On Weddings, friends and the wisdom of Jill Conner Browne

My friend Fifi (NOT her real name – see my first blog entry) is getting married. I have loved this woman for more than 20 years. She was one of my closest friends in college and to this day, my heart rejoices every time I hear from her. I cannot begin to tell you how happy I am for her that she found a nice man to spend the rest of her life with. If someone deserves the happiness that a good marriage can bring (notice I did not say Wedding), she does.

My first recommendation to any bride is to go buy a copy of The Sweet Potato Queens Wedding Planner and Divorce Guide by Jill Conner Browne…Pronto! You get two books by the price of one: one side is the wedding planner and the flip side is the divorce guide. Both are equally helpful to any prospective bride, especially those who have waited this long to tie the knot. Also consider that every new/potential husband could be a potential ex-husband and all you little missies out there need to be prepared for the eventuality that your Prince Charming turns out to be a “Lying, Steeling, Cheating Sack of Shit”. Enough said.

As any other bride, Fifi is now discovering the exorbitant cost associated with planning a wedding. I want her to be happy, but also realistic. Once you add the cost of flowers, fashions, food, and all the pesky details, you may need to take a second mortgage on your home (assuming you own one) to pay for the damn thing. It may be easier just to elope and go to the Justice of the Peace: a lot simpler and infinitely cheaper.

I have to confess that professionally, I am an Event Specialist, and should not be dissuading you from spending lots of cash on this blessed event, but as long as my company does not mind a little humor, who the hell cares. My responsibility to my friends is to advise them and my responsibility to the company is to get them money. Quite a quandary. But at the moment, I am concerned with Fifi and not the hotel business.

So here this was my advise to Fifi and I hope you consider it as well: “As an event specialist, my recommendation is (and I am dead serious about it): Get married in the morning, have a breakfast for reception, do not have a dance but strolling musicians, and most of all, limit the list to 50-100 guests. You may get shortened on the gift front, but it is ohhh so much cheaper!!!! Remember that there are only two people needed there: you and him plus the celebrant. To hell with everyone else and what they think. That is your very special day and you are the Queen Boss of Everything! You are the CEO of this shindig, so what you says goes…unless someone else is paying, in which case you’ll need to shut up and painfully pass what ever is thrown at you as in 'shit through a straw'…but you knew the job was dangerous when you took it.”   Happy Planning!

Jill Conner Browne would be proud. Rest assured.

The magic of the Fall

As I look outside my window, I see the Monarch butterflies frolicking amidst the Milkweed, the birds feast with the new seed I just provided--as they prepare to migrate south-- and the bells of my chimes play a soft melody as they are caressed by the wind. The sun has changed its aim, and its rays penetrate our home from a different direction. The grass, freshly cut, is turning from bright emerald green to a lighter hue. Nature readies itself to slumber for the winter. The house is filled with the colors of the season. There are apples, gourds, seeds of all kinds and a rainbow of dried berries. The aroma of freshly baked apple pie fills the air. Fall has arrived!

Ever since I moved to the United States almost 20 years ago, I have loved the autumn season. My first days in New England were full of new awe-inspiring experiences and discoveries: from the fall colors that graced the trees, the sweet smell of the orchards, and the cooler air that touched my skin.

My mother, who grew up in the country side, had always related to us her children, wonderful and almost magical stories of how things would change in the farm and how the animals would respond to the changes of the seasons. Unfortunately, that is something that many of us who have grown up in the city have never experienced. My mother and her siblings were so entuned to nature and their environment that they could tell with almost precise certainty the time of the day by their shadows, whether it would rain, an earth tremor was imminent, or if the fruit trees and sugar cane they cultivated would produce a good crop. That is a gift I wish I had inherited.

To the ancients, this was a special time: the approximation of Samhain--the start of the Celtic year. In nature, everything is withdrawing into itself. It is time to let go. It is time to incubate our hopes for the time when the light returns. As the days grow darker and the time of light shortens, I am reviewing what I have accomplished this year and I anticipate, with great joy, the endless possibilities to come.

Fall is the harvest. It is a celebration of life, especially in honor of those who produced the sweetest fruit: a life well lived. May your harvest be plentiful, full of joy and blessings. May you remember those who came before us and have now departed. It is in their honor and to honor Mother Nature that we must go on enduring... and planting...and havesting...and living, for this is the best way to celebrate life itself. Rest assured.

Karen Armstrong, Creativity and the Golden Rule

As a former catholic nun, author Karen Armstrong became increasingly disillusioned with the church, which prompted her departure from the convent in 1969. Like many of us, Ms. Armstrong had become fed up with the catholic establishment and wanted to pursue more secular interests. As I felt in my late twenties, she felt that “God” had died for her. Though her faith did not waiver, she realized that the god we had been taught to obey out of fear as children was not the god she wanted in her life. That led to a journey that continues to this day.

