Finding The Pony By Insana D

Brodie Awards

2011-01-24T19:35:00.000-08:00

A year ago I became aware of the Brodie Awards. These are peer review awards voted on by readers of the many different genres of Mormon and Ex-Mormon blogs, discussion boards, etc.. Fawn Brodie was a very well known author that wrote a very compelling book that did not put Joseph Smith or the LDS church in very good light. An award in her name is quite an honor to those of us who have read acres of pages of essays, humor pieces, and documentation that examines LDS culture, leaders, and beliefs.

I'm new to the blogging scene and still a novice among many of the more skilled and well known authors. I wrote "Ambiguously Gendered Kitten" as a humorous post on Post Mormon in October after Boyd K. Packer made his unkind statements regarding gays. A while later I posted it as a blog entry and assumed that was the end of it. Someone read it and nominated it for the most humorous title in the Brodie Awards. Not quite a compliment to the content but it's a start and hopefully in time the things I write will garner more attention and value among those that read this blog.

I didn't start this particular blog to highlight my most humorous essays, although they do exist. I've written some very funny, sardonic, parody oriented pieces but they weren't especially geared to the theme of Finding the Pony. But I think I will start a blog much like "Ward Gossip" where I post mostly the funny stuff I come across and write myself, helping to draw attention to the very funny and clever people that abound in the Exmormon world.

Anyway, it sure does feel good to be noticed. Thanks Brodie Awards. Thanks my six or seven fans that voted!!

http://latterdaymainstreet.com/2011/01/08/2010-brodies-vote-here/

Hie To Kolob

2010-12-28T16:29:00.000-08:00

I think this is the essay I'll use as the final entry for the book. I still have several transition pieces to include and some righteous rants regarding frustrations with the LDS experience, but as I contemplate wrapping up the content of my book I think this story emulates the optimism and opportunity I want to offer to show that there really is life after Mormonism.

A few years ago I applied for a job with a creative advertising firm here in Vegas. The Director asked me to write an essay describing my perfect day, from the moment I awoke to the moment my mind drifted off to sleep for the night. The director liked my essay and she and her team interviewed me in their very funky offices. I was so excited and they were looking forward to my contributions, but then the economy crashed and they lost too many clients and could not add me to their staff. I was disappointed but happy that I'd gotten the opportunity to describe my perfect day.

The job is long gone, but the dream lives on. In my new life after Mormonism there are many wonderful things that I can now include that were not part of my limited box of crayons while I was LDS. I get the whole big box of 64 to color my world with now. It's wonderful and exciting. Instead of "Endure to the End" as a tedious mantra to carry us through till death I have "Enjoy to the End" to guide my daily choices. No rules, no limits, no rigid order to dictate what I will enjoy and whom I enjoy it with.

So here goes, my dream day.

Hie To Kolob...(obscure reference to biblical term of star nearest where God dwells, or Heaven)

The blinders on Brigham and Joseph don't come off till about 7:30 a.m., well after sunrise but a respectable "lazy morning" wake up time. They crow vigorously while their numerous wives echo with little clucks and murmurs. Bill has been up since 5:00 a.m. making sure all the niggling details on our financial accounts are tediously recorded and cross referenced. The sound of the shredder eating yesterday's receipts is like the second snooze call on an alarm clock and I finally toss my legs over the edge of the bed and shuffle into the kitchen.

The coffee pot is on it's second shift and has cooled to a perfect sipping temperature. Bills thick cotton robe feels better than my own and opens just enough to reveal that this old granny still has the boobs of a much younger woman. He fondles me and kisses my forehead, avoiding the morning breath but approving of the messy tousled hair.

I squeeze his bum and marvel that the love just gets better each day. "What's the news lover?", I ask as I turn on my computer. "George Bush and Dick Cheney were indicted today and it looks like they'll be prosecuted for war crimes, profiteering, and wire tapping as well as perjury and other crimes. It looks like their accounts have been frozen and they're going to have to pay reparations to the soldiers and their families, the Iraqis and the American people. I suspect they're finished financially and will spend their days in abject poverty, possibly prison where the CIA will practice water boarding techniques on them till they cough up all their dirty secrets.

The Coal fired Power Plant in Mesquite was converted to solar, wind, and soy based fuel and I heard that President Obama just got the Nobel Peace Prize (wasn't that prophetic!) for negotiating a peace agreement between Israel and the rest of the middle east. He left a message on the recorder thanking you for writing his speech.". "Ahhh, mmmm," as I sip my hazelnut flavored Mountain Roast at just the right temperature with my favorite not too thick rimmed mug. All is right with the world with Liberty and Justice for all.

"I traded some summer squash for homemade bread with Joyce. Would you like some toast?", I ask Bill as I pop a couple slices in the toaster. The butter has softened just enough to spread without tearing the perfect crumbly bread as it pops up, filling the air with it's toasty goodness. We revel in the tangy sweetness and warm textures as we gaze out the kitchen window to the herb garden beyond. The bees and butterflies are already hard at work and the shadows of the locust trees are starting to creep west as the sun gets higher over the Utah, Kolobs, dancing across the valley and teasing the warts at the base of Pine Valley Mountain. She spreads her arms around the valley like a big bosomed mama, drawing us close and protecting us from all that is "Out there" in the big wide world.

Holly pops in to pick some fresh vegetables and herbs from the garden for the lunch crowd at her Bistro near the highway. "Good Morning Holly Wally-Doodle-All-The-Day!", I proclaim as she hugs me and reaches to pat Honey (the ambassador of Good Will) on the head. Honey wags her stub erratically and follows Eric and Kevin out the door, running hell bent for the trampoline and playground in the east yard and I smile at my two perfect grandsons, full of life, robust, wild with energy and imagination. I dash to the bedroom and pop on my turquoise smocked sun dress and some fresh cotton panties and floppy hat and scoot into the well worn Birkenstocks by the back door. Holly and I follow Bill to the garage where he's working on yet another Mission Style bookshelf for the art studio above where piles of art and reference books still sit in miscellaneous boxes waiting for daylight to reveal their lovely crisp pages and once again fill me with inspiration and ideas.

"How's the triptych for the shrine coming?" Holly asks as we climb the stairs to the studio. The light from the east and north windows floods the attic and the coral glow on the Kolobs makes the bright green of the rye grass valley below pop like a Maxfield Parrish painting. I place the panels together on the easels and we study them, trying to decide if the narrative is too precious or which leaf needs to be edited. "Why does she have six fingers on her right hand?" asks Holly pointing to the muse.

I bend forward and look closely, counting carefully. "Made you look!!" Holly teases. We hug and our girly giggles fill the room. "It took a while but I'm glad you finally got the city to take down those old satellite dishes and put in underground power lines. It makes the view so much more fantastic this way", she declares as we bask in the reflection of the eastern mountains. The sun is already getting higher and invites us to the garden below where zucchini, squash and tomatoes are propagating like Mormon newlyweds on a Saturday night.

We peruse a few of the more tender and ripe specimens to be used in Holly's famous "Whachagot Stew" at her patio lunch restaurant by the Texaco. "The sauteed summer squash and peppers are selling like hotcakes", she states, plucking several more buttery yellow crooknecks from the vines. I place a few eggplants and some fat juicy tomatoes in the basket and we head toward her Subaru.

"The boys haven't had a bath yet but I figure they'll just get dirty playing in the yard today anyway."she informs. "They're probably going to get muddy at the creek catching crawdads. I'll give them a bath after lunch before their naps.", I assure her as she calls to them. "You boys be good for Grandma and help her in the garden". She gives them a quick kiss on their curly mops and thanks me for being part of their lives. Little does she know how much I'd grovel to just be included and how warm it feels to have family nearby.

She drives off and I head over toward the old school bus where the boys are planning yet another private "Club". They've written, "No Gorls Aloud, only Gramma" in permanent marker above the door. I eavesdrop on the planning commission. Eric the Older is subjugating Kevin The Fearless One in a classic power struggle. "Well you can be whoever you want but I'm SUPREME DICTATORFOR LIFE!!" declares Eric. A manly war is about to be instigated and true to my nature of peacemaker, I intervene. Distraction is the order of the day and so I delegate some weeding and compost turning to my labor force. "And don't pull out all my carrots this time", I instruct as I send them off for their duties. I glance at the interior of the old bus and it's gaudy pink and blue walls painted in equal parts to reflect the girls and boys halves, with shelves full of old toys, Barbie houses, and costumes from two decades of kids and neighbor kids. The echoes of their playful yelps and silly squabbles, creative games, and zillions of Kool-Aid tea parties still fills the air. "How did I do it all?", I wonder, reflecting on the years of poverty and struggle to raise a family. Honey sidles up to me and begs for a belly scratch. Her old dog odors are pungent but remind me of the years of love and affection that she's brought to our home and neighbors. I know my popularity is only vicarious through her friendliness and eternal puppy hood.

