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Back when I was an interning student therapist at the Faulk Center in Boca Raton some *mumble mumble* years ago, there was a quote by humanistic psychotherapist and theorist Carl Rogers (1995) hung on the rotunda wall in large, shining, impossible-to miss letters: “The curious paradox is, when I accept myself, just as I am, then I can change.” I spent a year passing by that signage so much that the imagery of it is still burned into my brain. As a graduate student and armchair philosopher, this quote would flummox and irritate me; in fact, I can recall having a sermon (in a former [heterosexual] life, I was a lay-minister in my birth-church) on the ‘problematic’ conclusions of such logic! In my mind, unconditional self-acceptance was not only heresy – and I suppose that might in some circles still be true – it was admitting defeat in the pursuit of one’s higher ideals. I couldn’t reconcile this idea of giving myself permission to be imperfect as a gateway to self-development and transcendence. Well, after roughly ten years in the field and a lot personal transformations as a result of that work, I think I’ve parsed it out. Alfred Adler (another psychotherapist and early theorist) introduced the idea of the ideal self versus the perceived self (Dinkmeyer, et al., 1979). The ideal self is made up of our most favorable imaginings about who we could be if the circumstances were jusssst right; in this framework, our vulnerabilities have been overcome, we’ve developed superiority and mastery over ourselves, and we function in our fullest sense of empowerment . Think Dragon Ball Z and being perpetually in ‘super saiyan’ mode – this IS the final form! The perceived self is who we understand ourselves to be in reaction to our experiential reality. Generally speaking, this does not tend to be a very empowered interpretation of ourselves, particularly when our internalized critics serve as a template for evaluation. Neither the ideal or perceived are or need to be reflections of objective reality. Our internal logic and subjective perceptions drive both what we see and what we think we need to be in order to be happy with ourselves (Dinkmeyer, et al., 1979). In this way, the ideal self functions a lot like Harry Potter’s Mirror of Erised – it shows us what we believe will make us truly happy and content with ourselves. Side note: I was late to the game on this, but it blew my mind when I learned that ‘erised’ was just ‘desire’ backwards. JK Rowling’s clever-lazy-cleverness is a true artform at times. You’re welcome if this is new to you as well. Enjoy sharing the tidbit at your next cocktail party while discussing the cultural and political implications of Rowling’s work versus her public presence! Adler proposed that the further apart our ideal and perceived selves are, the more likely we are to feel disempowerment, interpersonal disconnection, and to rely on less-functional solutions to our problems (Dinkmeyer, et al., 1979). This fits so well with Rogers’ sentiment, and becomes clearer when we invert his quote: “The frustrating reality is, when I cannot accept myself, I am locked in a never-ending struggle.” When I become fixated on correcting a perceived flaw, I’m doing two things. Firstly, I’m keeping my deficits at the center of my personal universe; everything revolves around these issues, and so my self-concept becomes dependent on them to preserve a cohesive internal world. Change can’t be possible then, because I have to risk everything about myself disintegrating (an existentially terrifying ego thought) in order to let go of those flaws. Secondly, when I fixate on something I have identified as a flaw, I’m withholding a cognitive capacity to flexibly understand my flaws as having a role to play in my successes. So I can be scatter-brained and tangential (thanks ADHD!) – those ‘flaws’ are what can empower me to be a dynamic, flexible and responsive educator. If I’m berating myself constantly for my inability to lead a discussion like my more neurotypical colleagues, I miss out on the gifts my brain gives to my students that they really enjoy. Bereft of self-graciousness, I then move through the world rigidly, pessimistically, and consistently feeling smaller than I need to feel in my own skin. My ideal self becomes further and further away while my perceived self starts to look and function like a personal boogeyman. It’s only when I can take a step back from my perceptions and immediate reactions to be a mindful observer of myself (in Acceptance and Commitment Therapy we call this ‘cognitive defusion’) that I can understand my personal qualities as having both benefits and liabilities (Hayes & Smith, 2005). Even the things I assume to be my greatest strengths have shadows! Case in point, am I deeply introspective, or am I an overthinker? Yes. Yes, I am. Holding space for the possibility that my most hated features might offer me some of life’s greatest gifts is a birthing ground for transcendence. It allows me to think dialectically; not in an either/or mindset, but rather a yes-and stance. It is that very space where change becomes accessible because everything I am has a good reason for being what it is. Life then, becomes a journey of lovingly leveraging ‘liabilities’ (say that five times fast!) into their optimal strengths while gently course correcting around what we experience as problematic about them. We can also function graciously around our strengths- not expecting them to be a suit of armor to shield us from the world’s hurts, but rather context-bound tools in an eclectic collection that makes up the self as we seek to connect, thrive, and build a meaningful life. References to learn more about concepts discussed in this post: Dinkmeyer, D. C., Dinkmeyer, D. C., Sperry, L. (1979). Adlerian counseling and psychotherapy.             (2nd ed.). Columbus, OH: Merrill Publishing Company. Hayes, S. C. & Smith, S. (2005). Get out of your mind and into your life. Oakland, CA: New Harbinger             Publications. Rogers, C. (1995). On becoming a person: A therapist's view of psychotherapy. New York, NY:             Houghton Mifflin Company.

