Perfectly Imperfect

They tell me that “practice makes perfect,” but to me that implies that perfection is an end result. I personally beg to differ. When discussing items that are deemed “perfect” an image typically comes to mind of one set ideal state. Therefore, if there is one set ideal for each item, be it the perfect chair, perfect bed or even as specific as the perfect red, bowler hat, perfect must truly be unattainable. And, even if perfection could be reached, imperfection is one scuff or accident away. How then is something so exhaustive, volatile and increasingly fickle so desirable?

I would venture to assert that perfection is not an end result and is not seen in the flawless, for the biggest, most unavoidable flaw of the flawless is their risk for flaw. For me, perfection is found in the imperfect, and not for their potential to be improved, but for the fact that they are and have been. Each person that actually lives is perfectly imperfect and is attaining a new end result each day. The great dynamic of being human is that every human is a finished product and tomorrow each human will be a new finished product, and that is perfect.

Traditionally for something to be perfect it must be without flaw. I contest that any human that lives his life and allows the same privilege to others is truly without flaw. Flaws, I believe, belong to the beholder, for I believe that rather than flaws, people possess differences and though I may not enjoy your differences, they make you no less perfect than mine make me. In the end, those that truly love and care about us will not see flaws but differences; whether of opinion, love or life it doesn’t matter.

An acquaintance once asked me what I considered my flaws. I replied, “I have none.” And when he laughed, I responded, “What you consider flaws, I consider a test of friendship and you just failed.”

In a world where perfect is highly sought after, stop searching and begin to live, and in living you will find that you are already perfectly imperfect.

Love is God

I have been asked many times what I believe in, and if that belief includes an all-powerful being: a god. Gradually my belief progressed over time until I became more or less agnostic. For me, claiming the existence of a god was as foolish as denying one since neither can truly be proven. I realized that throughout history, individuals have looked to the supernatural to provide answers to the questions they were unable to answer on their own. It seems strange to me that today, us monotheistic folk tend to turn up our noses at the ancient polytheists who worshipped those things around them that provided life. I wonder though, what is so strange about worshipping water, fire, the sun and Earth when they bring and maintain life and are actually tangible.

Then, per my usual routine, music sparked the further progression of my intellectual delve into spirituality and religiosity. It was a song about love, and it reminded me of a central tenet of my religion and my family. I can remember from a very young age being taught that God is love. Throughout my youth, that meant that God was the source of love and that He loved all things without condition. As I listened to that song I remembered also that whenever A equals B, B must always equal A, and therefore if God is love, then love is God.

I have always maintained that regardless of the existence of a god, there must be some universal force that brings people together and creates society and humanity. I believe that force is love. I believe love creates us, love guides us, love connects us and love gives us meaning. Love is all-powerful, all knowing and it is warm. And, just as the Bible explains that God begat Jesus Christ, who I believe is merely a symbol for forgiveness, so too, does love beget forgiveness. With that being said, I am certain that the Bible is no more than the greatest allegory and literary genius that this world has ever seen and may ever see.

If you view humanity as a beehive you can see that alone, we are nothing, but together we are everything. Just as the bees work by some force of nature, some drive for survival, we too, live our lives by a beautiful and unforeseen force. We live because we love. The Bible explains that God provides agency, or our ability to choose, and with love we have the same privilege of choice which is ultimately based on what or who we love, whether it is another or ourselves or some object of our desire.

We must therefore live and love, for heaven is simply a life full of love and hell is the opposite, devoid of it. It is our choice to make those decisions that would land us in a state of joy and peace or one of loneliness and complete misery. I think that rather than treat others based upon our belief in where they will be after they die, we should love them for who they are, and in so doing form a paradise here and now. As I trusted in God, I spent my time concerned about what I should do in order to live in heaven once dead, meanwhile I created and lived in hell. Now it seems, life has more meaning and as I trust in love, I spend my time living life in happiness and know it can only progress. After all, life is for living.

My addition to a beautiful movement...It Gets Better.

Dad Is Running Again

What do you do if you are gay your father decides to run for U.S. Congress on a platform that opposes you having equal rights?

You support him, of course!

