I Am a Queer & I Talk to Bees: Introducing Witchy Me

Regarding Me

I WANT TO BEGIN BY SAYING that every single human I know has been through some shit. I think I could safely say that every human ever has been through some shit. We are all on a journey of conquering self, sorting through karma, and growing to the next level. Each beautiful one of us is dealt a hand that we are meant to have and play… and the real test is what one does with that hand.

I’ve decided to open the doors to my life in these pages because if we could take measure of all the shit, I think it’d be safe to say that I’ve earned what amounts to a PH. D from the School of Hard Knocks. I also made it out the other side with wisdom, power, and a gratitude for life that I could not be more grateful for… see what I did there? Ha ha!

As I’ve come along all this way, it’s gotten harder and harder to feel close to people. Most who know me or who have known me in the past probably don’t know most of this information. Plus, making new friends has become a task I’ve almost completely abandoned because there’s just too much story to tell. It’s too much work.

All anyone craves is to be understood. I feel mostly misunderstood by my family and most of the people I know. I understand myself very well. I am about to take you to outer space with me and show you around my world.

Through a series of amazing events, I have been granted an assembly of spectacular guides in spirit and a very precious ‘little birdie’ in my ear that are driving forces for my practice as a writer, healer and teacher. I know that there is a reason why I’ve been given these advisors and my birdie... I want to change the world by helping people.

My experiences have given me a superhuman ability to meet anyone halfway from WHEREVER they are coming from. I am just that seasoned. I am proud of that. I am proud that I love talking to bumble bees in my garden and that they respond with kindness to me. I am also extremely proud to be a Queer living out loud. There is so much to say… this book is an introduction. It’s my promise to let the flag of Me wave high as a guidepost for anyone who feels repressed or hidden away. For anyone who feels there is magick looming secretly in their psyche… that needs a voice to explain how to turn it on… how to harness it.

What am I first? A human, I guess, but that is arguable. I Am Me. I’ve been working for a really long time to uncover and fully step into me. There was so much confusion along the way. I did not always have the right kind of support to help me understand. I am female. I hesitate to stick a label on how I define my ‘Queerness’, but for educational purposes… I would say that I am a mostly gay man happily parading around in a woman’s body. I am a mother because I’m female. I am a parent. I am the Wounded Healer Archetype, having walked the path of pain and suffering in order to receive my gifts. I am a psychic channel. I am a Wiccan Christian magickal yogini monk. I am literally in love with all world religions so I don’t like trying to put a label there either. I am an athlete, a singer, a dancer. I love to move and I love to be moved. I find splendor in everything. I converse with all of Creation – including office equipment. I have saved myself so much frustration in my professional life by making lasting friendships with copiers. I have a love / hate relationship with my car because it’s really fucking sassy. Most of all? I am so in Love with our Collective Existence. The humans all the way down to those friendly copiers. The plant, animal and insect kingdoms. The mountains, the oceans. The volcanos, the glaciers. The wind and rain. The rainforests and deserts.  All I want is to watch our Collective evolve into peace and abundance. I hold this hope so dear that it is my most precious power and toughest burden to bear depending on the day. It is all that matters. It is everything.

This book is not your typical I was born, blah blah blah… these are pivotal moments, stories and experiences that have created me. They brought me here to you, the reader, in this moment so that we may all grow together. I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 2

When I asked the Right Question

I HAVE ALWAYS CONSIDERED MYSELF a graceful person. I’ve been a dancer for many years, an athlete for most of my life, and a musical theater performer. All of these things require light feet. Now, I regularly have what I like to call ‘clumsy days’. These are the days where I cannot for the life of me perform basic functions like walking or talking properly, keeping track of where my keys/phone/glasses are, retaining and remembering basic daily information, etc. Many years ago, I noticed a pattern that the universe kept presenting to me. There was this constant test to my patience that I often made worse by having a tendency to not be on time for things. Now that karmic lesson is another story for another day. But this patience thing happened everywhere. In the car, in line at the store, with my electronic devices… literally everywhere. It always seemed like the crappier the day, the more severe the delay.

Eventually, I took this constant frustration to meditation to try and find some understanding. An amazing revelation was presented to me in this space. The Divine Voice told me that the most important thing to remember when being tested is to ask myself one thing:

What am I supposed to be learning right now?

This revelation literally solved every frustrating, impatient mood I ever had… ever again. It taught me to plan ahead better, to roll with the punches… It taught me to be aware and accepting of synchronicity. It also occurred to me that this question was applicable to literally everything inexplicable that happens in life – especially tragedy.