I manage to keep the boys on task for about 45 minutes as we glean the garden for weeds and nasties. They've named the biggest praying mantis "Deloris" after the lady who taught me to read and they're trying to convince her to set up housekeeping in the fort they've made from a coffee can. She resists and scuttles off in the forest of fennel and cosmos to hunt out aphids and squash beetles.

"If you boys will haul all these weeds to the compost and give the bins 10 turns, I'll let you play for a half hr. before we get ready for lunch. It's Kevin's turn to choose, will it be soup and sandwiches or hobo dinners today?", I ask. "POT PIES!!!", Kevin exclaims. I concede (again) and try to remember if I have any left in the freezer. "Didn't we just have Pot Pies on Friday?", I ask, hoping he'll get off his fetish and onto something else.

The pies are almost toasty brown on top when Bill comes from the garage and brings me a strawberry Popsicle from the freezer. "Where do you want to go today?", he asks, kissing me with his cold Popsicle flavored lips. "I've never been to Kiev or the Ukraine", I mumble as my mouth tingles with the tangy iciness of the Popsicle. "Ok, I'll check the weather there and see about what we should wear. Are we staying for dinner?", he asks. "I think it would be nice to try something local and maybe take in a sunset walk in one of the parks. Do you want to do a museum or just people watch this time?", I respond. "If we have time I'd love to see the Folk Art and Architecture museum or the Eastern and Asian art museum.".

The boys gobble their lunch and are busting to go back outside but I entice them with the promise of Grasshopper Slushes if they read for 1/2 hr and then take showers before a short afternoon nap. They relent, shuffling upstairs to the library to fight over the banana chair and "The Big Book of Really Gross Insects". Reading is a misnomer because they're both just looking for the most repulsive and frightening pictures to appall their mother when she returns after the lunch crowd dies down.

We try to rest and get a little cat nap while the boys are restlessly feigning quiet time. I hear the gravel crunch on the driveway as Holly pulls up and I sigh a big breath of relief and help scoot the boys out the door . "You look tired already Holly, was it a big crowd today?". "About the usual. A fire crew came through on their way up the mountain. Crikey those men can eat!!". "Did they like the stew?", I ask. "They nearly licked the bottom of the pot. I used up every single vegetable and all the beef stock in the fridge and then some today." she replied.

"Were the boys good?", she asks. "They are wonderful and so much fun. Eric is Supreme Dictator For Life and Kevin wants to show you the fort they made for Deloris.". "Deloris?", she asks. "Praying mantis", I state. "Oh". They pull her to the garden and show her the coffee can, complete with a chair made from a rock and a beer cap sink for Deloris's private drinking fountain.

Bill and I hop in the shower as Holly and the boys drive off. We've chosen comfy sneakers and loose khaki shorts with big pockets for our passports and wallets. I don my favorite rusty red scoop neck top and snatch a sweater from the closet. "Off we go!!", says Bill as he hits the "Send" button on his Google Earth Nano-cule Transport Blackberry /Ipod/Cellphone/DVD player/pocket sized Time Traveler. Bill has already programmed it for the coordinates in Pirogovo Village near Kiev and we have mosquito repellent, a city map, and our unlimited, 0 interest (forever) MasterCard's tucked tightly into our zippered pockets.

We appear before the gates of an old Ukrainian village where traditional arts and crafts are brightly displayed between the houses and gardens. Bill marvels at the woodworking and craftsmanship in the gingerbread details on each steep roof and porch. I fondle the embroidered aprons and hand tatted doilies, wondering how many long winter nights each incredible art piece took. We spend an hour or so there and then hop on a funky bus full of locals and European tourists heading into Kiev.

The bus rattles into the cobbled streets of old town and we crane our necks trying to catch all the sights of the beautiful ornate stone buildings lining the twisted avenues. We finally end up at, 15 Tereshenkovskaya St., the Kiev Museum of Western and Oriental Art. It's a beautiful peach colored classical French building with stone balustrades and elegant arched palladium windows. Inside is a double staircase in dark walnut, curling up and up to the floors above. We browse through such world-famous work of Diego Velasquez, The Portrait of Infanta Margaret, and Juan de Zurbaran's still life in the Spanish hall of the museum and through hundreds of other masterpieces collected by Khanenko, the museum collector and curator. Eventually we work our way out to the gift shop and I purchase a large collectors book showcasing many of the collections of the museum. We ask the plump cashier for suggestions on a good dinner location and she directs us to a local favorite called, "Panikovsky".

Bill looks it up on his Blackberry and we find the following brochure....
"The restaurant is a modern and fresh establishment that aims to offer its diners a pleasant eating experience. The original interior is decorated with the objects and furniture of the first decades of the 20th century. The cozy dining hall is not very big, just for 36 guests. The staff is friendly and courteous, and the chef strives to provide an extensive menu in order to ensure that each guest could choose something to his or her taste. The menu, decorated with the funny scenes from the film "Golden Calf" and quotes from the book, offers delicious dishes of Ukrainian and European cuisine's. Dishes are called with pithy expressions from the film that have become popular.

For example, the guests are offered dishes "I Would Take It in Parts, but I Can't - I Need All" (surgeon steak with vegetables), "Everything Will Be Extremely Good" (chicken in bacon with piquant sauce and baked vegetables), "And Suddenly, All at Once" (salmon cooked in champagne, served with fried leek, potatoes and delicious sauce), "Petrol - Yours, Ideas - Ours" (black and red caviar, served with wheat and potato pancakes), "Only for Members of the Trade Union" (baked trout, stuffed with salmon), "After All, Do I Have a Right to Dine?" (Ukrainian borshch with mushrooms and prunes, served with pampushkas (traditional rolls), garlic sauce and cream), "Homer, Milton and Panikovsky" (salad from goose, new potatoes, peppers and cedar nuts) and so on. The wine list, offering 48 items, features wines of France, Italia, Spain, Chili, South African Republic, Georgia, Moldavia and Ukraine. There is a large screen in the corner of the dining hall, so if you like you can choose some popular soviet film and enjoy the charm of the naivete and optimism of the past. In the extensive film collection you can find "Twelve Chairs", "Golden Calf", "Chapaev", "Volga Volga", "Circus", "Mimino", "Maxim Perepelitza" and many more. At the restaurant, which is situated in the premises of the Split Casino, always reigns welcoming and festive atmosphere. "

We order "Everything Will Be Extremely Good" and share it while Bill orders a glass of Moldavian wine. I savor the chicken and veggies and the garlic from the pampushkas sits on the side of my tongue, making me thirsty for more as we watch the last of Volga Volga on the big screen. The locals are merry with wine and food and the banter of vigorous Russian conversation fills the air. We don't need to understand the language to know that these people have passion and dreams and lots of ideas about how to make the world a better place. Talk of politics is thick in the air, but so is music, literature, history,art and culture. Bill and I bask for a while, watching the people interact and remembering what it was like when we still had idealism and optimism to guide our youthful energy. The comfort of being just slightly past all that angst, set enough in our ways and saggy enough to be settled into the bodies we've acquired worked like an old blanket over us and we felt warm and at one with another. The sun was starting to set in the northern hemisphere with just a hint of green northern lights dancing on the horizon.

We swipe our cards leaving a generous tip for our waiter and then saunter out to the street. It's still busy with traffic and people and a robust night life is just getting started. The Dnepr River is nearby and we stroll arm in arm along it's grassy banks, taking in the lights and old bridges doppled with pretty potted trees and bright flags. The geraniums and hanging flower baskets sway slightly in the breeze and fill the air with the heady scent of petunias and musky moss covered river rocks. We watch the sun set toward Poland and then when we've had our fill Bill wraps his arms around me and we are instantly transported back to our lovely old home in New Harmony.

The hot tub on the deck is just right tonight. The afternoon thunderstorm and breeze has cleared the sky and the stars are popping out like.. like stars. We step into the tub and I lean back into Bill's chest as he fondles my floating "Orbs of Joy and Pleasure". The hot jets pound our muscles into oblivion. He's a little soft but that is quickly remedied and in a few moments we're ready for a cool shower and to bury our bodies in a cloud of softness on our Memory Foam topper. We both go "Hie to Kolob" and Bill finishes the bliss with a 16 minute back rub, remembering that spot on my lower back that loves to be played like an old timey piano. Soon I've spooned into him and his "Soldier" gives me a thank you nod and we fall blissfully asleep.