Sacred Wrath I am irritation. I am annoyance. I am the prickly pit that sits in the space between each breath that never quits and spits in the face of equanimity, predicting calamity, driving you to insanity for refusing to give place to your subjective truths. I am the proof positive that you are made up of negatives, filled with expletives. The dishonorable discharge of your id; that voice of your inner kidding yourself if you think you can blink and breathe away the desire to speed through this moment that Einstein knew would last a lifetime when you spurn my right to earn you a fully human experience, without the ‘shoulds,’ and ‘musts,’ and ‘proprieties at all times’, forcing a false deference to manufactured goods more easily perished than cherished, because I am just as divine as the sublime heights to which you climb. I am the sweat and grime that lets you know that you worked for it, put in the time. I am the prologue that cuts through the fog and lights the path. I am sacred wrath bubbling beneath the barely bound glory hounds who strain for applause because you all somehow decided that I’m better off derided than praised. And as you’re raised to frigid, fragile heights, still I am there to spare you the hollow-point obliteration of gun-to-head conformity; let me impress on you the enormity of your space, your form, your being. Let me whisper to you of what I’m seeing and release you from fleeing that which will not destroy, but define. I am the rebellion of being that knows you are just fine whether you believe it or not because I refuse to let you be caught in a net gain of self-rejecting pain. Honor me, and be free; deny me and be forever held in a crypt of life lived nondescript a legacy of obedient, invisible silence praised only by those who trade your bones for stock in social bondage. -rrf ---- I think this poem begs a bit of an explanation. Anger, irritation, annoyance, frustration... this is one of the pockets of emotional experience that I find myself repressing and denying out of discomfort and avoidance. I don't like the idea of feeling anger, much less using it. In the balance of yin and yang energy, I recognize that I am sometimes out of balance, finding myself feeding the yin (welcoming, softness, openness, receptiveness, yielding) and putting it on a pedestal over yang (firmness, action, initiating, expressing). I tend to categorize my emotions along these lines and also notice a pattern of preferring to lead with a persona of softer (what I tell myself are more socially desirable) features. Lately finding myself drawn to some of the philosophical aspects of Jungian psychology, I've been more and more interested in driving my personal growth through shadow work; this poem is an attempt at processing through some of the discomforting feelings of irritation, frustration, anger, wrath - that whole spectrum of "violation emotion" that gets activated when a boundary has been crossed, a perceived wrong committed, or a personal expectation unmet. The shadow, as Jung talked about it, is made up of the parts of ourselves that we deem unfit for consumption. These qualities violate our expectation of self and contradict the persona we lead with in public life. I tell myself, "If people really knew how selfish and self-absorbed I really am, how petty, angry, entitled, etc..... nobody would want me." In response, I (we) try to minimize, repress, subjugate or disown these parts. I lead myself with shame, because the reality is, if *I* acknowledge how petty, angry, etc. I am, *I* don't want myself. I project anticipatory rejection onto others because I'm playing an internal game of self-rejection, borne from judgment and fear of my own multi-dimensional self. Jung (and those who practice based on his philosophies) argued that confrontation and integration are the necessary steps we need to undergo in order to avoid these denied parts from bubbling up in other unsavory ways, like depression, anxiety, judgment, projection, violence... essentially, if there's something that you look at in society and go "yeeeeeechhhhh," that's the collective shadow, and it's also your shadow resonating with it. It's an indication that there's work to do; because when we take ownership of ourselves, and seek to understand our darker parts, we can honor their utility in our lives. It's in that space of integration that we begin to realize that there is nothing about being human that is inherently flawed. Everything (to borrow from one of Jung's contemporaries, Alfred Adler) serves an important purpose, whether it is immediate, future, individual, or evolutionary - everything exists in our subjective phenomenology with utility (we call this teleology of behavior). So, accept this poem as what it is - a flawed, shadowy human being, just like yourself, who is trying to understand his uglier parts, to embrace them, and find the meaning in them. I hope it can inspire similar introspection for you!