If I have learned anything over the last year, it is that everyone sees the world through different eyes. I know many men and women who won't agree with the support I give to my father, but that doesn't matter to me. In my struggle to accept myself and those around me, I have been selfish, judgmental, critical and unforgiving. I have required the support and acceptance of my family while not giving it in return. It took me twenty years to accept and love myself (and from what I hear, even that is relatively quick), yet I expected my family to do it in days. We all like to say that when we publicly accept that we are gay nothing changes, but in reality it does. Of course, I am the same person, but my future plans changed and my thoughts about myself changed, my demeanor changed and so did my perceptions. My family's perceptions changed too, the future they had in mind for me changed, and fear and uncertainty crept into their minds. Sadly, instead of being a support to them and being their son/brother, I set standards for them that they weren't able to meet and wrote them off when they didn't.

My family and I are now on very good terms, and that has only really happened in the last six months, which was when I realized my error.

So tell me, how can I expect the support and acceptance of my family without giving it fully to them? I can't, which is why even though I disagree with my family's religion, I support their practice of it and talk to them with excitement about it. It is the reason I fully support my sister serving a mission to preach the gospel she loves so much even though I don't. It is also why I will go to baby blessings and baptisms of nieces and nephews, and why I will attend and support with complete happiness the weddings of family and friends even though they don't believe I should be allowed the same privilege. And in the end, it's why I fully support my father and truly think he is the best man for the job even though he may try to limit my rights through his legislation. I don't have to agree with someone I love in order to accept them for who they are, love them and give them my support, nor do I require that they agree with me in order to show that they support me.

-Matt R. Salmon

The Boy With the Shield Tattoo

“I can’t keep seeing you,” I explained somewhat ironically in my church parking lot. “I need to follow The Church’s teachings, and I have to stop. I hope you understand.”

“You won’t be happy. That life won’t make you happy,” was the reply. I could tell that it was painful, but I knew that I was hurting Jesus Christ, I was the cause of many drops of His blood.

“I will be happy doing what God would have me do.”

I then found myself in the first real depression of my life as I turned my back on something that felt so good and so right. I turned my back on the first person I had ever had romantic and intimate feelings for, a man.

The following few weeks found me often in my bishop’s car or office; I was a robot, completely void of emotion regarding it all. It was programmed inside me; anything contrary to the will of The Church must be ceased and must be wiped clean: a blank slate, white snow, without blemish.

As I worked with my bishop to recover my worth within The Church, I informed him that I would be celibate for the rest of my life. I would never have love. I was seventeen. I was immediately removed from my calling, placed on probation and warned I might not be worth sending on a mission to preach the good Word.

I had just over a year before I was to go on my mission and from everything I had heard, a year is the typical amount of time allotted for repenting of sexual sin in order to serve. I would be able to go on time after all! I then informed my bishop that I thought it best if I went and talked to my stake president as soon as possible so that there would be no hold up as time went on. He thought that it might not be necessary but I was insistent and so he helped me set an appointment.

The first time I met with the stake president I felt absolutely nothing. I felt no hand of God. I felt no spirit. I felt no warmth or goodness. I saw a shell of a man. I saw an actor. I saw a man feigning power. I made certain to not let anything go unconfessed. I started back from the moment I was baptized and reconfessed my sins to him, because he saw it was necessary. The words, “and I shall remember them, no more” meant nothing at this time.

After I had finished, he looked at me and explained that he would do what he could to see that I got on a mission, but that I should consider a shorter, less than honorable service mission. I left his office, with little hope, but a resolve that I would do everything I could to change that and make it possible.

Not long after, I received this phone call: “Matthew, come home as soon as you can. Your father received a phone call from the stake president. We need to discuss this.”

My stake president, a “man of God” and supposedly an ethical, honest man destroyed my trust, broke confidentiality and betrayed my faith. By this time, I was legally an adult, but I couldn’t even repent on my own, confess on my own, or follow God on my own.

Needless to say, the conversation did not go well. It was no secret to my parents that I had feelings for men, but they weren’t prepared for me to do something about them. I straightaway began straight-therapy and was taught how to be attracted to women. It was a talent that I needed to cultivate for that recital called “Married for Sex: because the parts were made to fit this way” at which premiere I could “let my light so shine.”

I continued with therapy as well as meeting with my bishop and stake president, despite his total disregard for integrity. I was even made to feel bad for being upset with my stake president and found myself repenting of my anger, because I was to follow my leaders. I was to be a sheep. I was to follow the flock.

