easter basket case

Many folks know that I am a professional musician – a classically trained singer who, for the past twelve years, has been part of the worship team at a local Presbyterian Church.

This church leans towards a conservative liturgy and worship takes place in a building that is registered as a National Heritage site for Canada.  It just celebrated its 190th anniversary and the building itself is either “beautiful” if you love classic architecture or “creepy” if you’re one of the students who attends classes on Thursday evenings.

For me, the building is beautiful.  Some of the people….

This week is Holy Week in the Christian liturgical calendar.  This is the week that traverses the final week of Yeshua ben Yusuf’s life and career and sets forth the creation of the modern Christian church.

From the triumphant entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, to the washing of feet, Last Supper, arrest and betrayal of Maundy Thursday, to the trial and crucifixion of Good Friday to the resurrection on Easter Sunday.  The church’s worship team is tasked with retelling the story and putting it into modern context, while guiding the congregation through complex emotions.

This is emotional work for the team.  And, for the church vocalists, tasked with embodying triumph, quiet resolve, betrayal, loss, and horror, then the witness of a miracle, quite physically and mentally taxing.

Oftentimes we hear from congregants that they don’t like attending a service because “it’s too sad” (Maundy Thursday) or “it’s too depressing” (Good Friday) but they’re fine with Palm Sunday (Hosannah!) and Easter (Rejoice!)

They are missing out on the full experience and an understanding of the story.  Even as a Pagan Humanist, I feel this way.  Heck even my husband Larry once joked, you can’t have the Easter Bunny until AFTER the crucifixion…although his words were a LOT more blunt.

Meanwhile the Minister, Organist and choir members work to embody the complex chain of events, the emotional impact and spiritual outcome and understanding of the work that must continue.  And this is why we are often exhausted after the season is done.  Because we MUST embody these elements to help guide and lead the congregation through the events – both the happy and joyous ones, and yes the difficult and painful ones.

As a singer, I task my voice to cry with joy, shout with betrayal, weep with sadness and rejoice.

And afterwards, I rest.

And the rest is even more important for myself, as I also approach this from someone who approaches these elements from a different spiritual path and a whole lot of prior spiritual baggage.  I’m just glad the current minister is progressive and has presented messages that are modern and provide a thought-provoking and up-to-date approach to the Easter story as a whole.

Blessed Be.

on grief as a traveling companion

I had a wonderful conversation with a Presbyterian Minister friend of mine where I likened my grief as a traveling companion.

My friend commented that it was a wonderful analogy that they will absolutely use in their ministry. I was touched as this person is someone whom I respect and trust – which in itself is a miracle given my past with organized religion and those who practice it.

=====

At first, grief comes as an unwelcome companion on your life’s journey. A strong personality, it often overwhelms as your paths converge for the first time.

Grief fades into the background, a peripheral, albeit ubiquitous, player in your life – but it is always present as you continue your life’s voyage.

Sometimes it stays in the background – a vague reminder of the person that was once traveling alongside you – the person whose place grief has filled.

Other times, it gets up in your business and is constantly in your way. With you tripping over it every chance it can get – if you let it.

At those times, it is best to acknowledge its presence and address it directly adjusting your course minimally so as to not let it continue to hamper your journey.

Adjusting too far to avoid it entirely will often result in a head on collision with the potential for catastrophe. It is headed in the same direction as you and trying to ignore it will only make it more insistent.

You may find it makes your ability to proceed along your path easier because having it as a reminder of the loved one that filled its place will give you strength and resolve to continue moving forward.

why santa? why christmas?

Good question and there really isn’t an easy answer.

More often than not, holidays were spent with just my Mom, Dad, brother and I, so we really weren’t a big “holiday” family.  My Dad’s family was particularly distant at that time – there is a significant age difference (over 20 years in some cases) between most of my cousins and my brother and I – and our relationship with Mom’s sister was on-again-off-again throughout my childhood.

Yes we had our traditions – lighting the Advent Wreath, Advent Calendars, attending the Midnight Eucharist Service on Christmas Eve, going to The Old Mill for Christmas dinner – but more often than not, that was the extent of things.

I think I went for photos with Santa once at the Ontario Hydro family holiday party, and my Aunt took me to see the Toronto Santa Claus Parade once.  But there wasn’t a lot of hoopla for the most part.