I wake up the next morning and realize I've just had the most amazing dream in the world. I'm still smiling when Bill comes in to kiss me goodbye. "Have a good day at work sweetheart", I say as he squeezes my thigh. "I'm going to write back to that one11 place and see if my skills are useful to them. I feel really intimidated and like an middle aged fuddy duddy compared to the crowd there, but it seems like such a cool place to work and I really think I have something to offer". "You never know till you try.", Bill says, encouraging me. I get up and shuffle to the kitchen, pouring some coffee and click on my computer. Holly calls and tells me that she's got a Chemistry test that she forgot to study for. I remind her that all she has to do is pass and graduate and the rest will take care of itself. Keeping her on task is a full time job but its so hard to do when she's "Up there" and I'm down here. Vegas has it's charms and Bills job is great so I'll make the best of it. I think of the cabin and the little town where the world goes away on the weekends. Bliss is relative and can be had where the heart is willing.

I wonder if our Home Owner's Association would mind if I got a couple of chickens?

The Debasement of Saint Wanda

2010-11-16T12:49:00.000-08:00

Mother's Day in the Mormon church is one of those really twisted experiences that fills many women with inadequacy and guilt, and others with gratitude and a spirit of reverence. Few of us measure up to the illusions of what a good Mormon mother should be so we find ourselves feeling worthless for our shortcomings and resentful of the expectations. I hated Mother's Day because in my own imagination and from the example set by my own mother, I'd never measure up. Now I'm not sure I want the mantle.

She's really all I claim she is. I'm not making this stuff up or exaggerating a bit. My mother is beautiful inside and out, truly the most compassionate and dutiful woman you'd ever hope to meet. The things she's done, given, accomplished, and helped in her life would fill volumes. If there's such thing as a Mormon Saint, my Mom would easily sit atop that pedestal with few that could top her service and sacrifice. I won't bore you with the lists but suffice it to say that this world will surely be a sadder place when she passes on.

One thing she did that is a bit complicated and haunting was to marry my father. He was one of the cruelest, most cold hearted, vindictive, and mean spirited men and thought nothing of exacting pain, both physically and emotionally on her, on us kids, and the people he met in life. When she met him he was nice enough looking but showed a cruel streak even then. Who knows what motivated a sweet pure innocent young woman at BYU in the 1950's to go for the smoking cussing philandering bad boy from the other side of the tracks. It was Sandy and Danny from "Grease" only Danny in this case did not have a sweet bone in his body.

My father had never been very active in the LDS church and had stopped going when he was about twelve years old. I recall some legend about his Priesthood leaders making an offhand comment about the shabbiness of his clothes and so my father walked out and except for a couple of very disastrous experiences never came back to church. He knocked up a local girl when he was still in High School and abandoned her, quit school and joined the Army. It was one of his friends that was dating my mother's roommate in college and they met on a blind date.

Mom didn't know about his child from another woman nor did she realize what she was getting into. Once in the middle of it she took the mandate from her own father, "You made this bed, now lie in it" and that sick part of her Manifest Destiny LDS woman's heart tried to make lemonade out of the lemons she bought. She'd said "Yes" to marriage and come hell or high water she was going to make good on the promise.

Mom and Dad were married on July 24, 1952 (I think) in NYC in the bishops office of a branch there in the city. Mom had come out to see Dad before he shipped off to Korea and they got married two or three days before he shipped out. In true Mormon fashion she was pregnant by the time he left. She dropped out of college and went to live with his parents in a little town in central Utah. She went into labor the day my father returned home from Korea and he arrived just hours before their first child, my oldest brother was born.

From there they moved to Texas and lived for a short while with my fathers older sister and her husband. Mom got pregnant again and from an account of my aunt, my father was very upset and beat my mother for her lack of care in preventing pregnancy.

They moved to Oregon where she had my second brother and then a few short months later she conceived my third brother but in the eighth month of pregnancy my father came home from work "in a mood" and was quite rough with her. She went into labor and delivered my third brother early. His lungs were not quite developed and he caught pneumonia. He lived six weeks but was in and out of the hospital and not doing well when he mysteriously died one night. My mother woke up early that morning to find my father near the crib with my brother stone cold grey dead. My mom screamed and my father apparently slapped her and told her to shut up because there was nothing that could be done. It was ruled a SIDS, Sudden Infant Death Syndrome death and they buried him a week later at a little cemetery in Central Utah.

Mom had two little boys to deal with and a marriage that was not going well so she must have just shut that part of her grief down so she could go on with life. Let the dead be dead I guess.

Back in Oregon they had two more boys and then they moved back to Utah when my father lost one job after another. While there she had my sister and then a month later got pregnant with me. I was born in Idaho and after a brief stay in Pocatello they moved back to Oregon where my youngest sister was born. Eight kids in eleven years.

In between all that was the poverty, abuse, misery, fear, and neglect that so often accompanies big LDS families and people that live on the fringes. Mom dealt with it with grace, dignity, and amazing resourcefulness. We were always poor but never dirty, ragged, or seen as low class.

The years drug on and the marriage did not improve. Dad became more abusive, neglectful, cruel and much more indigent as the years went by. When his abuse got so violent and frequent my brothers would try to intervene but he made short work out of their hides and they left home one after another to try to make a life for themselves away from his tantrums and violent rants.

We moved back to Utah when I was in the fifth grade and lived very much on the edge of extreme poverty and starvation for a few years. Mom worked really hard at several menial jobs and eventually got herself situated to go back to school and get her teaching degree. During those spare difficult years with my brothers gone our father began taking his rage and resentment on my sisters and me.

The beatings and emotional abuse increased until just the sound of his pickup truck would send my sisters and me to our knees and crawling out the back door with fear and into the field to hide till he left again. We knew better than to tell Mom because if she confronted him he'd only make things worse for her and we wanted her to finish school so she could get a good job and make a living and hopefully get rid of him once and for all.

Eventually we couldn't hide the bruises and abuse and she did finally confront him in her last semester of school. She made him leave but it was obvious to us that this decision was a painful choice on her part. She spent weeks with canker sores from the stress so thick in her mouth that she couldn't eat. She prayed, sought advice from the bishop, and tried every avenue to avoid divorce but it was finally the only thing she could choose given how awful and violent he'd become.

I very well remember the day that she announced they were getting a divorce. Dad had been spending a lot of time in SLC with some of his lady friends and we seldom saw him. Mom had lost nearly 40 lbs. and looked very humiliated but still determined to finish school. She sat us girls down along with my fourth brother who was home from his mission and told us that she and Dad were getting a divorce. It was like when a really flaming gay person comes out to his friends. DUH!!! I remember feeling a little bit afraid but mostly incredibly joyful. FINALLY FINALLY FINALLY!! Now we could go on with the business of healing our family and home and not live in constant fear all the time.

It took years to get the smell of his cigarettes out of the house but the worst was the lingering debt, the threats, the interference he tried to exact while Mom tried to put the pieces back together.

I was in 9th grade and I remember telling my group of sheltered LDS friends that my parents were getting a divorce. Not one of them had ever been through that. Not one. It was not only a novelty but a cultural shame, both on the parents and on the kids but my friends knew that my father was an abusive cruel man and were secretly glad for me, even though they dared not say so.

In my Mia Maid class we had a lesson on temple marriage. Of course this was the ultimate goal of every young LDS person, especially the young women. We were conditioned from infancy to plan for this eventuality and our scrapbooks, journals, and dreams were to be illustrated with our illusion of what this day was to be like. It "garnished our every thought", or so they told us it should. I had little to go on for a model for happy marriage so in my mind I hoped that day would be waaaaayyyy down the road and only if I were in a position to take care of myself so that I would never have to subject myself to the humiliations and deprivations my mother had suffered at the hands of my father.

One Sunday the Sunday School Teacher gave a lesson taken from the Doctrine and Covenants Section 132 which in part says:
17 For these angels did not abide my law; therefore, they cannot be enlarged, but remain separately and singly, without exaltation, in their saved condition, to all eternity; and from henceforth are not gods, but are angels of God forever and ever.
18 And again, verily I say unto you, if a man marry a wife, and make a covenant with her for time and for all eternity, if that covenant is not by me or by my word, which is my law, and is not sealed by the Holy Spirit of promise, through him whom I have anointed and appointed unto this power, then it is not valid neither of force when they are out of the world, because they are not joined by me, saith the Lord, neither by my word; when they are out of the world it cannot be received there, because the angels and the gods are appointed there, by whom they cannot pass; they cannot, therefore, inherit my glory; for my house is a house of order, saith the Lord God.