People think that I didn’t go on a mission because I just didn’t want to, but I did. I tried so hard. I cried and repented. I relived my shame over and over hoping that The Church would forgive me. I realized after about a year that it wouldn’t. I had been working on my mission papers and went to see my stake president one final time before I was to submit them. He told me that I could go ahead and submit them, and he would sign them, but according to the brethren, my request to serve my Lord would most likely be rejected. At that moment, what little hope I had left, left.

No matter how hard I tried, no matter how hard I wanted it, I wasn’t worth sending out to serve God. On the other hand, my straight counterparts, even the ones fornicating weeks before leaving, were. My nineteenth birthday came and went and I continued on faithfully in The Church and disregarded the talk and the questions regarding the nineteen year old male not on a mission.

I may not have been called to serve like my parents, siblings, relatives and friends had wanted, but I look back and I have to count my blessings because I know that I have been called to serve in a much more meaningful way. Since leaving The Church, I have found peace in a life that it condemns, hope for a future with true liberty that it would tear apart, and happiness that it tries to belittle. My mission is to share with others that promise of life, liberty and happiness so that they can find that same peace and hope.

It Was His

When I am emotional, I sometimes get carried away in my feelings. This last year has been filled with a loss of control as I have allowed myself to be taken over in the heat of a moment. It is not something I am always proud of, as anger is often that driving force, but it is never something I regret.

I have been thinking a lot about what it means to be alone, and to be alone with so many people around. It is possible, you know, to be alone when so many people love and care about you. I feel it sometimes; I feel it because to me, as it always has been, being alone means not having the support and acceptance of my family. See, deep down, like I think we all feel, I am just a kid that wants his mom and dad and siblings to be proud of him, to love every part of him, to support him no matter what and to be happy because he is happy.

But, it really is not the case.

I was taught "men are that they might have joy," but I think now that I misread what actually said, "men are that they might subscribe to 'joy'". Unless I forsake my brain I will never be able to subscribe to that "joy" and am therefore doomed either to misery on earth or misery after death (assuming that there is misery after death for me). Maybe I am a gambler, but I choose the option with the least likeliness of personal misery. I choose life.

My family might not know it, but they are the reason for my joy. I owe my life to my father, and without him would never have experienced any of the joy in my life. His teachings are the reason I had hope when I was younger, and the reason I always wanted to keep on living. He does not know this yet, but when I was hurting because of the names classmates and church mates would call me, or the things the bible or my leaders would call me his words gave me hope that it would indeed get better. In a society that intimidated and stifled by teaching that one man had all the answers, my father raised me to listen first, and foremost, to the spirit within me and to my personal revelations. He taught me that men are men, though they may have or claim authority from God, they are first men and are therefore weakened by their own bias. If I was not raised with the beliefs my father instilled in me, I am not sure I would have stuck around to be raised at all.

Once I was able to acknowledge that I am the ultimate authority over my life, things got easier. Just being was no longer a challenge. I no longer feel the deep sorrow, shame and darkness from before and life has developed more meaning.

I think my grandpa opened my eyes to the meaning of life. Life is living, he taught me that after he passed; life is to be happy, to "have joy." He lived every day, not like it was his last; he lived each day like it was his.

The Worth of Every Soul

I can remember two very distinct periods of my childhood and they correlate to the elementary schools I went to. During my first three years I never cared about the way I said things, how I looked or walked and I didn’t care about who I played with. The last three years were very different; I second guessed myself often, worried that any little thing I did or said might make me come off gay. I only cared because I was constantly reminded what the other kids thought of me, “Fag!” “Homo!” “Queer!” Names that only those who have been called by them know that they mean, “I hate you because you are different. You don’t deserve to be treated as an equal. You are not worth it.” I remember once a boy even came up behind me and thrust his self into me, most likely from a dare. I knew every one of those kids from church. I know that they weren’t taught to treat me that way in church, but interestingly enough I don’t remember a single instance where someone who didn’t go to my church called me such names.

“Heavenly Father, if I have to spend eternity in Hell, please do not make me be there alone. I will accept that I must be in Hell if you let me be with my family.” I plead with my creator through sobs and tears, trying to make a deal when I was just twelve years old. I was certain that because of something I had no control over, I would forever live in Hell. I had accepted my fate one night after nights of spending hours crying on my knees and only asked that my God wouldn’t abandon me to be alone. I asked that I could be with my family though there was no doubt in my mind that they would be in Heaven. I knew then that eternal punishment would be an existence without my family.