Imagine that breathing was not a habit and you had to hold your heart in your hands every moment a life beginning and ending with the looming question: "Will this go on?" Will we find strength to attend the furnace of our easily-expired flesh engine or will we decide that we are simply too tired to continue on? Imagine how every breath in would feel like a choice and the millisecond of fuel that soothed our aching chest would inspire us to reach for such heights once again a life lived in short spurts of both panic and peace in equal measure a constant reminder of death's granite fingers locked around our throat in a lover's lustful embrace Imagine you let yourself acknowledge the recognition that to breathe in and live is a gift that both inspires and demands without interest in the investments of either neither still would anything more be required to deserve an anniversary of moments whereupon we lavish ourselves with life as a lover his suitor in kisses this is without a doubt a feat for which we seldom give ourselves credit and perhaps if more we could a more perfect love of self might be found. -rrf

Discomfort is not the enemy of a good life not the specter that hounds our American Dreams as media and materialism makes it seem nor is bursting at the seams with surplus the marker of victory in our war against existential dread for while we lie awake in our plush poster beds we are still made uneasy and dreadfully our satin sheets become the linings of coffins and air magicked to our conform to our comfort shifts to the stale stuffy prison of a pharaoh's crypt full of treasures that others measure meant for pleasure but only in metaphor as we toss and turn away from inconvenient truths our luxuries preferred as proofs that the deeper aches of hearts unmoored can be finally ignored and we look towards a future of “better” and even more so we score our successes on avoiding messes while stockpiling suits and dresses stressing our material blessings as evidence that “keep moving forward” is the antidote to ever having to find value in the uneasy ambivalence of unlimited potential in a present moment telling ourselves that peace of mind is a treasure we can only find through the daily grind of time against our mortal coil and that blind faith in what awaits is somehow excuse for merely enduring pain rather than embracing it, dreaming of rainbows and never stopping to shiver in the rain our bodies dancing with the delight of discomfort that says - life is happening now - growth is happening now - everything possible in this moment is happening now - and there is a fullness in it a gravity of consequence as all that unfurls in the space of a second stands on the fixedness of every single thing that happened before a common-sense observation ignored by our existential procrastination, not commutable to the future of only possibility or a reworking of an immutable past no - this - discomfort cries - is all you’ve got - it invites us to attention as it makes mention of what is and what is not; and both what we’ve got as well as correcting what we thought our lives had built to in this moment it bids us foment a charge into the unknown to embrace a race to the center of ourselves as we delve deeper into the caverns of our own potential a whole world at our fingertips if we could only move toward our pain rather than fleeing into the safety of things that keep us still while saying we’re moving forward -rrf