In High School, our family stopped giving presents all together and went to Walt Disney World during the holidays (back before such a trip would require a mortgage).  Once again, it was just the four of us and we’d attend the Christmas Parade, have a quiet dinner somewhere, and then spend time doing what families do at Disney (riding rides and trying to avoid meltdowns).

As my brother and I continued to get older, Mom and Dad would often head to Arizona where they would spend time in Scottsdale and Stephen would be with his family and I would be…working and holding down the fort.

It was one such Christmas season in University when adult Myke had his first “Santa Magic” experience – I was walking from school to the commuter train, through the Toronto Underground PATH.  Not feeling the season.  Mom and Dad had departed for Scottsdale, I was working at the catering company and had a really nuts school schedule.  I was also in the process of healing myself from what I deemed to be a “failed attempt” at conversion therapy and honestly teetering towards suicidal ideation.

I was walking through the Hudson Bay Company basement, clearly not feeling the Christmas Spirit when a jolly voice spoke up.

“Are you okay young man?”  I looked up and saw “Santa” as he was heading towards the set and his throne.

“Honestly…no…no I’m not.”

“I can see that in you, young man, and just remember that there is someone who loves you and hopes you can find YOUR Merry Christmas.”

“Thank you…..Santa?!?”

He let fly with a chuckle that dissolved into a gentle “ho ho ho..” followed by a genuine hug. This was the kind of hug where there were only two people in the universe at that time – Santa and I. It was the kind of hug where I knew that, even though it felt initially awkward – an adult being hugged by Santa Claus in a shopping mall – that it was also right and necessary and needed and perfect.

I blinked back tears and continued onward to the train. I held my shit together on the way home, where I knew I could cry the way I needed to – an ugly, blubbering snot laden cry. But I honestly felt better and knew that I would be okay, despite everything that was going on in my life.

The next day, I made it a point to go thank Santa – but it was a different person and not the same one who hugged me – I thanked him nonetheless, although I suspect he was utterly confused.

I somehow made it through that holiday season and wrote the Hudson’s Bay Company to thank them for that particular Santa.  I never heard back from them, but I hope that portrayer got my thank you note.

When Larry announced that he wanted to don the red suit, I remembered the sensation of divine connection that I had in December 1995 and supported his dream.  I helped him pay his tuition and hotel expenses so he could attend Charles W. Howard and helped convince Mom and Dad to drive him there.

When I watched Larry work, I saw brief moments of connection similar to the one that saved my life in 1995 and I knew Larry was on the right track.  When Larry died, I gave away much of his Santa stuff and tucked some of the personal items into a drawer where it lay, out of sight and out of mind.

In 2015, I was invited to attend Clowns of America International’s convention in Erie, Pennsylvania by David Bartlett.  I had walked away from clowning when Larry was first diagnosed with cancer, so I could spend time ensuring he was cared for.  When he became Santa, I was the “office elf” and made sure his gigs, billing and paperwork was in order.  When I arrived at the hotel, I went to the dealer’s room and, knowing David’s organizational skills, found his table to stow my stuff until I could find him.

As I began walking towards the door, a familiar voice bellowed across the room “Myke Hutchings, you don’t think you can get out of this room without a hug from Santy Claus!” and Leon McBryde bound across the room and Santa picked me up in a bear hug – people who know Leon, knows that the big man is not exactly light on his feet.  He whispered in my ear “I know it’s been hard for you since Larry died, he meant a lot to many of us.”

Once again, I felt that sensation of connection and spirit.  I was beginning to understand how an act of kindness in the form of the man in the red suit can become something a little more than what it originally seems.

But in 2015, I was still not ready.  I had been through two periods of suicidal ideation, had scuttled most of my musical activities outside of choir and focused on trying to heal a broken heart, broken mind and broken spirit.  It was a time of spiritual study, psychological support and a lot of shadow work.

During all of this time, I helped start and manage a choir, I ran the remnants of Larry’s charity, eventually shutting it down when it was clear there was nobody willing to help the “Santas Bob” (Boyter and Garvin) and I, and wrote and recorded an album’s worth of “sad and angry boy” music.

I began consulting as a gay survivor of abuse in the Christian church; speaking, advising and advocating on behalf of the community.