I recall asking the teacher if my own mother who was NOT married to my father any longer and had never been sealed in the temple was then denied the blessings of the Celestial Kingdom and would be relegated to serving as an administering angel for eternity. The teacher confirmed that YES, my mother was not allowed all the blessings of heaven nor would her family remain intact in the eternities unless she re-married someone or was sealed to a worthy priesthood holder for time and all eternity in an LDS temple ceremony.

At fourteen years old this was a big blow and very painful to hear, especially after all the unjust garbage my mother had already endured. Now the church she loved and served her entire life was saying that she was not entitled to her family in the hereafter nor would she be anything more than a servant to some other family. This one lesson felt like a rough sliver under my skin, working it's way deeper and deeper into my heart and festering with the infection of resentment. The injustice of it galled me and I secretly loathed the church, the scriptures and especially Joseph Smith and God for creating such an arbitrary rule that only favored a Patriarchal order.

There are many inequities in the LDS doctrine and culture but the rules regarding the rights of women in the hereafter are really a bitter pill to swallow. According to the church we can never be free agents but we can be traded up between men. No matter how much we do, earn, learn, and accomplish in this life, how much we single-handedly raise our kids, we are still nothing without a man, any man to validate us. A twelve year old nose mining obnoxious little boy has more value and authority than any LDS woman. I came to resent every man in the church that believed his Priesthood and so called God Given authority justified his unrighteous dominion over me or the women in my family. It is a big chip to carry around in life and one that is all to easily knocked off.

For a few years after my parents divorced my sisters and I would tease and try to encourage our mother to date and re-marry. I recall hoping she'd meet someone nice that would treat her the way she deserved, that would honor her and become the father I'd never known. It was such a silly fantasy at the time but I so wanted to be part of an eternal family, for my siblings and mother to have the unity and promise of being together forever. I was taught to believe this was the ultimate reward for all of life's suffering and deprivations. The poverty, the pain, the shame and neglect would be over and we'd get to spend eternity together in love, peace, and happiness.

I remember driving with Mom to SLC for some event and my sisters and I would joke about finding Mom the perfect man. Even when the grand kids came they would join in on the game. One cute and endearing memory is of my niece and my daughter at about four or five years old promising Grandma that they'd pray for her to get a man for her to marry, "I'll buy you a big tall one!" my niece exclaimed. We all wanted for her to have what she'd never had, the kind of man worthy of her goodness and beauty.

Mom might have dated a couple of times. She was very private about such things and fairly adamant that she would do her own looking if she was inclined. Mostly she was focused on her teaching job, making a living, building her own home, helping her grown kids and being available to her massive hoards of grand kids.

The years went by and the grand kids grew up only peripherally knowing our father. Most of the experiences with him were pretty negative and pathetic. I had decided early on not to allow my kids to have any experience with him at all because of the many reports of painful and humiliating conflict when my siblings would try to interact with him.

When my father died about six years ago my fourth brother called me on a Saturday morning to tell me that Dad had died in the night. I was at my desk working and I remember listening to the news and then the only response I could come up with was, "Hmm, well, do you need some money to help with expenses?" He responded, "Yes, if you can spare some. I'll be bringing him down in a casket for the funeral." That was it. The biggest emotion I could conjure up for the man who sired my siblings and me was an obligation to help my brother with expenses. I'd mourned my fathers emotional death years before and he was little more than a stranger by then. I felt as ambivalent as if someone had notified me that Fidel Castro had died. In a way, it was the kindest thing my father had ever done. Now to bury him and with him any ugly memories or pain. As if that can be done.

My siblings and mother planned a respectable funeral at the church in the town my father grew up in in Central Utah. Mom paid for the casket and formalities from the mortuary as well as a good portion of the grave expenses. I'm not sure what she was intending but I think she considered it a shame and travesty to bury the father of her children in less than a fine casket and respectable funeral. My father had not stepped foot in an LDS church in nearly 40 years and yet they were happy to feign that he was one of them. The tithes of fifty or more offspring can soften the heart of any ol' bishop.

No one cried. It was a bit surreal and very much an obligatory ritual filled with the typical LDS stuff as well as some reminiscing by his only living brother. My father had married a woman named Ruth shortly after he and Mom divorced and she and her two sons from a previous marriage were there. I barely knew her and she'd proven quite daft in the head, not only for marrying my father but from the years of poverty, abuse, and mental cruelty that ensued afterward. She was idiotically stupid and prone to bizarre delusions that barely kept up with the delusions Dad had fed and nurtured in his years of schizophrenic narcissistic ranting and raving. I felt some pathos for her in losing the only man willing to put up with her but mostly just ambivalent pity.

I went to the funeral not out of any desire to pay respect to my father, but because I sincerely wanted to see my siblings and try to commune with them on a level beyond our shared pain and history. I looked at him in his casket, made up to look far more healthy and alive than he had his last years of life and almost happy in his stiffness and plastic makeup. The oddest feeling of finality came over me. "Good, he's really dead" I sighed.

Most of the weekend was spent joking, laughing, a little reminiscing and catching up on one anther's lives and families. Dad was mentioned as a sort of unifying person of interest, but few of us had good memories of him in life and little interest now that he was dead.

A few years later I was with my father's younger sisters and a cousin at a restaurant in Salt Lake City when my aunt mentioned that Mom was working on getting my father absolved from his sins and accepted back into the LDS church so that she could be sealed to him in the temple. I stopped mid bite unable to process the hideous thing she'd just said. "You're kidding aren't you?" I asked. "No, she's really determined that this is the only way she'll have her family in the eternities. She is going to petition the General Authorities so that Ted's work can be done and they can be sealed."

At the time I was going through some of my own relationship problems and was in need of solace, comfort, and advice but when I would try to talk to my mother she only wanted to hear the good stuff, to deny any negative difficult realities and would actually tell me, "It's not our right to ask for what we want, but to take what we get and make the best of it." I was so angry at her for her willingness to give over her rights to dignity, to a self esteem to justice or fairness in order to comply with a cold misogynistic mandate from the LDS men. And then to try to convince me to do likewise. I lashed out and rebuked her for the rumor I'd heard from my aunt.

I begged her to find anyone else, any man but my father to get sealed to if that's what she needed to placate her belief in the Celestial Family. I reasoned that if the old prophet Wilford Woodruff could claim a vision where the founding fathers had come to him and begged him to do their temple work, then she was entitled to seal herself to one of those noble men postumously and thereby earn herself a better place in heaven than with a louse like my father. She insisted that the only person worthy of being father to her children was their original father, and that his salvation was a matter between him and God and not for us to judge.

I asked her how she could subject herself to such a humiliating low position to be sealed to the man who had beaten, starved, neglected, cheated on, and offended her so often in their twenty five year marriage. She said that I had exaggerated the problems and it wasn't really as awful as I had imagined. I asked her if I'd imagined the time he beat her so badly that she had to run away with us kids in tow, barefoot, without any gas, any money and no where to turn. I asked her if I'd imagined the time he held her face over a gas stove and burned her cheek because she was talking back to him. I asked her if I'd imagined that he'd terrorized us so brutally that my brothers had to leave home at sixteen just to escape his wrath.

Mom was defensive and quiet and tried to placate me with "It'll all be worked out in the millennium" and then to negate my own role in it by suggesting that it was not my problem or business anyway. This only drove the wedge deeper and I felt that festering resentment grow. My respect for her went down a few notches and I began to see how often she'd capitulated on so many things till she was nothing but a doormat for my father, my brothers, the church, and even sometimes me. Instead of bringing honor to herself she invited more abuse, more neglect, less respect. We agreed to disagree and did not bring it up to each other again. The anger sat under my skin though and I could not let it go.

A few years ago while at a family reunion my four brothers decided to regale the family with some happy reminiscences of our dead father. I could see that they were trying to do this at Mom's request, but also possibly to justify and balance their own heritage and role in the continued abuse and neglect of their own marriages and families. If they could absolve Ted, maybe they could absolve themselves. Not that their crimes measured his, but none of us got out of that childhood without some pretty nasty hangups and poor parenting models.

They told stories about our father as if they were remembering an old friend. A friend who beat, humiliated, threatened, and neglected them. The stories were horrific and my son and his wife and their cousins sat in a bit of freakish awe at what passed for the "GOOD" times. I felt my blood boil and even my two sisters were not amused by the stories. We had few good memories of our father and my brothers did not invite us to contribute to the charade. The grand kids laughed nervously at what passed for humor in their parents childhood.

The theme was, "He meant well but just didn't know how to show his love appropriately." Yeah, like that time he threatened to beat all of us with willow whips and frightened my brother so badly that he fainted. OHHH, that was sure funn-eeeee! But, but, but, he took us all out for burgers and root beer floats at A & W when he realized how much he'd scared us. See, that there proves what a good heart he had.

