach. In order to do this, it must seek to maintain a middle of the road presence, safe enough for everybody.

So "popular" is not necessarily a good word. It's akin to selling out which is a frequent criticism of bands who make it big. They compromise their essence and seek to "sell" a certain sound. In other words it is the selling, not the music, as such, that drives them. Bands that have been around for years with a steady following often have that one big album. Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the USA"; The Police's "Synchronicity"; J. Geils Band's "Freeze Frame". And then they never quite hit that level of popularity again. Thus the problem with seeking to be popular as there is no way to please everyone.

So it is with Christianity. The Jesus of today is popular. He is everywhere and everyone has an opinion. Everyone has a Jesus in mind, whether the fundamentalist variety, the buddy Jesus, the Muslim Jesus, the Gnostic Jesus or the Course in Miracles Jesus, the historical Jesus, the list goes on and on and on. In this sense, Jesus is certainly popular. But this isn't necessarily a good thing for it doesn't really answer the question: who was Jesus?

It turns Jesus into a pop star, someone we can mold into whatever image we see fit. We can elevate him only as far as is comfortable. And then we can leave him behind when he doesn't match our beliefs. This Jesus doesn't transform; this Jesus aligns with what we already believe.

I would make the argument that, as understood in this context, when everyone knows Jesus, this is not good. This isn't to say it is bad as, from a Daoist point of view, the bad contains the seed of the good. After all, Paul says that even if Christ is preached in contention, at least he is still being preached.

It simply means that the question still lingers, always pushing us further, always drawing us in, never leaving us at complete rest, just out of reach, until we truly answer: "Who do you say I am?"

Think Christ is for sissies?

Any Korn fans out there? Brian Head Welch discusses what led to his leaving Korn.



The paradox of Christianity is that it brings the toughest of men to their knees. It is then that they realize true strength.

Freedom from Addiction

If you struggle with pornography, this video is a must see:



If you think Christ is for lightweights, think again. Below is a great site for some testimonials of what Christ has done for people.

Gospel Theology for the Real World

There is help and there is hope.

I am sorry...

The worst thing about addiction is ultimately self-absorption. In the case of a damaged soul, the damage, that rupture, the leak in the dam, is the black hole of selfishness. Everything gravitates toward that vortex.

In reflecting back over these past few weeks I've realized that I've left a trail of damage in my relationships. This may just be my perception, still self-centered, narcissistic, dramatic. But, as kind as I may have been toward people, and my general temperament is kind, when it came to relationship and the deep things of being with others, the facade crumbled and I ran, or faked it.

So I feel compelled, when thinking back on my life, to say I'm sorry. I don't see the joy, at least not yet. I am at a stage where I want to look at those I've hurt and apologize. It's quite possible that I am thinking too much of myself and that I really didn't have that much of an impact on others. Perhaps it is vanity again in thinking this much of myself as addicts, even former addicts, are wont to do. Paranoia is the same thing. So full of ourselves, we really do think the world revolves around us, albeit in a negative way, and the feelings of being watched, or hated, or lied to all revolve around this self-absorption.

Vanity leads to the incessant need to apologize to others, to have others tell you that you are ok, to have others tell you positive things about yourself, to filter out all those things that don't have anything to do with you. It is that need for attention, for approval, for love. Addicts become emotional leeches, the vortex in the soul, the gravitational pull of emotion, sucking the life out of those around you.

This isn't necessarily malicious or intentional, though it can be. But the greatest horror of it all is that it is unconscious. This is the disconnect. And it is this disconnect that leads to all the damage, taking away our ability to be real. It's always as if there is "something" wrong, that something is nagging at us, pulling at us, taking us away from reality. Even in a crowded room, we feel lonely. In a crowded room we may even feel more lonely, more frightened.

