Strange Vibrations, by Pat Gourley


“Just because you are seeing divine light, experiencing waves of bliss, or conversing with gods and goddesses is no reason to forget your zip code”
Ram Dass

For me strange vibrations have usually involved bouts of anxiety, which fortunately have been short-lived and really quite rare in my 67 years. My first experience with being anxious in an uncomfortable fashion was in my early teens and can be directly related to buying into the bullshit being foisted on me by the Catholic Church and its minions.

In hindsight I do think that my budding awareness that I was a gay little kid was just beginning to come into conflict in so many ways with the Church’s teachings. The cognitive dissonance created by what I felt in my core butting up against the relentless brainwashing could be quite anxiety provoking.

It was the most insidious form of child abuse legitimately sanctioned by society and the Church and it created lots of strange vibrations. By my Junior Year in high school these religiously induced anxiety attacks were quickly abating in large part thanks to my first gay relationship with a loving queer spirit guide in the form of an elder loving mentor.

I wonder sometimes if what I view as the relentless child abuse from all organized religions, often in an extreme form of psychological coercion and intimidation, doesn’t in some ways provide the cover or rather the rationale then for actual physical abuse both sexual and non-sexual to take place. If you are willing to foist on young impressionable minds all sorts of bullshit succinctly laid out in the Baltimore Catechism for example does that make it easier to then extend this form of mind control to involve the physical? All of us are born atheists and really should be left alone with that universal view to eventually sort things out on our own.

I must say that my current spiritual view, which can best be described as Buddhist-atheism, is no longer a source of any sort of anxiety. I have finally learned the amazing calming effect of sitting quietly and focusing on my breath especially when the current fucked-up state of humanity begins to impinge, usually due to too much Internet surfing. Amazing how this can also be remediated by a walk to the Denver Botanic Gardens and a few hours of soaking up that energy.

After extricating myself from the Catholic Church in 1967 my next real bout with anxiety did not occur until the fall of 1979 and involved a bit too much psilocybin and a trip to the Empire Bathes. The resulting moderate freak-out was anxiety provoking enough for me to essentially swear off all drugs for the past 35+years with one accidental episode this past winter – details to follow.

My next strange vibrations did not occur until the fall of 1995 following my partner David’s death from AIDS related stuff. For many months after his death I would have nightmares often ending with waking up in panic mode with the sheets often drenched with sweat. This did stop eventually after about six months of talk-therapy with a great shrink. No, I do not think I was experiencing untreated sleep apnea.

My most recent bout of strange vibrations occurred this past January when I was out in San Francisco. I was being Innkeeper and mentoring a new 14-week-old puppy. It was a rainy evening with only a few guests and as is my want I started craving something sweet about 7 PM. The pup and I were ensconced in the library catching up on Downton Abbey episodes.

Wandering into the kitchen I spied a Christmas tin on the counter. Upon inspection I found cookies that I remember being very similar to ones made in large quantities around the holidays. I quickly made short work of 6 or 7 of these cookies. I thought they had a bit of an odd molasses taste but still hit the spot. About 30 minutes later I began to experience very strange vibrations. This was odd I thought since I was in one of the safest places I can imagine on earth and to have waves of anxiety sweep over me rather relentlessly soon had me wondering if these weren’t perhaps the infamous house pot cookies. Several folks in the house have medical marijuana cards and made use of the herb on occasion often in the form of baked goods but usually only ¼ to ½ of one cookie imbibed at a time.

Long story short I was able to determine that the cookies were “loaded”. After several calls to Denver friends with questions about HIV Meds and large quantities of THC I was assured there were no physical interactions. I clearly recognized the anxiety as familiar ground and was able to weather the storm with the help of a good friend who came home from work early and some conscious breathwork. After about six hours I was pretty much back on earth with the strange vibrations fading away. I was left to ponder a line from an old Grateful Dead song: “Maybe you had too much too fast”.

I was able throughout though to remember not only how to operate my cell phone and walk the dog but also I could easily recall my zip code.

© May 2016

About the Author 

I was born in La Porte Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California.