Mom sat in a sort of awkward happiness that some artificial goodness was able to be carefully gleaned from the horrors of our childhood. I seethed and cursed under my breath and was barely able to sit through it. The next day I was visibly upset and tried to put a little light on what had really happened when we were younger. Mom discounted my memories and dismissed me saying, "Oh Dana, you love to exaggerate and just look for the negative!" My siblings did not come to my defense there but privately my sister gave me the look that she knew what I knew. We knew. We all knew but Mom wanted the illusion of a happy cohesive family and we were obligated to give it to her. What a bully I'd be to deny her that in her old age with my rantings of REALITY. Who needs reality when the Celestial Kingdom is almost within ones grasp?

This year at the Family Reunion she drew my siblings and our spouses together for a family meeting and proudly announced that the General Authorities of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints have finally been inspired to absolve our dead father because he's repented in heaven. The three quarters of a century of all her tithes, the tithes of my siblings and their children have purchased enough of our father's indulgences to pardon him from a lifetime of cruelty and shame. His Priesthood blessings are restored, he has come full circle and is ready to receive all that he neglected and denied in his earthly life. They've given her the approval and go ahead to be sealed to my father for time and all eternity. The blessed day is set for November 20th, 2010 in the Manti Temple. I will not be attending.

Now my mother can go to her grave with all the dots connected. Her duties completed, her humiliations over, and service counted. She won't have to be a servant to another man and his many wives because she is a Queen and Priestess in her own right. The FIRST wife of xxxxxx, destined to be a Goddess as he creates world without end with her at the helm and sister wives to join them in eternal bliss. And my siblings? They're there too, dressed in white and blissful in eternal unity. Happy Day! All is Well!

We really ARE a Happy Fa Mi Leeee! (Note, this image is from a hilarious site called Awkward Family Photos. These are not my kin, but collectively we weigh the same).

Community Outreach- Finding Purpose and Compassionate Service Post Mormonism

2010-11-09T13:41:00.000-08:00

In the decade since I've left the LDS church I've struggled to find a balance between my inherent need to give back to the people and community I love, and still stay true to my values and new found knowledge. I loved serving while I was LDS but didn't love the many restrictions and arbitrary rules that governed how, where, and when I could contribute. I do miss many of my LDS friends and would give them the shirt off my back, as long as they don't ask me to go to church or listen to the dogmatic beliefs.

One thing that is so complicated when one leaves the church is to find a community where all that energy, all the creativity and talent can flourish and be appreciated but not be extorted in exchange for silence. I have found some of that with my Unitarian Universalist connections. I've found some in giving to my little community in Utah in assisting with the various fund raisers and parks projects.

But one place where I feel like I've found a great deal of fulfillment and connection is when people from my own Postmormon and Exmormonforums communities contact me and seek my experience or advice regarding their own exit process or family dilemmas. I have learned a lot from the years of making fairly obvious errors and tripping over my own lack of tact and grace. I've also learned that patience in all these matters is probably the most important element to incorporate in any communication with the remaining LDS family. So when someone asks for my help or insight I'm compelled to try to impart them with the best of what I've gleaned in all those experiences.

Following is an outline of a letter I wrote to a young friend that is facing very complex challenges in telling his devout LDS family that he's not only left the church, but he's also Gay. Their reaction has been textbook typical and painfully predictable. The young man is writhing in pain from the rejection he feels from his family and that's all before he's been completely open with who he is. I ache with what he's dealing with and wish I could help his parents know how amazing he is and to accept him for who he has become.

So in my unprofessional but well meaning way this letter will help him present some information to his parents. I don't know how they'll receive it but this is the best I can offer knowing what I know about where they stand and where this young man stands.

Outline for response to Dads letter

Objective-to reflect appreciation and respect for parents contributions and to open doors of communication regarding
autonomy and freedom to make my his life choices. To help parents see xxx as whole intelligent adult deserving of respectful acceptance and continued friendship.

Ideal reaction-Parents read entire letter and find resonance with the writing, contemplate the ideas offered, and a peaceful acceptance of unique differences with respect to deep familial love and connections.

Base reaction-We agree to disagree and maintain a careful connection based on necessary respect and continuity of family unity.

A. One page of tender and specific recognition of parents love and contribution to xxx upbringing and values. Some reverence for some values gleaned from the LDS experience without too much critical examination or defensive statements. (remember, your parents do love you xxx, even if they struggle to reflect it in a way that helps you feel accepted or understood. They are as much victims of the church and their generation as anyone).

B. One page of a carefully crafted specific explanation of who you are, and who you've become, even aside from the gay and non-LDS stuff. Specifically highlight your intellectual side, your creative and insightful sides, your deeply sensitive and finely tuned awareness. Celebrate these things without attacking the church or going into too much detail about your recognition of your homosexuality.

C. One page of discussion about the importance of your family in your life and how you plan to continue to show some reserved respect for their beliefs (not drawing siblings into the fights) and yet maintain your independence and personal convictions. Indicate that you love and need their support and that you hope to remain a vital and contributing member of the family throughout your life, in spite of the unique differences that are obvious. If you have to pretend then pretend on the side of optimism and assume that they will honor your rights to make your own choices and be a whole human being the best way you know how. Use their own scriptures (we believe in allowing all men to worship how, where, what they may... and some stuff from Jesus about accepting and tolerating other human beings). This is where you should show gratitude and kind words for what your parents mean to you (even if you have to really pull a rabbit out of your hat for this). Its important that the letter end on a good note and that your parents feel loved otherwise they will reject the whole thing. Remember the goal is to get them to respect and understand you and they won't be likely to do that from a position of defensiveness. The issues with the LDS church are complicated but this might not be the time to get into an argument over those specifics. It is usually unproductive anyway.

D. One page of information and sources. Not the whole dissertation but just links and suggestions to how they can educate themselves on the issues of homosexuality, the damage done to those who aren't accepted, and how important it is to you to have them accept you as you are and not try to change or manipulate you away from your natural humanity. Perhaps you could present it with a comparison like, "Mom and Dad, if I'd been born with a unique genetic anomaly that impacted my physical health or mental health you would be quick to read up and understand every aspect of that part of who I was born to be. You'd not blame me or God or yourselves. You'd deal with it and do your best to help me deal with it in ways that are healthy and productive. Imagine for a moment that Gay is a genetic reality in a portion of the population. Imagine that it makes me different from you but not inherently immoral. Imagine that you want to understand all the factors that naturally dictate my mind and body. Imagine that you love me no matter what and hope to understand who I really am and who I really want to be. Imagine that your love for me can super cede your own bias and indoctrination."

Don't dwell on a lot of the negative stuff xxx. Offer the information and lots of gratitude and love and let them deal with their own ignorance afterward.

Here's some links and book suggestions that might help you if you decide to offer information to your parents on accepting gays. I know it's tricky xxx. It's core to having a relationship with them but try to remember that they're dealing with a lifetime of indoctrination and rejection of information that contradicts what they are taught from the pulpit. I'll try to use mostly LDS sources so that there is some familiarity for your parents. They will instantly reject anything from more liberal sources so we just have to ease them into this.

This is a podcast http://mormonstories.org/?p=1158 from a respected tenured BYU professor who has studied the gay issue in great depth. He has a gay son and has gone through his own struggle to understand the many complex issues. It's a fascinating podcast but can be difficult to understand if one is completely unfamiliar with the science behind DNA and genetic makeup. One thing it does do is take the blame from the parents and places the whole issue on the randomness of genetic makeup. Once it can be accepted as a natural phenomenon then the doors to accepting gays as just unique humans is less painful.