Yet there is an innocent desire at the base of it and that desire is to be loved. Beyond the pain, beyond the attempt to cover it up, beyond the desire for healing and wholeness is the desire for love. To love and to be loved. Addicts and people with mental illness do not intentionally become selfish, do not set out to live a life of narcissism and vanity. But the force of that which drives them leads to this behaviour. And it is incredibly difficult to break free from it, to be come "other" centered, to stop giving in order to get back, to stop hiding and putting on a front out of fear.

Addiction is rooted in fear.

Hurt people hurt people.

Healed people help people.

There is help available. If you look around, there are many offering to help, many proposed solutions to our addictions, to our wounds, to those things that keep us disconnected.

As long as there is still breath in our lungs, there is hope.

Marvin Gaye What's Going On

Love this album. I went through a stage several years ago where I pursued every variation of it on vinyl. Vinyl has seen a resurgence in recent years which is at once cool and a bummer as it has caused a what was once a plethora of easy vinyl at thrift stores to disappear, leaving nothing but Mitch Miller, Paul Williams and Firestone Christmas albums on the shelves.

Anyhow, I, as with most of my obsessions, dove as deep as possible into this thing, learning quite a bit about vinyl, pressing plants and the distribution of vinyl. Most of what I know came from personal pursuit but the details came from the generous help of other collectors and even a tremendous help from Harry Weinger who was behind the release of the Detroit Mix of this album on the deluxe edition CD issued several years ago.

I created a little website devoted to this pursuit. It's in a bit of disarray but was my first adventure in creating a website. Enjoy.

Marvin Gaye What's Going On



By the way, this album is spiritual. It changed Motown. The story is legendary about Gordy Berry's resistance to it as it violated the "sound" of Motown and Marvin's equal stubbornness in having it released. It tackles politics, the environment, love and God in one extended mix. It is the original DJ mix in that it is a continuous flow from one song to the next. This is even more apparent on the Detroit Mix where the chatter is not edited and phased out after the opening track.

As a former pot smoker (a 'weedy' as a friend of my wife's says), I realize that this album, from beginning to end, is the equivalent of the stages of getting high. But, then again, when on drugs, everything reminds you of drugs. Alice in Wonderland is about drugs, Scooby Doo is about drugs, Winnie the Pooh is about drugs.

Anyhow, from the initial and upbeat rush of the album in the beginning ("What's Happening Brother") to the middle stages when everything slows down (with lyrics such as "I go crazy when I can't find it" there is no subtlety there) to the stage when God enters ("God is Love through "Wholly Holy") to the very end when the mood turns a bit somber ("Inner City Blues") as the drugs wear off, it fits perfectly.

It was the first album to include the Funk Brothers band in the liner notes, no longer relegated to anonymity. It is truly a spiritual album and still sounds amazingly and relevant fresh today.

Pornography is about power...

Pornography is not about sex. Sex is the means. It is about power whether it be about taking power or having power taken. There is no love in pornography. There is no relationship. There is base animal instinct. The only difference is the fetishization of it, the channeling of the power of the role playing into the varieties of human desire.

Plain and simple: it is about power. In many cases, the viewer can be both the powerful and the powerless. I suppose I hold a Daoist view, seeing in each role the seed of the other so in watching a man have sex with a woman the fantasy is not only that of the man "getting the girl" but, depending on the level of violation of the woman, part of the viewer can also be tapping into a place within where power is taken.

I have discovered that the many different fetishes, all compartmentalized, and categorized, are representative or symptomatic of some deep seeded issues and if the apparent separateness of them all can be rooted to an event or events it becomes possible to see the thread between them and it becomes possibly to allow a healing balm to stitch together the disconnectedness.

The ability of the human mind to disconnect and isolate based on a symbolic level and have it manifest is incredible. Whether it be vintage porn which takes me back to the beginning of this darkness or the other varieties that tap into other areas of my life which the rupture in my innocence had opened up there is really no limit as to how deep it can go.