It was at a Presbyterian Church event where fellow clown and dear friend David Milmine sat beside me, and whispered in my ear “I want you to be Santa’s elf.”

“What?”

“I’m doing bigger events each year and want a partner to work with.  I want you to be that partner.”

“Let me think about it.”

That year, David as Santa showed up at my house after performing at a Christmas party.  I already had another friend in the form of Hunky Dorey the Clown there, so we chatted a while while they rehydrated after long events before heading home.  As he got up, David said “I’m thinking you need a reminder of something.” and then Santa hugged me.

Once more that feeling of connection, of spirit, of magick.  Perhaps that was the feeling of my heart growing three sizes bigger, but that was the moment that the idea Phineus was born.  “I’ll be your elf, but I’m doing it on my terms.”

“I’d expect nothing less.  Merry Christmas.”

“Love you brother.  Love you Santa.”

That began the year-long workshop of Phineus, including the early stages of his back story…but I’ll save that for another time.

There’s a saying that goes:  Someday someone will hug you long enough and hard enough that all your broken pieces will stick back together.

It took an immortal saint multiple times, aided and abetted by three of his human avatars; ably assisted and supported by the Reverends Beyerl.

Thank you Santa. I love you.

tree of forgiveness

“Then as God as my witness
I’m getting back into show business
I’m going to open up a nightclub called “The Tree of Forgiveness”
And forgive everybody ever done me any harm
Well, I might even invite a few choice critics
Those syphilitic parasitics
Buy them a pint of Smithwicks
And smother them with my charm“

– John Prine

Because this time of year always leaves me meditative and contemplative.

The past year has been focused on forgiveness and the act of forgiving “everybody ever done me any harm.”

Some I’ve been able to do in person, reconnecting with them to allow myself closure with them. Some I’ve even given some access back into my life.

Some I’ve been attempting to reconnect with, to better understand what happened on their side and why they decided to undertake the actions they did.

Others, I’ve done in my heart, mind and spirit. Because they are no longer with us, or I just need to let them go and set them free from the bondage of my ire, sadness and anger.

Therefore setting myself free.

Some of these events that have needed reconciliation are over 35 years in the past. Some are more recent. All of which have weighted my heart and spirit down and held me back.

That being said, this level of forgiveness needed to happen when my heart, sprit and mind all were ready to let go and come to terms with the past.

To be honest it took the deaths of my husband and father and my subsequent breakdowns to prepare me to face some of the ugly truths I had been burying and consigning to my past. Particularly why I hid behind my weight and self-medicated with food, alcohol and recreational chemicals.

Forgiveness takes time and everyone has their own schedule – forgiveness is tough and can only happen when the heart, mind and spirit are aligned.

And it started when I could forgive myself.

even in the quietest moments

After a flurry of activity during the end of May and first week of June, the past few weeks have been a time of quiet solitude, reflection and meditation.

This was partially due to my need for solitude after about 2 weeks of intense and focused extroversion and also due to the horrific air quality resulting from the smoke and ash of the late spring forest fires in Northern Ontario and Quebec.  Between my regular seasonal allergies and the heavy smoke and particulate in the air, breathing clearly was difficult and walking outside required the use of a mask to filter the air for me to be able to breathe and remain active.

With a grey day of steady rainfall this past Monday, I remarked that the rain calmed the late spring energies surrounding me.  I actually remarked that the city was so quiet… I could hear the echoes of the voices of people I love in the absence of noise.

The house seemed quiet – silent enough that the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead seemed to have thinned enough that the ancestors could be heard calling.

And I remained silent.  And I listened.  And I pondered.  

By the way – “silent” and “listen” are composed from the same constituent letters.  Let that fact settle for a moment to ponder.

And I listened for the music in my heart, the songs of my spirit enjoining the wash of the rain and the sigh of the parched land being quenched.

And I listened for the voices of Larry and Rev. Paul.  Listening with my ears, listening with my heart, listening with my soul.  Straining to hear their words, feel their love, embrace their presence.

And I embraced the melancholic state of alone-ness that only a widow(er) can embrace.  Riding the edge of love for those who have passed before it tips over into the sadness of grief.

And I sat in silence as the rain stopped, watching the sun and blue skies stream through the parting clouds.  And I savoured the waning light as the sun set.

And I listen.  

And I ponder.  