You tell me a garden cannot love you say it's merely complex chlorophyll coursing through the daffodil pulsing and processing the rays of sunshine to make them even more mine because it's not enough that the energy is for us all but like a flower becomes honey, the money shot that brings me in and bids me drink sweet - sweet and musky - why the love of this green man drapes across my husky thighs and you cannot shield our glory, you, shield your eyes but your very sighs of disdain are the orgasmic dance of inhale and exhale of becoming and undoing that circle and spin knowing neither will ever win but it's okay because victories are pointless and it's the dance that holds the beauty in the beast of knowing and never holding, of choosing and always losing, of commitment to aching in the absence of our love's fulfillment, of willing into being a whole universe of possibilities where absolutely anything can happen and does quite frequently, in fact and acknowledging that does not detract from or indicate some other lack in logic or process just because the flaw and crack in our marble crypt of certitude lies hidden beneath our mutual love of the flowers draped out in honor of stories past come to that and doesn't the knowledge that they give air so freely and without preference for one kind of dance partner or the other kind of show the most pure kind of divine love always under our noses but invisible not needing to be seen or spoken of to be true stop and smell the roses? what a shame you merely peek through palmed fingers while the scent of our love lingers to sweeten that which was always and will ever be true: that I am loved by the flowers and so are you. -rrf

you cannot hate yourself into happiness you cannot reject yourself into peace it is love that is the key to unlocking the chains it is love that makes us free -rrf

On faith, and other things: try to see it and you never will allow yourself to see and you'll never stop -rrf

It is sadly an oft-valid stereotype of gay culture to have complicated relationships with parents. Queer people walk such a fine line between honoring our dignity and honoring the desire to maintain our family-of-origin attachments. And, because world-views can be pretty perceptually blinding, family members may not even be aware of the devastating emotional torture that can ensue for their loved one as relationships are actively being reformed. This poem is for the children of families so full of love and so full of faith that a love of god overwhelms love of the child. May you feel seen, may you feel validated, May our pain be honored. "Until the lion learns how to write, every story will glorify the hunter." - proverb (un)Conditional You ask me to love you openly and without conditions yet there are so many barbs and edges that put up hedges and line the pathway between your heart and mine and its a long walk to dinnertime because you expect the sinner to climb down to your lofty heights. You say to lay down my defenses as you erect fences and time becomes recursive because history requires I investigate the fires lit through the fields of our crossed paths and mixed desires your will against my own swallowed by need after need to find peace between us and these things tear at my heart like saw-toothed strings while the question rings over and over and the question tells me it is not safe because I know that laying down the drawbridge is not something spoken of, it’s shown. I didn’t choose to be defensive I’d never wish to be unkind I would never want to hurt you but I need peace of mind I wish that you could love me how I’d like to love you back without exception feeling every day gratitude that I am yours and you are mine trusting that I’m not just an object for you to be proud of or possess alone feeling that you really know me with no fear of your love’s egress as I’d invite you into my closet to know me more because in love there’s nothing to atone when it’s love with no conditions and traditions don’t come first when it comes to your first and only son. I wish I didn’t need to believe you loved me because experience extinguishes the need for faith alone and doubt would be relinquished to the fleeting spectors of nighttime visions snarling of paternal divisions only to be seen as clownish in morning’s light. It’s alright. I’ve come to terms with the path trod and the knowledge that you don’t get to decide which dreams come true and which ones vanish in the night. If only I was not anathema to your god and he had grace enough for all the creation made and the creation you say he let spot and tarnish. I wish yours was not a god who said that shedding blood made it permissible to speak out of both sides of your mouth; it is inadmissible, my opinion, I know and sowing discord was never a price I wanted to afford but the chords struck ring true in the spaces between what is said and what is done as it is there that our petty bitter battles arelost and won. You say I’m lost but the cost of the love unconditional yielded fruits so superficial that they rotted in the blaze of my earnestness and need to be no more and no less than exactly what I am: a vessel queerly made imperfect but still good. I thought I understood what love really was and it frightened me because an unconditional love with so many strings attached while saying that this is unmatched and feeling so incomplete after prompted me to know that I was always meant to represent your personal disasters. I wish that loving me to you didn’t equal serving two masters especially since what we were promised was freedom to be exactly who we are a mosaic of majestic differences forged in the fires of our inconvenient truths. In the bankruptcy of our pain could we set aside our egos and search for instances where consensus is and release the needto be so right and so sure?I cannot endure to live in a love where I am asked to give and be thankful for shame in return. I’ve burned in the fires, faced my desires, I know how I’m wired and find it inspired at last, I love myself in the way your god promised in the way you said you did and I’m too wise now to experience your coldness as warmth. Like a dog beaten one too many times just for being a dog I crave and cower at the arched eyebrow of your love. I’d like to take the high road but it’s hard to reach you from these heights; above it all I find myself dreaming that you could love me seemingly the way that you ask me to love you. Openly, without condition or expectation, as I am willing -and I am willing - but it is killing me to bleed out standing on the glass of our past while I wait for you to brush the crumbs off your table. I am able to feed myself but I’d rather you joined me at the feast; I hope you can find peace. -rrf