I discovered Karen Armstrong’s writing through her book A History of God, in which she addresses the historical impact of the god concept through the first three main belief systems of the world; those being Judaism, Christianity and Islam. Reading that book confirmed many of my beliefs: mainly that the concept of god had been manipulated by humanity to fit its own experience of the divine and expectations of the world, and that such manipulations had led to intolerance and domination of the lower classes by the powerful.

The first civilizations experienced the divine in completely different fashions. Through myth and ritual, these ancient peoples created a mythology by which they tried to make sense of the world that surrounded them. It was through such rituals that they gained a sense of themselves and how to cope with their environment. The myths they created were programs of action. A myth was enacted as ritual so that answers could be found to man’s queries about his existence. This way, mankind learned how to address their concerns about the world. To this day, ritual is an important component of all major religious traditions, including those lesser known ones, such as Wicca, which I tend to address in another entry.

Story-telling was integral part of the mystical experience. As man tried to make sense of what was happening to him, civilization developed creation myths, gods and theologies. With time, these stories were recorded and evolved into complex literary works and traditions. Each major ancient culture, from the Babylonians to the Egyptians developed such works. Eventually, so did the Jews with the Torah. These works are considered by many as direct revelations from God. Even the Koran does not discard the Jewish and Christian Scriptures as fallacy, but as the precursors of the revelation given to the prophet Mohammad by Allah. However, these writings cannot be taken literally.

What is important to realize is that these works are allegories. Scripture must be opened to interpretation. In order to achieve an understanding of ourselves, we need to be able to move from the literal to the mystical. Revelation is an ongoing process. It is different for every human being. It is in the stillness of silence and meditation and in the sparks of creativity that we can experience the divine.

What we call God, I like to refer to as the Creative Life Force. It is no surprise that the experience of the divine has such a close link to the arts. Throughout history, music, painting and literary works have been created to the grace of “God.” What we fail to realize is that all creation has a spark of the divine.  We humans fail to relize is the "We are but a thought in the mind of the creator."   The arts are forms of meditation for it is inspiration that moves us through will and concentration to create. To many of us who create, it is that moment of inspiration where we find “God.” It is the experience of elation and “otherworldliness” that makes us give of ourselves. Personally, I have experienced moments when I have felt that it is another power propelling me to give birth to an idea. I never know what the journey will be like. I have a goal and I allow myself to be guided: in perfect love and perfect trust.

Take the myth of Creation in which Adam and Eve are in the Garden of Eden. It is by giving a part of himself, that Adam assists in the creation of Eve. I don’t intend to discuss theology, but you see my point. The divine is achieved by giving of ourselves without selfishness. It is illustrated beautifully in that allegory. Theology should be something that lifts our hearts and engages us to be better human beings, not something that tries to define God literally.  That domesticates that which we cannot see, touch or even understand.

It has been said that we were created in the image of God, and if such is true, then there is no need for us to bow to a deity. We must, therefore look within ourselves to find the true meaning of the divine within us. The divine voice should speak to the reality of the human condition, not work against it. By taking the biblical allegories literally, mankind has fallen into a dangerous fundamentalism that does not allow others to have different perspectives on how to approach the subject of the divine. It goes without saying that wars and oppressive behavior has been engaged to by humanity due to this fundamentalism. However, the test of any faith is compassion, something that our world lacks in great measure. It is the selfishness of nations and the religious establishment has, that has kept us away from the divine, by preaching that their views are the only ones worth pursuing.

In the age of enlightenment, science was put on a collision course with God. The Christian Church did not want to accept that the universe does not revolve around the Earth and Man. Such an egocentric though did not allow for creativity and independent thought to thrive. However, we must realize that religion does not contradict science. To me, the principle of Accommodation, that which indicates that God has chosen to reveal aspects of himself to mankind in a way in which mankind is able to understand has everything to do with science. Therefore Man cannot sit still and believe that he knows everything there is to know, for it is through the journeys of discovery, in whichever form it takes, from the scientific to the secular, that he can understand revelation. There is a reason that “God help those who help themselves.” A wise man seeks wisdom because he knows he does not have it. Therefore, we must be able to accept other’s revelation and share on its merits. Someone said “I believe so that I can understand.” You don’t have to blindly believe in anything. It is your involvement and commitment that helps you achieve a goal. The same applies to achieving that which the Hindus call “Nirvana” and that I call the sparks of the divine.