And I remain silent.

midyear missive to the man at the North Pole

Dear Santa,

It’s been a while since I’ve written, but I’ve been focusing a lot on family, work and my friends.

I’ve also been focusing on myself and how I have needed to learn to forgive and let go of the power that people who I feel have caused me harm in the past have held over me.

Supporting an aging parent who is beginning to feel the effects of time and arthritis and yes the weariness of the current times and ongoing grief.  

Supporting logical family, who are experiencing their own health concerns and facing life changing events and challenges.  

Supporting friends who are beginning to understand the effects of long-term illness and the passing of beloved family members through their grief.  

Work has been a long hard slog over the past six months, between co-workers off on long and short term leaves of absence and the brewing labour unrest between my union and my employer.

Working on resuscitating a musical career that was abandoned, for obvious reasons, in 2020 to leave space for friends who needed music to keep food on the table and roof over their heads. This includes working as a solo performer, more theatrical work and yes – even joining a community choir!

To find a place for myself in my faith community and try to understand what my continued path is to be within that community.

To finally comprehend that I am content with where I am as a hermit, tending to a sanctuary that was planted by Larry and I and one that I continue to cultivate, continuing to create a space of comfort, solace and spirit for people to rest, heal and find themselves.

To understand how all of this ties together in the grand unpredictable weirdness that my life as a musician and your helper has become.

Thank you for inspiring someone to nominate me for a City of Hamilton Arts Award – receiving recognition for the work I’ve done supporting the arts in my hometown is an honour.

Thank you for all of the people whom have been placed in my life to support me: Mom, Rev. gerry, Rev. Doug and Ben, Murray, Rev. Lizard, Douglas, Kevin, Paul, Blair, Bruce, David, Drew and David.

Thank you for all of the people who portray and support your spirit year round.

Thank you for reminding me that love can still exist in a world consumed with discord.

Thank you.

I love you.

m.

No postscript this time. I’m no longer concerned with finding someone to share my life with – what will be, will be.

new year’s reflections and observations

Over the past little while I’ve spent some time reflecting on things and have made some observations…

The people who complain most about how “we don’t have these great things that other areas have” are usually the first to say no when an opportunity arises.  Even when it’s handed to them on a platter, tied up neatly with a bow – and in some cases, free.  There’s always an excuse – too busy, too costly, “not my thing,” unwillingness to put in the background work to get things going.

Even worse, it’s the folks who often contribute the least when things do happen.

Even in the face of offering something as a free will gesture, there will be someone making demands or deeming what you’re offering is not “good enough.”   I record the videos because they interest and provide a challenge to me as they help me keep my arrangement and playing skills up.  As I have stated before – especially when I played bars – requests will be entertained ONLY if submitted on proper stationery, which is folding currency in a denomination greater than $20. If you want me to play something in particular, direct message me and we can talk $P€¢IFI¢$ <grin>. The “requests” and dedications I have done in the past are typically gifted to someone who has made a positive impact in my life and are done as a show of gratitude.

I’ve accepted that I will forever be an outlier in the 2SLGBTQIA+ music scene, neither playing EDM, singing show tunes, doing lip sync, or dressing in drag.  I also fully understand that unless I conform to certain “appearance standards,” I won’t be fully accepted by communities or their preferred artists. Neither as an artist, contributor or collaborator.

However, I will continue to write my music and be unapologetically myself – I will support the community while refusing to engage in certain aspects that I find distasteful and exploitative <*cough* the expectation of tipping performers after paying a promoter a hefty cover charge to attend an event *cough*>.

Being an outlier allows me to negotiate my own terms and conditions…and I’m quite okay with that.

Some people will never get that some of us are not driven by certain rewards to become the best we can be.  I’m not interested in a trophy, medallion or arbitrary title to know that I am pursuing my highest ideal and striving to learn, grow and improve.  How I know I’m doing well is if I receive recognition from the people I have learned from, get positive feedback from my audience and, finally, personally feel like I’ve attained “the next level” in my development. 

In the case of my work as an entertainer, being asked to teach the next generation, write for industry leading publications and being able to work directly with people whom I consider to be my mentors and teachers will beat any medallion, trophy or title garnered through relentless self-promotion.  These are ALL trumped by a compliment, a tip and being hired again by past clients or the “I saw you at xxxx and KNEW I needed to have you at my event!”  That’s the reward I desire.

one clown’s defence of difference

People have been asking me why I’m so passionate about fighting gatekeepers in clowning. The answer is simple.