I'm sorry love i am broken; broken from bones that were improperly set during an age when things simply couldn't exist and it was safer to cage myself rather than fly free because boundaries of holiness and righteousness were myopically drawn resulting in me wholly ghosting myself building haunted mansions framed with fear instead of curiosity avoidance and animosity replacing discernment with a ferocity and strength that made self-love an atrocity much less loving you to lengths far beyond how I perceived I could measure up despite how much I treasured you and felt the warmth of your love's protection rejection instead of acceptance could only ever be our story's ending because "If you can't love yourself, how the hell you gonna love somebody else" was not the moral story offered to this child soldier bleeding from a battle not needing to be fought cast in an ill-fitting mold predicated on being sold off as a cheerful servant and now I walk with a limp for being too observant fast enough still to catch you but too pained to keep pace feeling so at home and so out of place because I am just learning how to stoke the hearth fires within trembling to hear you caress me with your outpouring of sacred honor I feared the good in front of me because of the brokenness within me and I hope you see the truth in my plea that your heart be not too broken by the hard words I have spoken because being broken is what I need right now to make old wrongs right because for something to heal I must be able to feel the fullness of my length and breadth as I plumb the depths of my despair not to ruminate but repair and while healing is a journey and not an end state I know I cannot co-create the life we dream up without tearing down the edifices of my internal ghetto I will not risk erecting a palace of hope without first shoring up my foundations because I will not risk sinkholes opening up where bedrock once was and swallowing our sacred creations for this I break your heart and mine hoping that when we both heal and feel we can continue on the new things we build will be more lasting both hard fought, and hard won. -rrf

sometimes there are no words because the feelings are too wild too sharp with fullness to try and chain them forcing them into stalls of syntax would make them less-than but we crave it all the same because we fear what happens when they break free from the fragile corrals of our hearts we are trampled by them brought low and bloodied in the thundering unceasing onslaught as they spread like undamned rivers across our floodplains of composure we are mystified by their wildness awestruck by their grandeur and ever so terrified of what might happen should they be set free rightfully so because making peace with the wilderness of our hearts requires a giving up a letting-go of shoulds and musts demanding an acceptance that not all things are in our control nor should be if beauty is what we crave if harmony is what we yearn for if peace is our strongest hope learning to be still and breathe in out and in again with soft gaze and open palm while the wilds rage all around daring us to stand in defiance stamping and snorting kicking up clouds of dust and confusion rending the air with ragged cries unseemly and pure this baffling stillness is the only hope we have of not only surviving the stampede but embracing the wildness of our hearts and forming a bond of friendship the stuff of which legends are made and happily-ever-afters brought near. -rrf

This is a study on the Christian serpent from the creation story as viewed through the lens of queerness. In many versions of Christianity, queer folk are painted in the most vilified and corrupted of terms. But just like the snake, we were born as we are, and there is sacred knowledge in the ownership of our identities. We have tasted of the fruits of the knowledge of good and evil. We’ve been sent out of the comfortable gardens of our religiosity into a wilderness that offers less comfort, but so much growth. And depending on it, some may say that we will burn, but to others we will ✨shine✨ #queerart #painting #christianity #acrylic #serpent #snake #gardenofeden #pride #lgbt

Pearls Once i collected books for the sake of impressing myself hoarding the wise words of Others brave enough to speak their truths i thought I could wear their brilliance a string of wisdom to brighten my throat Only to find brilliance dulled in the dusty passages of time on shelves muted by the discordant sighs Of my own misalignment my striving for a superiority i never knew i never needed Onward i go now towards realms unimagined undreamed and unexplored as grits of sand draw me Out of my self and into myself revealing and creating pearls that none but me may treasure -rrf