The world we live in is full of danger because of the intolerance of many to allow others to express their views on such revelations. Our generation has created such an environment in which the powerful have struggled to impose their views on others. Nations and peoples have forgotten that kindness is the true virtue and will not cease until the opposing party is humiliated. They delight in the misfortune of others. You don’t have to look far. These behaviors are even experienced in our daily lives: in the office, on the road, in schools, within families… Man needs to realize that quarrelling about scripture negates scripture itself. Scripture should be a vehicle to reach the divine. Not the end of the road.

One of Ms. Armstrong’s favorite stories, is also one of mine. It goes something like this: One day a pagan approached Rabbi Hillel and told him that he would convert to Judaism if he could recite the whole of the Torah, while standing in one leg, to which the great Rabbi replied “Do not do unto others as you would not have done unto you. That is the whole of the Torah: go and learn it.” This is what is commonly known as “The Golden Rule.” That illustrates that the goal of any religion is COMPASSION, that which is essential to human existence and peace, both inner and outer. To me, that is the whole point of religion and scripture and why we need to strive to reach the divine. I echo the message from Karen Armstrong when I say: do not be blinded by doctrine and scripture. It is all just commentary on the Golden Rule. Rest assured.

On the subject of Gay Pride

To some, the word “Pride” is taken totally out of context. Pride should be a force that propels us to seek justice, not a badge that we choose to “wear” along with some other symbol that affords us permission to behave in an unethical or erratic manner.


I was a “late bloomer” and did not come out to my friends and family until I was in my mid twenties. For a long time, I had heard of “Gay Pride” much in the same fashion I had been taught to feel pride in my country, family history and accomplishments. To be honest, I did not know back then what this “Gay Pride” thing was because I had no context in which to define it.

Picture it, San Francisco, the summer of 1994. I had been “out” maybe a year. Some of my friends had taken me under their wing and introduced me to the gay world of the Bay Area. Being a preppy goodie-two-shoes, I had to learn to adapt. Quickly. The learning curve was fast and furious. They took me to gay restaurants, gay bars, gay bookstores, you name it. They would take anywhere the word gay was put in front of.

I leaned to wear “the uniform”. Back then it was blue jeans and white t shirt with black leather boots. Of course, being preppy, my boots were shinny, expensive and came from England. Back then I had a sense of fashion. My first boyfriend once dressed me in leather to “show me off”.   I guess he wanted everyone to meet his “new catch” and have something more in common with me.  I did it to make him happy, but deep inside I knew I could not keep it up. That was not who I was. I was, after all, a preppy goodie-two-shoes, except I had a mouth like a sailor given the right circumstances and the right amount of alcohol.

Back then some of my friends also smoked pot, although not a fact originally known to me. With them, I acquired my “gaydar”, that intuitive sense gay men have that aids them detect one of their own kind from miles away. Very amusing, funny and yes, disturbing...are some of the mating rituals in the gay community.

Growing up what I knew of the Gay world were the Drag Queen prostitutes on the town square. I would see them every Saturday night when my parents took me to get ice cream at the best Chinese – owned ice cream parlour in the city. They did make very much the best sorbets and Ice Creams I had ever tasted. But I digress. To this day, I remember those “ladies” on the town square and I knew I did not want to be like them. So I kept telling myself that if that was being gay was all about, I could not be that way. I wanted no part of that world.

Those crazy days in San Francisco were destructive and much as they were forming. I remember being taken to a leather club where men pissed collectively in a dark bathroom with a tub in the center of it. I remember thinking, what am I doing? This is not me. As a matter of fact, I wanted to end the whole thing right then and there.

Why do I have to label myself, I thought? Why do I need to look and act a certain way? Why do I have to conform to someone’s expectation of what being gay is? Outfits? Drugs? Pissing in a dark room? Leather? With time, I leaned to see the funny side of all this.

The outfits were nothing more than drag to me. To this day, when I see a very macho-acting, leather-wearing gay man, I shout out: Drag! And yes, I did drag a couple of times (the real thing) to much acclaim…but that is another story entirely and the subject for another posting. Yes, I was back then a big fan of Norma Desmond, the character created by Gloria Swanson in Billy Wilder’s Sunset Boulevard. I still have the outfit… If you get pleasure out of something and do not hurt anyone in the process, then so be it. Be yourself and take heart. Others feel the same way.

I am telling you this because none of those things gave me much pride on what or who I was. So what made me feel proud back then? It was the friendship, the camaraderie, the bond my friends and I had with each other. It was the fact that someone who a few years back had been in the same situation had taken me under their wing, much as a new bird learning to fly, and had taught me with care to value myself enough to fly on my own.

It was knowing that I had been with one of my employees until his last days on this earth before he died of AIDS. It was knowing that I made difference in his life. It was witnessing the love and commitment my friends Kelly and Jeffrey and Dawn and Amy felt and still feel for each other. It was knowing that if I fell, someone would be there to catch me, and that someday I would be able to “pay it forward.” It was the fact that I could be myself.