It’s because I don’t want the current group of younger, up and coming, clowns to go through what I had to when I was starting out.

Let’s go back to the late 1980s and early 1990s. A young Myke was exploring what he wanted to do as he was facing impending adulthood. He had been learning how to play the electric bass guitar and was performing in bands of all types, but he still felt uncomfortable on stage.

Being asked to perform in a student production of The Rocky Horror Show introduced me to being on stage and performing as a character, even as a musician. I had previously taken a course in mime at a summer camp for gifted students. At the same time, I was also fascinated by clowns – having watched Bozo, Oopsie Daisy the Clown (Bob McNea from Windsor, ON), Rumpy the clown from the TV show Circus, not to mention the various other media that clowns were involved in.

As part of the aforementioned Rocky Horror Show performances, I learned basic clown makeup for the “finale” as the director was heavily influenced by the movie and the greasepaint had bitten me. I began to take out all the books on clowning I could from the public library.

In university, I realized that I had a fair amount of spare time at school due to a really shitty schedule. I often had more than ample time to finish my reading and homework, so I began to look at other ways to occupy my time in a productive way that didn’t involve propping up a bar. So I began busking, playing simple songs on an acoustic guitar. I realized that there were far better players than I, so I began looking at other options.

I didn’t feel comfortable performing as a mime or a clown, so I bought a book on balloon twisting and proceeded to teach myself how to twist balloons (the little book by Aaron Hsu Flanders that came with a baggie of balloons and a small hand pump). The first week I felt good enough, I twisted my way through an assorted bag of Qualatex 260s and came home with over $100 in my pocket.

However the lure of the greasepaint still had me. I began going to various academic libraries and using the interschool loan program to take out any books I could on clowning. I did a bunch of research and began to prepare for my first character. However the BIG problem was makeup.

I, of course, bought makeup at Halloween, a big sponge nose and a horrific afro wig and tried my first whiteface. I’m just glad I didn’t have a camera back then – it was pretty bad.

So I began to search the yellow pages to see if I could find a teacher. In a City of 3 million, surely there was SOMEONE who could teach clowning. The answer to all my phone calls was a resounding “no.”

Meanwhile, I was continuing busking with balloons and music and using my sense of humour to kid around with my “audience.” I began branching out, hosting karaoke at bars, night clubs and yes…bathhouses as I was working with an agent who saw me as “the young gay kid.” My band had gotten some reputation and, as my high school homeroom teacher was a biker, we often played at their events and clubhouse up on Lake Simcoe.

One day, I was searching the Toronto white pages and found a listing for the “Clown Association of Canada” and, decided to write a letter to them as it felt far too official a place to just call out of the blue. So I wrote what would be my first “cover letter” for an application and added my performance history as a sort of resume. I had just gotten a private land line in my parents’ house so I felt safe in giving my phone number if they wanted to reach out.

They did reach out and the phone call was straight to the point. “People like you are ruining the business for professionals like me! No I won’t train you and I won’t recommend anyone who can!”

People like me? People who have spent years researching, trying things on their own, and realizing that some things require first hand experience, reached out for help? You see, I was honest about my performance resume, mistakenly thinking that my experience would count for something. However I was naively incorrect and treated like a pariah because of the nature of some of the establishments. I was dismayed and almost ready to quit.

Then I found in the Metro Toronto Reference Library the book that saved me: Strutter’s Guide to Clown Makeup by Jim Roberts. The original version before Piccadilly Press revised it. As it was in the reference section, I filled up a photocopy card and copied the whole book page by page. I then went to Malabar costumes, bought PROPER clown makeup, brushes and sponges, went to the drug store to get baby powder and cold cream.

And I taught myself clown makeup out of a damn book. It still wasn’t great, but it was definitely quite a bit better.

During all of this time, I began exploring other retail locations to help me grow as a performer and was beginning to hang out at Morrissey’s Magic on Dufferin St in Toronto. This store was always a pilgrimage for me that would take nearly an hour to get to on transit. I would check out what Mr. Morrissey (“Call me Herb”) had, buy balloons and let him amaze me with his magic.