Porn involving children has never been an interest and is not always the way such addiction leads. The theory that a traumatic event and the origins of addiction leave the person at that age in whatever area of trauma the event occurred. So for sexual abuse, the person remains sexually immature. I managed an apartment complex for the dually diagnosed, people with a mental illness and substance abuse, for about a year and a half and realized the truth of this. There were individuals there in their forties who had the emotional maturity of a very young person. The abuse and the addiction left that area of their life immature and though they were physically forty, emotionally they acted life children.

But addiction will always take you deeper. I had gotten to the place where the self-hatred was so intense, I began to see how sex and violence intermingle. And it affected my ability to relate to others. The deeper I went, the more the withdrawal, the greater the facade and role play.

But the image that has remained with me for all these years is that of having a trash can over my head when I speak. In my dreams, I frequently dreamed about pursuing something and would ask for help but the person to whom I spoke looked at me as if I was strange. They couldn't hear me, ignoring me, and the frustration was so bottled up I would often awake out of frustration at the inability to speak, my words mumbled and jumbled like the Peanuts characters' parents in the cartoons.

Something in me refrained from going all the way and whenever I would see images of porn involving physical violence and violation, whether actual striking, acts causing vomiting or other forms of violence under the guise of sex, I was at once appalled yet compelled to look, even if just a glance. But it is out there. And it is probably far worse than I can imagine. What was a glance and repulsive could, over time, desensitize and draw me in.

Fortunately, I found salvation. This isn't the cheap variety of salvation, a quick alter call, a thank you Jesus and thinking everything is cool. No, it is so much harder than that, so much more difficult. God shines the light into the darkness but He walks with you through the shadow of the valley of death. But you still have to walk it. But the difference is there is no fear; there is safety, even in the darkness. And when the wounds begin to heal, the healing is permanent as the ego detaches from the power of the wounds.

Don't ever be fooled into thinking it can't get any darker. There is no end to the darkness. The only limit are the safeguards in your life, whether love of family, moral principles or other "natural" means. But even these will break down over time and render the addict powerless. Only when healing truly occurs at the deepest level is there any hope. And, in my case, the healing only truly began with surrender to learning who God is through Jesus Christ.

I am not completely there as there are still issues to work out. But there is an openness, a clarity that has come lately that has been life changing. It isn't quite an objective look at where I've been and how it has affected me but it is quite clear. In fact, the initial incident to which I've traced this did not come back to my memory until a few years ago. I had blocked it out or had rendered it meaningless. But when it came to me after a period of some deep soul searching there was no doubt about it: this was the event.

All the Islam, all the Daoism, all the Zen, while helping me along the path, never did the trick. They paved the way, they opened my heart and mind and gave me a foundation upon which to build. Perhaps I never committed enough, never truly surrendered so this is not to cast judgment upon upon these faith traditions. In fact, I still find great value and wisdom in them. But they are good only in so far as they align with Jesus. But it was only after truly surrendering, and continuing to surrender, to following Jesus that the healing began and the light shone in the darkness of my past.

Of course I project this outward and generalize about viewers of porn. That is my limitation. I, like all of us, am subjective, limited in focus and range and willing to listen to other takes.

After thirty years of this living hell, I can "go there" and break it down if anyone would like. It isn't about sex; sex is the medium. It is about power. And both men and women, viewers and performers alike, suffer because of it.

Pornography Addiction...Continued...

Even before being exposed to pornographic magazines, an incident occurred that had a tremendous impact on what was once an innocent mind. At around the same time as my first exposure to men's (and women's) magazines, at a sleepover in a friend's basement I was put in a situation which would have a deep impact on the formation of my views about sexuality. I don't remember all the details nor do I remember what led up to it. It's possible I've blocked some of it out but I don't believe so as I've been quite open to receiving information from the recesses of my memory and I don't wish to invent something just to have a scar to talk about.

But it involved my friend, who was two years' younger and his older brother who was several years older than me. All I remember was the lights out in the basement and I was asked to drop my pants to expose myself while they shined the flashlight on me. I remember laughter but don't remember any comments. I don't remember them doing the same to one another. All I remember was the feeling that it wasn't right, the discomfort and, later, the shame. This would become my lifelong dirty little secret and thus my source of sexual identity.