In church my self loathing grew deeper as I learned that God didn’t approve of the way I felt either, and that it was unnatural. I was taught that the natural man was an enemy to God and that somehow the unnatural way I felt was the natural man. To this day I am not sure if God wants me to be the natural man or an unnatural one, and I suppose I may never. I did come to know, however, that he does not like the way I am, regardless of its state of nature. I suppose that is why I was so quick to begin therapy to fix my handicap. I remember thinking somehow that I would no longer be broken, even though the therapist told me that I would always struggle with my same sex attraction but he would teach me the steps to recovery and maintaining a “healthy” life. Somehow, getting me to say “Fuck,” was part of the road to recovery. “Don’t you just want to swear sometimes, Matt?” he asked. “No, not really.” “You don’t even think swear words?” he came back with. “No, I don’t.” “Just say ‘fuck you’ to all those who have hurt you,” he prodded. “No, I don’t think I will.” I guess maybe if I had done what he wanted, I might be straight now. However, that was back when I would have taken a pill to become straight if there was one. Now, I would take a pill just to ensure that I will always be gay.

There came a point in my life when my self loathing turned into empowerment. I began to realize how ridiculous it was to spend life hating who I was. I began to realize that God loved me regardless and that he wanted me to have a family the way I wanted to have a family, with a husband and children. For the first time in my life, I was happy to be gay, and happy to be me. Ironically though, I became depressed but only because my happiness somehow made the people I love sad and I allowed their thoughts and their feelings to affect how I felt. I realized that that too, was not a healthy way to live.

It wasn’t long after that I realized that I would never fully love myself by embracing what I was taught in church. I had to let it go and let the Mormon Church go. My mother asked me once if being gay is the only reason I left the Mormon Church and truthfully it is not. I first questioned the church after a conversation one Christmas with my family. My father was explaining that scientology was a big crock because the man who started it was a science fiction author who said men were first aliens and they could only advance by paying large sums of money. I immediately thought, “Strange, mormonism was began by a fourteen year old boy who said that men were first intelligences (whatever that is) and they could only advance by paying ten percent of everything they earned.” Being gay didn’t make me lose faith in the Mormon Church, the Mormon Church made me lose faith in the Mormon Church.

I have also many times been called bitter regarding my feelings towards the Mormon Church. I am not bitter but saddened and disappointed with the church. Everytime I hear someone read Leviticus 18:22, explain that homosexuality is giving into carnality or compare me to an alcoholic, polygamist or pedophile. Everytime the church steps in to strip away individual freedoms or ask for donations to destroy marriage in the name of God. Everytime I am told that homosexuality will be the destruction of society as we know it, I hear “I hate you because you are different. You don’t deserve to be treated as an equal. You are not worth it.”

The DownRIGHT Crazy

Growing up in a political, conservative, religious family instilled in me a sense of respect for the religious right. That respect has steadily declined over the years; however, I still maintained a certain amount until recent events had me questioning the sanity of my youth.

Between George Rekers and his propensity to rent boys like I use the Redbox around the corner and the Mormon Church’s failure to appreciate the “worth of every soul” that have been molested by those they place in leadership positions, I can no longer respect those who advocate one thing, or many things, but do another. I am not sure how I rationalized the hypocrisy in the past, but I think it might have something to do with my brain being washed by immersion.

Interestingly, Reverend George is a lot like Saul, from the Good Book. He persecuted the gay community for years, and would it surprise anybody if the blood of self-loathing suicidal teens was on his hands? Then one day, a donkey, we will call him “Lucien”, flipped his world completely around. He went from one of the most outspoken anti-gay/ex-gay activists to being caught, almost literally, in bed with his enemy. Reparative therapy seems to be more of a cover up for those afraid of living authentically. Is he a self loathing homophobe, or just downright crazy?