Eventually he asked why I don’t get out and perform as a clown – I noted that there was nobody in town wanting to teach me and I had no way of knowing where to get costume items like shoes and noses. He then handed me a pile of magazines – back issues of Laugh Maker’s Magazine. I am forever indebted to Mr. Morrissey for that act of kindness as he was not known to give stuff away.

I was through Laugh Makers that I met folks who became my teachers – Bob and Kathy Gibbons, David Bartlett, the writings of Bruce “Charlie” Johnson. I proceeded to start writing letters, ordering catalogs from Potsy and Blimpo Clown Supplies, Comanche Clown Shoes (still have my first pair) and various other companies.

I then moved to Ottawa in 1995 and things really took off. It was in Ottawa where I met Fizzlepop the Clown, AKA Alan Greenwood, who remains a friend and mentor to this day. It was in Ottawa where Rocky was born as I discovered Mooseburger North, who imported Priscilla Mooseburger Costumes to Canada and I was able to get my first real clown nose, ordered from ProKnows.

I split my time between Ottawa and Arizona in 1995 as I was doing work for my schooling on the Hopi Reservation in Northern Arizona.

My contract in Ottawa ended and I moved back home to Toronto and, once again, my progress stalled due to the incredibly closed and insular community. I found out about Toronto Clown Alley and worked out a way to attend their meetings where I sat, mostly ignored, for about a year. Then I wrote something about the clowning tradition that the Hopi Nation upheld. It was published in an edition of Laugh Maker’s and suddenly I got noticed.

After that broke the ice, I made a few friends who basically informed me that if I wanted to go anywhere, I’d have to stop working at certain establishments and go “don’t ask, don’t tell” about some aspects of my identity. So back into the closet I went.

I began to attend conventions across the US north and south east, focusing on learning from the best and getting enough guts to perform. However it became harder and harder to hide who I was, especially as I was asked to speak, teach and even judge <shudder> at conventions.

There were some folks who were always supportive of me and seemed to know my truth: Dana Montgomery, David Bartlett, Earl Chaney and I am honoured to still call them friends and mentors to this day.

And then two things happened in 2000:
– One: I met my husband and he proposed to me.
– Two: Clown Creed 2000 was published.

I won’t say my “re-emergence” out of the closet was wonderful, but it wasn’t as horrible as I anticipated it to be. However there were a number of people who walked away from me and used some hateful rhetoric about my performance in relation to my personal life.

I vowed as a teacher to not be like those people. I vowed not to judge people’s values as entertainers, specifically as clowns, based on the venues where they perform and how they express themselves. I vowed to support new clowns based on their hunger and willingness to learn and grow as performers, whether they perform in fairgrounds, nightclubs, haunted houses or on the street corner.

The difference between setting boundaries and gatekeeping is much like building a wall.

When you gatekeep, you build a wall to keep people out. When you set boundaries, you show folks where the door is and allow them to choose whether they want to enter. Regardless of such, people should not be forced to deny who they are or set aside their chosen venue and methods for expression to be allowed access to education, experience and knowledge.

The past summer at Academy for Clown Arts proved that point. Students and instructors alike all learned a bit more about themselves, their clowns and their relationship with performance. And most of us grew from that, despite the challenges and, yes, some discomfort.

I honestly feel that had I had more support and mentorship earlier on in my career, I would be ten times the performer I am now. However the lack of support and constant need to fight to learn what was important to me has made me a tenacious defender and supporter of those who are different, question the status quo yet still respect tradition and history enough to learn about it and build a solid foundation for themselves as a performer.

Denying the next generation this information and support because of who they are as a performer does not help the future of clowning and performance.

PS. This year, I have performed at a “Furry” convention, a Steampunk festival, a Pagan Pride Festival and a “Leather” event…I’ve taught at two international level conventions, worked at ACA, attended three national level educational events to continue learning and am chatting with another international school and I still maintain my weekly gig singing classical liturgical music at a Presbyterian church.

joy, laughter and tears

I started writing this post while I was located in rural Minnesota, entering the second week of a retreat, the week prior spent performing my Spiritual Tradition’s Seven-Day Rites to honor the passing of Rev. Paul Beyerl.  It was a truly profound and beautiful process to say goodbye to my friend and mentor of the past nine years.  I am honored to have been asked to take part in the working of the full Ritual for the Dead and share in the support of his husband and partner, Rev. gerry Beyerl, as we all bid Rev. Paul a “thank you” and release his soul and spirit to the Universe.