This is Bill Bradshaws own site and he offers some fascinating links to help LDS parents accept their homosexual children: http://www.ldsresources.info/professionals/bradshaw.shtml

http://www.ldsresources.info/index.php

Perhaps you could offer a list of well known and respected artists, musicians, inventors, writers, etc. that are/were gay and a short paragraph on how many have contributed very wonderful things to the world. Indicate that their homosexuality was not the reason they were creative or intelligent but just one aspect of them as whole deserving human beings. Associate your own creativity and brilliance with people your parents may unknowingly already respect and admire. (note, choose a few that they might actually recognize. Most LDS are pretty naive and ignorant when understanding famous authors, playwrights, inventors, and philosophers)

Alexander the Great*Macedonian Ruler, 300 B.C., Socrates*Greek Philosopher, 400 B.C.,Sappho,Lord Byron*English poet, 18th c.,Walt Whitman*U.S. poet, author, 19th c.,Gertrude Stein*U.S. poet, author, 20th c.,Cole Porter*U.S. composer, 20th c.,Virginia Woolf*English author, 20th c.,Leonard Bernstein*U.S. composer, 20th c.,T.E. Lawrence*English soldier, author, 20th c.,Tennessee Williams*U.S. Playwright, 20th c.,Michelangelo*Italian artist, 15th c.,Leonardo Da Vinci 16th c.,Herman Melville*U.S. author, 19th c.,Tchaikovsky Russian composer, 19th c.,John M. Keynes English economist, 20th c.,Noel Coward*English playwright, 20th c.,Eleanor Roosevelt *U.S. stateswoman, 20th c.,Melissa Etheridge*U.S. Rock Star, 20th c., Elton John*English Rock Star, 20th c.,Margaret Fuller*U.S. writer, educator, 20th c., Peter the Great*Russian Czar, 17th-18th c.,Langston Hughes*U.S. author, 20th c.,Martina Navratilova
*U.S. tennis star, 20th c.,Greg Louganis*U.S. Olympic swimmer, 20th c.,Billie Jean King*U.S. tennis star, 20th c.,Hans Christian Andersen*Danish author, 19th c.,Tom Dooley*U.S. M.D. missionary, 20th c.,Rock Hudson*U.S. actor, 20th c.,Ralph Waldo Emerson*U.S. author, 19th c.,*U.S. M.D., Olympic star, 20th c.
Kate Millet*U.S. author, 20th c.,Janis Joplin,*U.S. singer, 20th c.,Aristotle*Greek philosopher, 384-322 B.C., James Dean*U.S. actor, 20th c., Montgomery Clift *U.S. actor, 20th c.

Carol Lynne Pearson has written numerous books and music regarding the pain and complexities of heterosexual marriage among homosexuals. She is still LDS and has reverence for many of the important Christian aspects of the gospel, especially love and tolerance. She was married to a man that struggled with his homosexuality for decades and eventually came out. He died of AIDS after experimenting and resorting to a less than moral lifestyle. Part of what drove him to such deviance and promiscuity was the lifetime of oppression and denial of his true self. Her accounts of what he went through and the things it did to her own family are important reflections on the errors of coercing homosexuals to engage in heterosexual marriage.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carol_Lynn_Pearson
Heres a podcast where she's interviewed by John Dehlin on Mormon Stories: http://mormonstories.org/?p=1091

Goodbye, I Love You: The Story of a Wife, Her Homosexual Husband, and a Love Honored For Time And All Eternity (1987) ISBN: 1-55517-984-3

This site http://www.affirmation.org/ will nearly break your heart and certainly be a bit of a thorn in your parents side but it's something they need to recognize and see how they can contribute to the pain and misery of their own child. The numbers of gay suicides is on the rise and the pain they go through prior to that awful choice is hard to watch. I think more Mormon parents need to see these stories so that they will stop the cruel denial and behaviors that negate their own children. Shunning, humiliation, and cold expulsion from the home, family or support have very real consequences. Mormons claim to honor the loving teachings of Jesus Christ yet will spurn their own children for being born different than they are or think they are. This practice is horrific and more attention needs to be given so that they stop hurting the ones they love.

http://www.affirmation.org/homelessness/

The affirmation site offers a ton of really great topics that would help you and your family (if they were to actually research them) to understand the complexities of who you really are and what you're going through. I wish the LDS church would recognize how damaging their leaders words are because the members see such bigotry and then consider it a licence to impose that bigotry on their own family members.

Here's a link to a biblical perspective on homosexuality that might help your parents ease into the idea that God does love and did make you this way and there's nothing wrong with it. http://www.affirmation.org/scriptures/a_discussion.shtml

Before you write this XXX please read and listen to the podcasts I recommended and do a little research on your own. The affirmation site http://www.affirmation.org/coming_out/ will be a huge help to you.

Your parents may not accept any of what you might offer but it's vital to your own mental health to love and accept yourself as you really are and not try to conform that to the expectations of a backward and ill informed religion that will only chew you up and spit you out. Know that many people love and admire you and will be there when you think you can't carry things alone. Reach out, spread your talents among those that are open to receiving them. If you experiment in adult relationships protect your health and your feelings. Don't beat yourself up when you make the typical mistakes and blunders that all lovers make when they're learning about the game. It IS a game and requires a lot of skill to navigate successfully. I lost many times before I finally figured out how to win at love. You will too. It's normal, natural, and so common it's boring. That's Ok too.

Ok, there's the basis of what I'm suggesting you craft in a response to your folks. Make it very specific and very optimistic XXX. Even if you don't feel the love right now, project that into your words so that your parents will feel it and receive your words. Then review it and review it and then when you feel it reflects the very best you have to offer, send it and let it stand as a testament to what you hoped to do. If they reject it it's their loss, although the loss of support will certainly sting for a while. You'll recover. We all do.

Love,
Dana

P.S.when you send the letter, send it on nice paper in the mail. If its in an e-mail they can claim they didn't get it or not bother to read it. This is a biggy XXX and deserves some formality.

Time To Get Back On The Horse

2010-11-07T06:30:00.000-08:00

Since about June I've been avoiding finishing the essays for the last third of my book, "Finding The Pony". I think part of it was genuine distractions that needed my attention and part of it was fear. Once I finish it then I have to do something with it, mainly editing, refinement, and a lot of slashing and burning of stuff that doesn't work. I am not looking forward to that part but I do think this book has merit somewhere and so the surgery has to be done. So as winter is on the horizon and my season of writing budding I am compelled to get back on that horse and try to ride it to the finish line.

This is the book cover I've come up with so far. I think the piles of horse poo look like brown cheerio Christmas trees so I need to find something that looks more poo like. My lighting sources are a bit competitive and I think the green could be toned down a bit. The composition works for me but it still looks like a bunch of photo shopped images stuck together rather than a cohesive image.

The final third of my book will be a refinement of my exit out of the church and a little of the painful parts as I emancipated myself but then I want to focus on all the things I progressively gained as I got free from the religion of my youth and eventually religion and faith in general. I want to give some tribute to the freedom that comes with becoming agnostic but I don't want to alienate an audience that may still have a lot of ties to their own faith. Agnosticism is a part of my life but doesn't define the actual lifestyle that gives me so much more color and opportunity now that I'm out of Mormonism.

So what I need from my smattering of fans is some encouragement, some pointers, and hopefully a willingness to read each entry and give some feedback. The sound of crickets will inevitably follow but eventually somebody might trickle in and peek here and there. I appreciate every response and the willingness to read these blatherings.

Life After Mormonism-Today is the first day of the rest of your life.

2010-10-31T20:19:00.000-07:00

Today is Halloween. It's also a Sunday. In my former LDS days I would have had to try to juggle the traditional holiday with the LDS Sabbath mandates to only do religious and more reverent things on that day.

I don't have a problem with such mandates since I understand the value of having a day of rest but I am happy to no longer be tied to a rigid set of rules that seem to mindlessly dictate all our choices. I can appreciate reverent activities and appreciate their place. Halloween isn't one of those. It seems to super cede the other 51 Sundays of the year because it's a sacred tradition in itself. Some try to hold it on the preceding Saturday but those are usually an epic fail.

Today I started the day off leisurely with my husband and got to my UU church around 9:00 a.m. to help decorate. We had a huge potluck and service action to raise money for the new kitchen appliances. I dressed up as Agnostica, defender of Reason and Rationality. I made my costume from some dollar store junk that I spray painted & hot glued together to make my cool costume. It was fun to dress up for once. I'm too fat to be sexy anymore but I got a ton of attention for the massive plastic boobies. Men go all goofy in the presence of massive breasts.

I had to leave early to come to a family party for my husbands birthday but I think they raised a good share of money. The music was strange until the pianist played the theme music from Adams Family. It was a strange experience but let me know that I was definitely not in Kansas anymore. No tedious boring predictable LDS sacrament meeting.

Here's some pictures of the decorations I made & various fellow UU's, including my sweet husband BABB (in his motorcycle get-up and an orange shirt that says, "Costume").

This is Ferdinand and Imelda, my beloved scarecrows. I had to re-do their heads and torsos this year since they'd been mostly sun killed in the last five years. They spend most of the year in the top of the storage shed ogling each other and their stuffed pelvic areas in scandalously close proximity. They seem to never grow tired of each other. True love.

Our Social Committee Chairperson asked me to make a large banner to decorate this half of the Social Hall so I called a local elementary school and got some orange and black butcher paper and then with a white pencil I drew out the big funky haunted house shapes and other Halloween characters and glued them to the orange banner. It turned out pretty cool.

We have so many different kinds of people that come to our UU church. Many are in the retirement age but we're getting more young families all the time. I love the diversity and feeling of openness there. There seems to be something for everyone and a welcoming spirit. I'm so glad I found this community. They've helped me find a place for my talents and desire to serve.