Strange Vibrations, by Pat Gourley

“Just because you are
seeing divine light, experiencing waves of bliss, or conversing with gods and
goddesses is no reason to forget your zip code”
Ram Dass
For me strange vibrations
have usually involved bouts of anxiety, which fortunately have been short-lived
and really quite rare in my 67 years. My first experience with being anxious in
an uncomfortable fashion was in my early teens and can be directly related to
buying into the bullshit being foisted on me by the Catholic Church and its
minions.
In hindsight I do think
that my budding awareness that I was a gay little kid was just beginning to
come into conflict in so many ways with the Church’s teachings. The cognitive
dissonance created by what I felt in my core butting up against the relentless
brainwashing could be quite anxiety provoking.
It was the most insidious
form of child abuse legitimately sanctioned by society and the Church and it created
lots of strange vibrations. By my Junior Year in high school these religiously
induced anxiety attacks were quickly abating in large part thanks to my first gay
relationship with a loving queer spirit guide in the form of an elder loving
mentor.
I wonder sometimes if
what I view as the relentless child abuse from all organized religions, often
in an extreme form of psychological coercion and intimidation, doesn’t in some
ways provide the cover or rather the rationale then for actual physical abuse
both sexual and non-sexual to take place. 
If you are willing to foist on young impressionable minds all sorts of
bullshit succinctly laid out in the Baltimore Catechism for example does that
make it easier to then extend this form of mind control to involve the
physical? All of us are born atheists and really should be left alone with that
universal view to eventually sort things out on our own.
I must say that my
current spiritual view, which can best be described as Buddhist-atheism, is no
longer a source of any sort of anxiety. I have finally learned the amazing
calming effect of sitting quietly and focusing on my breath especially when the
current fucked-up state of humanity begins to impinge, usually due to too much
Internet surfing. Amazing how this can also be remediated by a walk to the Denver
Botanic Gardens and a few hours of soaking up that energy.
After extricating myself
from the Catholic Church in 1967 my next real bout with anxiety did not occur
until the fall of 1979 and involved a bit too much psilocybin and a trip to the
Empire Bathes. The resulting moderate freak-out was anxiety provoking enough
for me to essentially swear off all drugs for the past 35+years with one
accidental episode this past winter – details to follow.
My next strange
vibrations did not occur until the fall of 1995 following my partner David’s
death from AIDS related stuff. For many months after his death I would have
nightmares often ending with waking up in panic mode with the sheets often
drenched with sweat.  This did stop
eventually after about six months of talk-therapy with a great shrink. No, I do
not think I was experiencing untreated sleep apnea.
My most recent bout of
strange vibrations occurred this past January when I was out in San Francisco.
I was being Innkeeper and mentoring a new 14-week-old puppy.  It was a rainy evening with only a few guests
and as is my want I started craving something sweet about 7 PM.  The pup and I were ensconced in the library
catching up on Downton Abbey episodes.
Wandering into the
kitchen I spied a Christmas tin on the counter. Upon inspection I found cookies
that I remember being very similar to ones made in large quantities around the
holidays. I quickly made short work of 6 or 7 of these cookies. I thought they
had a bit of an odd molasses taste but still hit the spot. About 30 minutes
later I began to experience very strange vibrations. This was odd I thought
since I was in one of the safest places I can imagine on earth and to have waves
of anxiety sweep over me rather relentlessly soon had me wondering if these
weren’t perhaps the infamous house pot cookies. Several folks in the house have
medical marijuana cards and made use of the herb on occasion often in the form
of baked goods but usually only ¼ to ½ of one cookie imbibed at a time. 
Long story short I was
able to determine that the cookies were “loaded”.  After several calls to Denver friends with
questions about HIV Meds and large quantities of THC I was assured there were
no physical interactions. I clearly recognized the anxiety as familiar ground
and was able to weather the storm with the help of a good friend who came home
from work early and some conscious breathwork. After about six hours I was
pretty much back on earth with the strange vibrations fading away. I was left
to ponder a line from an old Grateful Dead song: “Maybe you had too much too
fast”. 
I was able throughout
though to remember not only how to operate my cell phone and walk the dog but
also I could easily recall my zip code.
©
May 2016
 
About the Author 
I was born in La Porte Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled
by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in
Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an
extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California.