Traumatic? Certainly. Abuse? Yes. Now this isn't as horrifying as stories of abuse we all know about. I wouldn't end up on Oprah from having survived this. I have friends who have suffered forms of abuse far, far worse and have noticed the scale of the effects on their lives. Yet an event as "small" as mine had a huge impact, like the proverbial "butterfly effect" of chaos theory. That small perturbation led to a hurricane in my life.

My innocence was lost and with my innocence I surrendered power, my addictions a struggle to get it back. In a purely innocent state, we have maximum power. Abuse ruptures this power and allows influences in, influences which, at a young age, we are not equipped to process. So pornographic images of sexuality became the norm, these tempered by a feeling of guilt and shame; sex would begin to hold a tremendous source of power over my life.

I don't remember whether or not I was shy prior to this but introversion and depression and mood swings became my life. It was after this I began getting into fights, becoming combative, withdrawn, angry, alone. One event followed by layer after layer of accretion to cover the shame and numb the agitation within would be the force driving me. Everything else was an attempt at running away from this vortex in my soul.

Pornography Addiction...

It's 1982. I'm in 8th grade. Fourteen years old. My pornography addiction has been growing for four years now. Of course I didn't know it then. I was just a kid who had suffered sexual trauma and with pubescent hormones was in free fall. I stumbled across this in my 8th grade yearbook, back when I actually took the time to get people to sign it.

There is a long, deeply personal story connected to the girl who signed this, the details of which are not necessary. Suffice it to say it is significant that she wrote this.

At the time, I and another guy were writing essays during study hall to submit to Penthouse magazine. I am astounded at the fact that she knew I did this. Apparently it wasn't that big of a secret. Now it may seem like teenage hormones and no big deal. Perhaps for some this is the case. Not in my case. No, there was something deeper growing, taking root, manifesting. In hindsight, this was a cry for attention, pretty obvious looking back.

Not only was sneaking into my father's stash a regular occurrence (the look of bewilderment on my brother's face when I showed him once still lingers) but I would sneak across the street and break into the garage of a neighbor who has a huge stash of Playboys and Oui magazines. I would sneak into the garage even when no one was there. I could sniff out a stash of men's magazines in any house I entered and have gone so far as to locate them while at various jobs I've held where the opportunity arose whether in an office or in the homes of clientele. Bookstores, cigar shops, didn't matter. I had to seek them out, I had to look.

Fourteen years old.

At ten (perhaps even younger) I was shown my first porno mags. It was at a friend's house where this occurred under the swimming pool deck. He had older brothers who passed this knowledge down. In retrospect, this was a home of abuse. I can't say there was physical violence but I do know for certain the verbal abuse was intense.

I was inundated not only with Playboy and Penthouse but was also exposed to Playgirl magazine. Long before I even knew what sex was, before I had any interest in females, let alone the female body, my young mind was being filled with images of naked women and men and I was introduced to sex.

In the yearbook I took the time to white out some faces (all girls) and scratch out their names. I can't remember why there was such venomous anger, though I do remember that one of the girls was the girlfriend of a friend of mine and when I called her told him she was a 'scum' he wanted to fight me after school. Though I do vaguely remember striking him in the face, all I really remember is a few headlocks and some noogies until my mom showed up and I had to go home.

We were no longer friends after that, even though I had spent the night at his house many times and, ironically perhaps, stayed up 'til the wee hours of the morning watching Cinemax soft porn on Friday nights (the film Malicious comes to mind immediately). Cinemax Friday night softcore films were also a regular staple.

Sadly, I found out many years later that he had committed suicide. Life is so precious and the connection so tenuous and fragile, it is often too much to really comprehend.

But the darkness that was to come and the consequences of these beginnings would not come to the healing light of God's grace for almost thirty years.