The following week was a time of quiet meditation and, yes, fasting as we prepared for the year to come looking towards the future.  The retreat represented a tough and emotional two weeks’ in the year, however being surrounded by like minded individuals who challenge one to think and feel, there was no other place I wanted to be at the time.

I was with “logical family” in a time of tears, remembrance, joy and laughter. And hugs – lots and lots of hugs.

After over two years of isolation, working from home and not being able to visit with, talk to and hug the people who are important to me, the past few weeks have been a needed balm for a weary spirit.

This period of meditation, remembrance, physical labour and communal living – in true mykesworld fashion – came after an insane week in Atlanta, Georgia where I got to play with and educate clowns, Santas and other family entertainers. 

Definite opposites in levels of energies, focus and intent, but again providing me a chance to flex certain muscles and skills which had been mostly unused since 2019.

It was a fun, albeit frantic, week for me as I went from essentially two years of isolation to a full on convention surrounded by colour, zaniness and yes my anxieties over COVID, not to mention the stress of wearing an N95 in a state where even when there were mandates, masks were often frowned upon and ridiculed. 

Of course there was an outbreak at the convention (I know of 15 confirmed cases, including one hospitalization) however my wearing masks and being smart about unmasked photos, combined with being vaccinated and boosted, gave me a certain amount of protection. I have, of course, been testing since – especially as this is my traditional allergy season.

From a week of clowning around to a two week spiritual retreat which included funerary rites.  A true dichotomy – given the nature of my interests, I can’t say “two sides of the same coin”…perhaps two faces on the 20-sided die that is my life.

Blessed Be those who bring joy, laughter and cheer.

Especially in times of uncertainty and strife, they truly do the work of the Gods.

what are you picking up for Lent?

Today is the first day of the Lenten season for Christians worldwide.  Lent is a season where people in the Christian faith spend 40 days reflecting on the concept of sacrifice and preparing for Easter.

You often hear of people giving things up for Lent, essentially doing without something as a form of sacrifice.  Be it coffee, chocolate, cursing, etc. – as if those “sacrifices” are symbolic of the coming Easter season and the sacrifice one man laying down his life to spare others from pain.

As I worked in an office that was primarily Christian (and Catholic) in denomination, I was surrounded by people who would “give up” something for the 6 weeks leading up to Easter, with the implied expectation that I was supposed to do similarly, even as a non-Christian.

(The last time I did this, our office had a curse jar, where people put money if they swore in the office during Lent, the funds were given to charity.  On Ash Wednesday I just popped a $100 bill into the jar and said “Fuck it, you shitheads know I’m not going to be able to make it 40 goddam days without fucking swearing.”)

That being said, I find the concept of “giving something up” for 40 days to be superficially performative and non-committal.

Because after the 40 days, people often go back to their old habits, with nothing really changed in their behaviours or outlook.  Lent becomes a merely symbolic temporary reprise from negative actions. After the bunny has visited and the tomb lays empty, people go back to “business as usual,” pretending the prior 40 days of mindfulness and reflection didn’t happen.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat again next year.

Over the past few years, I’ve focused on the concept of the Lenten season not being a time to reflect on sacrifice but more a time to reflect upon humility and charity.

So, a few years back, I thought about the concept of adding a practice during the Lenten period, be it physical exercise, meditation, prayer, dietary change.

Why?

Psychologists and other behavioural experts confirm that it takes 21 to 30 days before a practice becomes a habit and 40 to 66 days before it becomes automatic.

In the past few years, I’ve used the 40 days of Lent to increase my water consumption, take on a practice of meditation and mindfulness and exercise.  I’ve found that this period of time is a good way of adding/changing personal habits towards creating a meaningful shift in my behaviours.

In a recent public conversation with a UCC Minister, I brought up this concept and he agreed that “giving up for Lent” is at best a performative and demonstrative practice that rarely led to long-term change and that for many was a temporary symbolic gesture that didn’t lead to positive change in those that practice it.

This year, I’m planning on reading a chapter in a book each day with a focus on Critical Race Theory/Anti Racism and decolonizing my mindset.

So what habits are you picking up for Lent?