Friends, by Pat Gourley

Looking back on my 66
years I have I guess been involved with what could be called many different
“cults”.  Starting with the Catholic Church and progressing onto
the Democratic Socialist Party, Wiccan Covens, the gay community & Radical
Fairies and Buddhist Practice etc. etc. The most enduring though has been my
attachment to this little band:
The twirling paradox
here if any is that this was posted on a Wall Street Journal blog. Oh well,
still a great version of these two old songs performed with love and gusto for
many thousands of devoted followers this past summer in Chicago.
© 8 Nov 2015  
About the Author  

I was born in La Porte Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled
by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in
Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an
extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California.

Angels by Pat Gourley

Angels, specifically my own Guardian Angel, were certainly
part of the mythology foisted on my innocent little head in the early years of
Catholic Grade School. The mythology being laid on us actually reached at times
the absurd when we were asked by our nuns in the very early grades to please
scoot over in our desk seats so we could make room for our guardian angels to
sit down. I don’t remember this injunction much beyond the second grade. Perhaps
that was because of a realization on the part of our teachers that with the
existence of Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy going out the window for many of
us it might have been a bit much to keep pushing the idea of guardian angels needing
a break and plopping down next to you.
Catholic teaching, perhaps not the most sophisticated strain
of it even back in the mid-1950’s, taught that all souls get an Angel assigned
to protect and be your guardian if you will. Since I was well on my way to
being a little apostate at the age of eight I always thought the nuns were just
trying to get us to not keep our books next to us on our seats, which we would
frequently push off the seat and crash to the floor.  And of course in today’s age of significant
childhood obesity there would be many kids who couldn’t make room for any Angel’s
butt with their own barely fitting in the seat.
If anyone seriously presented me with the possibility of my
having a guardian angel today I might ask about the 1200 kids under 5 years of
age who die of malaria daily and where the fuck are their Guardian Angels. It
would seem like those angels are being quite the slackers and probably should
be fired. And there are other countless examples of various forms of hideous human
suffering that bring the whole concept of guardian angels into serious
question.
Belief in angels for me personally of course brings into
question all sorts of other queries about the spiritual and ending of course
with the real big one ‘what the hell does happen once we die’. If I play my
cards right will I be escorted into heaven by my own angel or much more likely,
if you buy this horse-pucky at all, will I be given a GPS map straight to hell
with my own guardian angel sadly saying ‘well I tried to save your sorry ass’
and waving good-bye, forever.
Most days I wake up pretty much a dyed in the wool atheist
and thankful for the daily Facebook posts by Richard Dawkins. I do though admit
to recently being drawn back to the writings and recordings of the great
philosopher Ken Wilber, who lives here in Denver by the way.
Wilber is no fan of the new atheists, Harris, Dawkins
Hitchens etc. but he does have a bit more sophisticated take on the possibility
of an afterlife than angelic escorts to the great beyond. I most recently have
listened and am re-listening to a series of over seven hours of CD interviews
with Wilber on the Future of Spirituality
conducted by Tami Simon in 2013, the wonderful lesbian woman who owns Sounds
True in Boulder.
When talking about the possibility of God existing it has
been difficult for me, and I think for Tami also, to pin Ken down on this. He
certainly implies a ‘spiritual’ force moving the evolutionary reality of our
Universe along its way. One of my favorite Ken takes on this is that it seems
highly unlikely that it has been simple chance that has led “from dirt to
Shakespeare”. Though I am still not completely buying this I am back listening
to him and we’ll see where it ends up.
For now I am left with the stark belief and extremely
non-momentous reality of my own impending demise and that that most likely will
be the end of me with no angel involvement happening. At our current state of
evolution it its so very difficult for us to imagine anything else going on
after we are gone. This is such a freaky thing for us to ponder that we have
conjured up Angels and a whole host of other deities and after-life myths since
we left the trees of the African Savannah.
The raw reality of it all is summed up nicely in these few
lines from of course a Grateful Dead song called Black Peter. It is a tune
about a guy dying of something nasty and coming to the following realization
about his own demise:
See here how everything
Lead up to this day
And it’s just like any other day
That’s ever been
Sun going up and then
The sun going down
Shine through my window.
Lyrics by Robert Hunter
I don’t mean to be a big buzz-kill here so if Angels blow
your skirt up by all means just scoot over and invite them to have a seat.
©
December 2014
 
About the Author 
I was born in La Porte Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled
by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in
Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an
extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California. 