Jamie is one of the smartest men I've ever met. He's in the Air Force here in Vegas but I don't know what he does there. I asked him about his costume and he said he wanted to choose something that is the most frightening and horrific symbol of all, a religious fanatic. His chain mail was the real stuff and looked to weigh about 30 lbs. his sword was very long and powerful looking.

Thia is my husband Bill (BABB). He melts my butter and I think he's a very handsome man. He's generous and kind and one of the most moral men I've ever met. He's also a devout Atheist. It's possible and also often quite likely that many Atheists and Agnostics are very good people because they care very deeply for their fellow man, not because they feel guilt or fear about their eternal reward. The mantra, "Be good for goodness sake" would definitely apply to the way Bill and I would like to model our lives and commitment to our community.

As you can see, UU's are pretty normal folks. Even the abnormal ones are pretty mild. My kind of people.

Katie Couric-CBS (My questions to Jeff Sharlet at Exmo Conference)

2010-10-21T12:08:00.000-07:00

Last weekend BABB and I went to the Exmormon Conference where a famous author Jeff Sharlet was a featured speaker. He's got two books on the NYTimes Best Seller List and has done numerous cable and mainstream television interviews. I'd listened to his interviews on NPR and was very excited when I heard he would speak at our conference.

Here's the video of his talk and at about the one hour mark he finishes and the floor is opened for questions. I asked basically two questions,
http://the-iron-rod.blogspot.com/2010/10/exmormon-foundation-conference-october.html

I was intrigued by one of your most recent NPR interviews where you were discussing your research into the Ugandan efforts to make homosexuality a capital offense.

One thing you touched on was the suggestion that all the hoopla and rage incited over homosexuality in places like Uganda is actually a carefully orchestrated ploy to detract attention & outrage from the genocide, corruption, violent crime, & economic difficulties that are rampant in these places. My first question is: Do you believe one of the motives of the C Street & possibly LDS leadership is to use homosexuality as a smokescreen over the dastardly deeds going on behind the scenes?

During the Bush era a considerable amount of money was given for AIDS assistance in Africa. Do you think there are connections between the Bush-Abstinence & Christian messages that may have contributed to the ignorance in some third world countries regarding homosexuality?

Do you believe the Christian agenda contributes to the ignorance & fear of using safe sex practices and thereby the spread of AIDS?

Ambiguously Gendered Kitten Takes Own Life Following BKP's Conference Talk

2010-10-08T00:00:00.000-07:00

Albuquerque New Mexico, October 5, 2010 by Insana Dee

In the wake of an incendiary talk by Latter Day Saint second in command General Authority Boyd K. Packer a fluffy kitten has violently ended its life by strangulation with a fuzzy springy cat toy on the end of a stick. In letters spelled in paw print (an ancient Reformed Egyptian language perfected in the Clovis era) the kitten described the shame and pain it felt when recently outed by Boyd K. Packer in his controversial talk.

Boyd K Packer said: "Years ago I visited a school in Albuquerque. The teacher told me about a youngster that bought a kitten to class. She had him hold up the kitten in front of the children. It went well until one of the children asked, “Is it a boy kitty or a girl kitty?” Not wanting to get into that lesson, the teacher said, “It doesn’t matter, it’s just a kitty.” But the persisted. Finally one boy raised his hand and said, “I know how you can tell.” Resigned to face it, the teacher said, “How can you tell?” “You can vote on it.”"

The kittens name has not been released pending notification of close relatives but those closest to the kitten have come out in protest against the church leader. One young first grade child at "Our Lady of Perpetual Grief" Catholic School where the kitten was recently an honored guest at show and tell said, "Boyd K. Packer is a filthy rat bastard and I hope he rots in Hell for what he did to XXXX (name withheld)". It seems a general attitude among many who heard the words of this powerful leader in the LDS community.

An investigation is underway to see if Boyd K. Packer made any unwanted or illicit gestures and sexual advancements toward the kitten. He is currently under investigation in several Western States for exposing himself as a complete douche bag.

We will report more information as this story unfolds. Contributions for the ambiguous kitten rescue fund can be made to Best Friends Animal Sanctuary in Kanab, Utah.

Death Of A Manipulative Friend

2010-08-04T10:33:00.000-07:00

Losing one's religion and subsequent faith seems to leave a massive hole in the day to day workings of ones life. It's often the loss of connections to others still entrenched in that religion or faith and the loss of trust, not only in the leaders but in the concept of God and his purported words. For most of us, those things are very difficult to let go, especially if we know nothing else. We are often set adrift with little to model our lives after and few who support our decision to go alone into that big wide world.

But now, nearly a decade after leaving Mormonism and just a few short years after releasing my dependence on a mystical arbitrary all consuming God, I have begun to find that all the happiness, all the friendship, all the support and joy in life can be had right here, right now, with the people, animals, places we have access to in this life. I don't need to wait for my eternal reward because I am being rewarded right now for all the efforts I can put into those relationships.

Heaven is right here on this earth. It's what we make of every day and how we treat others. God didn't inspire that. Goodness inspired that. Be good for goodness sake.

Mormonism Tastes Like A Processed Meat Like Substance- A Poem By my friend

2010-07-10T08:48:00.000-07:00

Mormonism tastes like Spam.
Frankly I don’t give a damn
Whether it is testified
Lightened, whitened, fixified.

I do not like that Joseph Smith.

I do not like the Mormon Myth.

You will like it, you will see:
Fill your bowels with charity.
Read the scriptures every day,
Fast, pay tithing, always pray.
Then you cannot help but know.
A still small voice will tell you so.

God must not have heard my prayer.

Or if he did, he didn't care.
I didn't hear him on my knees.
I didn't feel him in the breeze.
In darkest nights, no inner lights,
No rescues by the three Nephites.
I could not trust that Joseph Smith.
I would not buy the Mormon Myth.

They told me that I never tried.
God's non-response was justified.
I wasn't pure. I wasn't good.
I didn't do the things I should.
If I were worthy, then I'd see:
The Holy Ghost would comfort me.

God loves the soul who contemplates,

Unless, of course, he masturbates,

Or puts weird colors in his hair

Or balks at holy underwear,

Or kids who fib or laugh too loud,
Or sometimes want to join the crowd,
Or girls who show their midriff skin
And cause Aaronic priesthood sin.

Sometimes God gets kind of pissy

At the independent missy
Who speaks her mind and doesn’t find
A testimony meeting blissy.

God loves meek, he loves the mild.
The ones who trust just like a child
And give their pennies, pay their tithes,
Let the prophets take their wives.
God loves everyone, we’re told,
Unless they will not fit the mold.

Praise to Joseph in the grove,
Searching for the treasure trove.
Put his face down in the hat,
(Who the hell came up with that?)
In the eerie seer stone light,
Words came floating into sight,
Nephite testimony bearers
Quoting later King James errors.

Disregard all other views.
Sit your asses in the pews.
Pray some, say some, pay some more.
Claim to love the three-hour bore.
Follow those who chat with God.
Firmly grasp the iron rod.

What the fuck? That isn’t right.

I prayed with all my heart and might,
Repented fast and fasted slow,
Begging God to let me know.
Finally I’ve come around,
Standing back on solid ground:
I do not like that Joseph Smith.
I do not like the Mormon myth.

Surviving the LDS Family Reunion

2010-07-08T13:57:00.000-07:00

I haven't updated this blog in ages so thought I'd put in a letter I wrote to a friend regarding surviving my recent family reunion. Hopefully the stuff about the garden, the short sale on the house and other info isn't too tedious. It's sort of related but more just personal and reflective of the many projects I'm in the midst of right now that interfere in my book, which I am really hankering to get back into now that the summer travel is over. I have to go get some crappy eight dollar an hr. job this month since the unemployment is ending but that shouldn't be as big an intrusion as travel and gardening. I really do want to finish this book and make it viable for publishing. I appreciate all the folks who read this blog and comment. Your input is very important to me and I hope I reward you with good entertainment and worthwhile insight.

100 Offspring and Counting, few of whom have ever even heard of Birth Control

Dear Jared,

Thanks for your sweet letter and the link. (Jared gave me a gorgeous pendant with a large watermelon crystal) healingcrystals I haven't opened it yet because when I open links then I get distracted from the letter and forget to go back and answer it. I know lots of folks believe in talisman of crystals or crosses or CTR rings and such. I have my own attachments that are silly too and so don't fault them if they need a little tangible comfort or worry stone to help them focus.

Positive energy comes through your friendship Jared and even when we're not in the midst of corresponding I feel it because I know that what we say and do and think of each other is more timeless than many of my own family connections. We seem drawn to our friendship based on more than just shared trauma and drama of our past, but the intellectual, humor, and sometimes spiritual thoughts and feelings that come through. That's pretty priceless to me and I very much cherish you and our connection.