Sadly, I cannot find as nice a correlation for the Mormon Church as I could for Rekers. When I think of the Mormon Church a few things come to mind…a great and spacious building, secret combinations and the greatest pyramid scheme this world has ever known. With as hard as the Mormon Church works in opposition to the gay community, you would think that when men “called of God” are molesting young boys the church might do more than tell the molesters that they need to repent or they might have to spend eternity in the Terrestrial Kingdom. Such was the case with Timur Dykes of Oregon or Brad Stowell of Orange County, both of which were young men/boy scout leaders. Do they reside in the biggest white washed sepulcher of all, or are they just downright crazy?

After an article was published about me in Echo, a gay magazine, my mother called to explain that she had heard about the article from a member of United Families International. The organization is the epitome of the religious right. They fight to defend marriage from the gays, save children from the gays and deny rights to the gays. Oddly enough though, they enjoy reading magazines of the gays. I have a hard time finding a shred of lucid logic in their actions or their causes. Are they soldiers crusading for the glory of their regime, or are they just downright crazy?

To those who would tell me that god disapproves of me and I, therefore, should be treated like less of a person, I say are just downright crazy. If the religious right wants to present rational behavior I would suggest to them that they should stop trying to "cure" the gays, stop trying to cover up sodomy, and stop trying to defeat the gays while supporting gay media outlets.

In a country where "separate but equal" has failed, I find it disheartening that history has taught us nothing. But history does nothing if not repeat itself and soon all men truly might be equal based on their rights to life, liberty and especially happiness. If not, it is because we have yielded control to the downright crazy.

3 Years Ago

It's strange to look back on life and the many places it has taken me. I have been looking through an email account that I haven't touched in about a year. I found an email from 3 years ago that I remember well.

It was a very dark time in my life: I was in reparative therapy to make me straight, hoping to serve a mission for the LDS Church (yet they told me I could probably only serve a service mission, which for a young man is a slap in the face, saying you aren't good enough, and all because I confessed my sins. Whereas, I'm sure most guys that go, don't, or they wouldn't be going...actually, I guess because their sins were with women it's okay, so never mind), I didn't have strong friends and all I wanted was love. I was counseling daily with my bishop of the time so that I could be worthy (worth it) again.

Here is an excerpt from this particular "Dear Bishop" journal entry May 18, 2007:

“But after I got home from volleyball, and even now as I write this e-mail, I have a strong desire for love and affection. I want so badly to love someone and be loved in return. I want romance. But, I know that what I want I can't have, and so I have to go on without it. I still am having a hard time feeling much of anything like love or concern though. It feels so empty to not have those good feelings or even feel any emotional attachment. I feel very alone. I will continue on though, I hope that as I continue on in what you have outlined that the Lord will answer my prayers.”

And the reply: “Plan and go on a date, or dates with a member of the opposite sex. There are plenty of young women out there who would love to date you.”

Rereading that has definitely brought me a lot of emotion. I see such a sad person in that boy that I was. Now, to see someone hurting so badly for love and affection (to give it and receive it) from someone they desire brings tears to my eyes, no matter whom. And that was me 3 years ago. Everyone deserves love; and why would God say that they can’t have it? How could I believe that God would say that? But I did, I accepted that I couldn’t have it…was resigned to my fate.

It’s thoughts of reliving my past or of anyone else having to live something similar that pushes me to fight for change. No one deserves to feel like they have to be happy without love, without the love shared between two people. If you agree, please don’t try to stop me, stand by me.

-Matt

Grandpa, what's the point?

A couple nights ago I had a dream, in which I found myself on my hands and knees when I noticed someone standing in front of me. As my eyes made their way up, they fell upon my grandfather's face.

I remember feeling complete surprise, excitement and joy at seeing my grandfather and having him in my presence again. Overwhelmed with emotion, I fell into his arms as he hugged me and smiled, beaming with love.

I could feel his strength, his pride and his great love for me as he held me. I looked at him with wet eyes and asked him, "Grandpa, what is it all about? What is the point?" to which he replied, "To enjoy life and to be happy." I then nervously asked him, "Grandpa, am I okay being gay?" and with no hesitation in his kind voice and a hint of surprise that I even had to ask, he responded, "Of course you are!" and hugged me tighter.

In an instant, he was gone, just as he had come and I was left with the peace I am sure he has felt for the last four months or so. At that moment, just as all the others when he was alive, I felt his amazing, undoubtable love that no other person can more adequately make me feel. It was real and his love is one that I want to possess in my own heart and allow others to show me.