Letter to My Younger Self by Pat Gourley

My goodness where to start? Perhaps Dan Savage has written the ultimate short three word letter for many of us: It gets better!

If I ever needed to hear that advice it was probably around the age of eleven or twelve. For several years around that time, the late 1950’s, I was really tormented with the whole concept of sin and that I was certainly going to hell for being the major league transgressor I was sure that I was. My weekly confessions to the local parish priest were affairs I would agonize endlessly over for hours. I often felt they were not complete and that I had left some major heinous sin out of the litany for that week.

One might think this had to do with newly discovered joy of masturbation but I was nowhere near that, not for a few years yet, I was a late bloomer really. No it was more a vague persistent ennui, a sense that I was not quite right but different from my peers in not a good Catholic way. I distinctly remember around that time hearing or perhaps being called “queer” and looking this up in the dictionary. The definition given was “odd” and when I decided this was a great word to hurtle at my numerous siblings and cousins I was reprimanded soundly by my mother to not use that word because it could mean something besides “odd” though I was never provided with other meanings until several years later.

There was never much overt bulling in my Catholic School. The nuns were very good at enforcing order and beside they and our other non-clergy instructors were too busy enforcing a much more insidious and blanketed psychological form of bullying under the guise of shaping and forming the minds of young Catholic citizens.

Because of this nagging worry and guilt that my confessions did not include every sin committed I would often not take Sunday Communion. The injunction was that you needed to have confessed all outstanding sins on your books before partaking of the flesh and blood of Christ in the form of a miraculously transformed little wafer.

I don’t want to venture too far into the weeds of self-psychoanalysis here but I do think it was my fledgling queer awakening that was at the root of much of my sense of not being worthy to ingest the body and blood of Christ. It would of course attract much unwanted attention from family and fellow parishioners when I would not go up for Communion many Sunday mornings. My parents were aware of my ongoing angst and my dad even tried to address it one evening in a car ride we took together. In hindsight this was a very loving gesture but tended mostly to cement even further that there was something different about me. I now am reminded of a favorite caveat from Harry Hay one where he would say that straight fathers could smell a gay son. We actually smelled different was his conversation evoking meme. Perhaps my dad smelled something distinctly different about me.

My mental and physical agitation around trying to be the “best little boy in the world” would often take the form of behaviors now easily labeled as an obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD). My actions were called “scrupulous” at the time and though I am not sure of this I think the parish priest reassured my parents that I would outgrow it. My OCD was of course really the result of buying into the Catholic Religion and its not so subtle forms of child abuse and trying I thought to respond appropriately. I am not referring to the really rarer than you might think forms of overt pedophilia some clergy excelled in but rather I feel the much more widespread, serious and damaging psychological terror inflicted by the relentless indoctrination. Applying the word ‘scrupulous’ to me was of course incorrect. The correct word to use would have been “temperamental” a code word for a gay fellow in the 1950’s. Is he ‘temperamental’ men would ask of one another when discretion was appropriate?

The Baltimore Catechism to call attention to one such codified bunch of superstitious baloney from my childhood was a daily part of our school lives. This catechism was a set of questions and of course the absolutely correct answers, which we were repeatedly, told we needed to accept on Faith. Talk about a recipe for mental strife if ever one existed particularly those who are not prone to being comfortable with simply being a quiescent blob of protoplasm. It is I now feel one of the worst forms of child abuse to begin fostering on young innocent emerging minds while still at their mothers breast that they are sinners right out of the box and in need of salvation. Later on in one who is beginning to sense a profound difference from all those he encounters around him this can be quite the obstacle to overcome! A brief quote here from the late Christopher Hitchens on “Faith:”

“ Faith is the surrender of the mind,
it’s the surrender of reason, it’s the surrender of the only thing that makes
us different from other animals.”

So my letter to myself at this time in my life of great mental turmoil would really just be advice to hang in there and it will get better. In a few short years you will run into a nun who will challenge many of your most firmly held beliefs on how the world really works. You also will meet and begin having an ongoing sexual relationship with one of your high school teachers and the first such episode will be on a dissecting table in the school biology lab with Jesus looking down from a crucifix right behind you. Wow, did it ever get better.

© October 2013

About
the Author

I was born in La Porte Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California.