Now it’s important to remember as I begin to dive into the meat here... I will often circle back around to this extremely important point. Why? Because this is what I hope every reader takes away: We can be presented with anything… absolutely ANYTHING in this life. Unspeakable violence, sickness, loss, joyous triumph, lucky happenstance, accidental life altering turns for the better…. Whatever the event, bad OR good… You can still ask this question and more than likely find some wisdom and personal growth in the answer…

What is the lesson in all of this?

Chapter 3

My Mommy Dearest

MY MOM IS A PILLAR IN MY STORY... She’s been dead for more than half my life, and I have already outlived her by a few years, but her influence on me has been and will continue to be a major contributor to who I Am and why I have turned out this way.

My Mother was a severe abuse survivor. She was sexually and physically abused by her stepfather as a child. I am unsure if my grandma had an awareness of this to be honest, but all parties have passed away so I’ll never know that answer. She was also addicted to downers and alcohol for pretty much all of the years I can remember her well.

When Mom was in high school, she was an average student, but an above average reader. I’ve been told by more than one of my family members and her friends that she always had her nose in a book. She and my Dad met in the 8th grade. They dated late in high school – I am unaware of a lot of the details because I just choose not to ask. My Dad has shared that what he really loved about her was that she didn’t throw herself all over him. He was a popular kid and had lots of girls with interest, but my Mom caught his eye. If you’ve ever seen that movie Dazed and Confused, that’s a pretty close depiction of the culture they lived in during these years… a really beautiful moment in history.

Well they ended up pregnant pretty much right out of high school. After a sweet shotgun wedding for the young lovers, I arrived in mid-April the next year. My Dad said that he felt overjoyed to get to have a family – to be in love and have a baby. My birth story was pretty good considering her young age. She chose to have me naturally – but obviously had some fear because she was in labor for almost an entire day. The doctors insisted that I would arrive before 9:30pm – easily – on the second day. I was born just minutes before.

Fast forward three years, my Dad moved the family to Los Angeles. We stayed back in Missouri until he saved enough money to get us out there. We were reunited in our tiny North Hollywood apartment about six months later. Here was where some of my happiest childhood memories were created, mixed with a healthy dose of why Dad left Mom. Here I experienced my first go ‘rounds with police activity because her tendency to become overtly loud and even violent when she and my Dad fought. Once, my Dad spent a night in jail because he punched her. Why you ask? Because she full force hit him over the head with a wine bottle and he punched her back in an angry knee jerk reaction. She was not arrested for starting it despite the head injury he sustained.

I remember once waking up to the noise of their fighting. We had this wooden sliding door that separated our bathroom and bedrooms from the living room and kitchen. I got up out of bed and cracked open the door to a plate crashing against the wall next to my head. SO… I quickly ran back to bed. Mom was a posterchild for someone in suffering. She moved through life like a tornado causing mess, pain and worry to those around her. Those of us nearest to her most of all. My father, Brother and I will forever possess a closeness that cannot be broken because of the shared experience.

When we moved back to St. Louis, my Brother was diagnosed with Leukemia. This was the straw that broke their marriage. My Dad left her, and she never recovered from what went on within their divorce on top of what was happening with my Brother. During the next several years, she bounced around a lot… apartments, family’s homes, boyfriend’s houses. We did not have a steady place to call home until my Dad bought a house near my school when I was about 12 years old. That’s seven years of moving about once a year or more for us kids. We did have a home base at our grandparents’ house… that was a safe place for us because it stayed the same, and we spent a lot of time there. They, in fact, still live there today.

The divorce was very messy. Mom was a very unsavory participant. She spoke very badly about my Dad to us, and made us feel both scared and guilty to spend any time with him. She once told me about a dream she had one night,

"I dreamt that your father and his parents and whole family showed up in our front yard. They were banging on the door and you opened it. They came in and told me they were taking you away, and you and your Brother just went with them. So, after you left, I went to the kitchen sink, grabbed the Draino and started drinking it. Then I woke up."

My Mother committed suicide. That certainly taught me what not to do. Being a survivor of suicide has been a life long journey of finding understanding for someone else’s choice. I spent years in a state of anger and guilt trying to understand why. She suffered from Major Depressive Disorder and was probably Bi-Polar. Translation: My mother had very special gifts to offer the world, but she denied them and hid them from the world because she could not figure out how to heal from her childhood trauma. She ran from it by abusing alcohol and drugs and ultimately preferred death to her suffering. I like owning the fact that I am a better version of her that made the right choices to process my trauma.

She also attempted suicide seriously, several times, before she actually succeeded at it. I had to answer the door to police and paramedics more than once because of that. She would get suicidal, call a friend in her horrible state, zonk out on pills and alcohol, then whoever she was talking to would call the cavalry. The ‘cavalry’ would then come banging down the door to her passed out cold on the couch and my Brother and I sleeping soundly. I remember once feeling terrified because one of the police officers became interrogative to me about what she had taken. He was angry that I didn’t know.

He kept asking over and