It was the fact that I could stand up to the establishment and the corporate world and show them that I was who I was and that in no way that interfered with my work ethics, my views on religion, or my drive to succeed or my family life.

It was the kindness showed to me by one of the biggest assholes I had ever worked for, who one day came into my office, shut the door and gifted me two books, that in his summation, I needed to read to help me “cope.” He too was an openly gay man and wanted me to know that if I fell in despair or needed a hand, he would also be there.

It was my sister who celebrated my life and accepted me as who I was and could care less of what the world thought of her baby brother. To her, I was still the best and most talented brother anyone could ever ask for. It was my parents seeing me through the though times and never failing to say “I love you” and “I am proud of you”, despite of their initial disapproval of the gay “lifestyle”. How I hate that word! It is not a lifestyle at all. It is who we are.

It is knowing that others have given their lives so that I can enjoy what I now have. It was witnessing the fight for justice and hearing the stories about Harvey Milk. It was seeing that amongst my beloved friends, there were no racial boundaries. We were all the same. And we loved each other.

To this day, though I have lost touch with some of those people from my past, I have the most sincere and heart felt-affection for them. Dean Foster, if someday you read this, this applies to you too. You were my rock many times and I had conversations with you I never had with any of my other friends, because in my estimation, you were also a preppy goodie-two-shoes that I could relate to.

It is knowing that my beloved and I have been together for over 10 years and that my love for him is greater today than yesterday. It is knowing that I have the confidence to want to become a parent. It has been seeing other gay and lesbian couples succeed as a partnership and as a family. It is knowing that I have been blessed with wonderful people in my life.

Sadly, I know that not many have been as lucky as me. Every time I hear about someone having been beaten to death (Mathew Sheppard), kicked from home, not being able to serve their country with dignity in the military, being harassed by so-called "people of God", being marginized at work, just because of who he or she is, it infuriates me.

On the first Gay Pride celebration I ever attended, the “Dikes on Bikes”, as it is customary in San Francisco, would announce the start of the parade with the roaring of their motorcycles, to the cheer and delight of the crowd. That day, I felt free to be myself and for the first time, I shed a tear of joy for being who I was, and knowing that my world was at crossroad and not at its end. To this day, when I hear a group of motorcycles roar at the start of a parade, I am immediately transported to that moment and my heart rejoices, and my eyes shed a tear. They shed a tear not because I am sad, but because I have lived and loved with my whole heart, because I honor those who came before me and who had to pay the price for what I now enjoy. It is my debt of gratitude.

Being gay does not define who I am. Neither does the color of my skin. My actions do, as do my ethics, my experiences, my friendships and my thoughts. No one chooses to be this way. We are born so.

I refuse to believe that “sexual preference” is a choice because it negates our soul. To me, humanity is nothing but a collection of souls that have chosen to manifest themselves in human form. To me and to countless others, we are merely energy that has transformed itself into who we are. What we choose to do with that energy is what defines us. It is how you affect ourselves and the world at large.

For these and may other reasons I do feel pride. Gay Pride. Of that, you can Rest Assured.

I have toyed with the idea of starting a blog for a long time, but I often wondered who would be interested in listening to what I have to say? I am, by nature, a communicator. It is what I do. It is in my veins. I learn, I absorb, I educate, I influence. At times, the urge to communicate is stronger than food as it is what really feeds my soul.

The pen name I use, Gavriel, was chosen for that very reason. Not to get too much into religion here, the Archangel Gabriel was the announcer, the messenger, the artist. You may wonder why I have chosen not to use my own name. It is not that I am afraid of what other people might think. I could care less. However, I want to protect the innocent, and by default the guilty, albeit not necessarily by choice.

So what is it that I want to share, you may ponder. Well…my opinion about everything: religion, raising children, being gay, not being gay, being Hispanic, not being Hispanic, justice, injustice, science, science fiction, love, unrequited love, education, ignorance, literature, art, cooking (I love cooking), food, politics, philosophy. I do not pretend to know everything, but at least I have an opinion on the subject. There is no subject that may be off limits…much to the chagrin of my dear relatives.

Sometimes I may get too deep into a subject I feel passionate about, but that is how I am. I am passionate about my friends, my family, my work, and the world around me. My muses play tricks on me, as they do with every aware human being I suppose, and the best idea for an essay will hit me at the most inconvenient time…and I have no paper and pen to write on. Wonder what happens with those thoughts? Thoughts are ethereal and organic. I have often wondered if the thought I just lost was caught by someone else by osmosis.

As Khalil Gibran said: “All our words are but crumbs that fall down from the feast of the mind.” The important thing is to collect as many crumbs as possible and have a feast. That is what I intend to do. Of that, you can Rest Assured.