I think Bill is getting more relaxed about letting the house go. We've worked through it logically and on paper and it makes sense. He pulled his credit score the other day (before the bank gets wind of our Short sale intent) and he got an 885. I think even with the short sale he'll end up with a 700 or so and most banks will still lend for the cabin addition with that nice of a score. He worries about a lot of little things that always seem to work themselves out.

I tend to fly by the seat of my pants and so my credit score is more like 550 or something. I had to file for bankruptcy after my divorce and I've been paying cash for everything since and haven't even bothered to get very many credit cards, thus no credit card debt but also nothing to reflect my ability to pay off debt. Marrying Bill was the most responsible thing I've ever done.

I got to the Cabin Tuesday night after being on the road for almost 48 hrs. with Mom, Holly, and two nieces in the car and the previous 7 days with my family in Washington. It was grueling but lots of fun and I'm really glad I went. The car towed the tent trailer like a dream and we had pretty perfect travel considering how overloaded and crowded we were. I really enjoyed my family and found a new center of gravity regarding the LDS stuff with them.

If you don't mind, I'm borrowing the Jewish term "meh" in regards to it all. My family is almost as bat shit crazy as your uncle and several of them listen to Rush Limbaugh and Glenn Beck all day. My brother in Alaska thinks Sarah Palin walks on water and they all think Obama is the anti-christ and the world is set to end any day now.

Talent Show with the Dahl's

My sister and brother have about 10 acres between them and so they cleared one of them and have been building little 12' x 20' cabins and shipping container kitchen/storage facilities for the reunion center. There's exactly 100 people just with my siblings, spouses, children and spouses, and grandkids, all from the union of my mother and father. Most of the kids are just getting started with families so I suspect in the next five to ten years that number will double and so it was getting hard to find a place big enough to hold all of us for reunions. They decided at the last one to just build our own reunion center on their property. It was pretty cool and we had a lot of fun even though we all worked like mules and my brothers and sister really put out in the previous two years getting it all ready.

At the adult sibling/spouse meeting I started off my spiel with, "On behalf of the Democratic Party, we'd like to thank you all for building your own internment camp." They laughed nervously because I think some of them think it'll come down to that. They're hoarding food and dry goods but I suspect in ten years we'll have a work party just to dispose of the rotted dry goods they've got in those shipping containers. I worry about all the ammo and guns my brothers buy and store in very unsafe ways all around their internment camp. I watched my grandbabies very carefully because my brothers have secret ammo stashes all over their property for when the govt. comes to take their children away and put them in the abortion and gay clinics and to finally do grandma in because she's costing too much to maintain.

Lot's of Chief's and a few Squaws make for fast work on internment cabin # 5. They all have construction experience so it went pretty well for putting up a cabin in a day. If Hell freezes over I know where to go to get some red wheat and ammo but let's hope it doesn't come to that. With Global Warming I suspect all this will be under water before us humans are done fouling this gorgeous planet. I plan to just sit comfortably at 5,800 ft. elevation and watch it go while I stew in sin and apostacy. It's a good life.

The insanity, illogical, fear mongering, racial hate, foolish planning and such that go on among the religious right just blows my mind. I hear little snippets of what some of them actually believe or fear and I struggle to take anything they think, say or do seriously anymore. I find myself just pandering a little like I'm talking to a mentally deficient retard and my disdain for their information sources is fairly pungent.

I think it pisses them off that us liberals just go on about our business and keep having happy successful relationships and good lives. We're supposed to writhe in pain and suffer interminable hell for our wanton heathen wickedness and it really throws a wrench in the cogs of their minds to see us live fine and happy without the benefits of an overlord or the LDS gospel dictating our bowel movements.

This is my little 1,200 lb. tent trailer that sleeps four comfortably and six in a pinch, has a stove, heater, microwave, portapotty, and is a darn sight easier to tote around than a cabin so I get to bring my house with me when Hell Freezes over. Internment camp that can be pulled with a four cylinder car! I titled it "The Freedom FROM Religion Cabin"

My brother Mark acquires these boat shipping containers for under $2,500 and with a concrete pad between makes for a pretty nice set up for a large kitchen, dining and storage facility. In a few years we'll get a permanent roof on the facility and better kitchen appliances but for our first attempt it was sufficient. I was pretty impressed with the work that had been done and the money invested by my siblings and mom.

My brother Chet once had a business selling portable sawmills and made this trailer to carry and display his wares. The business failed but the trailer survives and made a great "Bloods and Spices Pub" named after the nickname for my siblings and their spouses. We painted plastic water barrels to look like oak casks and then they served sugar, fat, lard, and preservatives till the kids were all jacked up on koolaid, otter pops, and red licorice and completely wired and unmanagable. They had a wonderful time and there were only a few drunken brawls between some three yr. olds and one uber chivalrous five yr old who thought the honor of my granddaughter was worthy of defending. A good time was had by all.

The story of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves is a family favorite and since there's seven living siblings and our mother we've all adopted the persona of the dwarves and she's Snow White. My brother has an old airstream that he gutted and we made this faux fireplace to cover the bathroom which was beyond repair and then decorated the interior to look like the little dwarf cabin. It was a huge hit with the little kids and a coveted part of the internment camp. My brother is a model comandant so I suspect when everyone comes to the compound to live during the end of days he'll get the nice accomodations since it's his trailer. I spent a whole day painting and decorating the interior and it turned out pretty cute.

This is just a single bed but we cut out head and footboards from plywood and then glued some baby pictures to the footboards and painted the dwarf names on the headboards. I was always Doc because I wear glasses and I was bossy. My brother bases his entire reality on Disney movies so for him, this is a representation of the real world. I hope he gets to stay in that world because I don't think he can handle reality too well. Mormonism and Grimm's Fairy Tales fit like a hand and glove.

For the family talent show I sang (lip sync'd) to Evita's "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" but I replaced Argentina with Bill and Tina, my youngest sister and her husband. I practiced it for hours on my way up to my mom's and had the words and timing down perfect but when the performance came I sort of lost my umph because my grandkids wanted to come hold my hand while I performed and the emotional aspects of the song and my babies just got to me. I mostly mumbled and tried not to cry. There's some parts of that song that are perfect representations of my life and choices, especially the lines, "I could not stay all my life down at heel, staring out of the window, staying out of the sun, ...so I chose Freedom".

I had one nephew come up to me and thank me for being a good example to his wife and family. WHO KNEW???? In all these years I thought I was the cautionary tale of what could happen to a woman if she chose to get an education, career, or think for herself.

There was one point where I was watching one of my nieces come across the lawn and I realized that in spite of all the LDS stuff, all the old contentions, etc. that family is really the most consistent and connected we can really get in life. Years go by between seeing each other and yet when we're together all the old feelings come back, some not so good, but overall we do love each other. Most of the issues stay unresolved, or are irresolvable and so get swept under a rug and seethe and fester till the next time when they come up again in little nasty barbs or snipey comments, but still the relationship continues.

I bought some cheap shorts, t-shirts and hats for my kids and grandkids for the fourth of July parade and I just couldn't resist the cuteness of my granddaughters baby bum in the flag shorts. She danced to every piece of music and was absolutely the cutest baby there.

My granddaughter loved the story of Little Red Riding Hood so when we'd go through the path to my sisters house I always had to sing "Little Red Riding Hood, you sure are looking good, you're everything a big bad wolf could want" and then chase her roaring RAHHRRR the whole way. I think after the 20th time it gets a little old and the surprise wears off. Anyway, we did a skit for the talent show and since we didn't have anything to make a wolf costume we used the darth vadar mask from the toybox. My grandson who takes everything literally got upset when someone told him, "What big ears you have" and he said, "I don't have big ears!! I'm Caille and I don't have big ears!"

My old HS friends or acquaintances from various endeavors go on with their lives and if there's an offense we tend to part company but with family you are sort of forced to just tough it out, suck it up, and say, "Meh" and go on about life. I think it's as good as any saying and exemplifies the ambivalence required to get along with family. I live 1,300 miles away from most of them and they don't really have access to how I live my life and who I associate with when I'm not with them, so for the brief times I'm with them I can just say, "Meh" to all their little oddities and irrational crap.

Mormonism, "Meh".

Republicans, "Meh".

Glenn Beck, "Meh".

Internment camps, "YEAH". At least I know where they are when they all decide to hole up and shield themselves from all the worldly influence. They can eat their Sam Andy food storage crap and get stomach cramps and practice shooting their guns at hay bales with Obama's picture taped on and I'll just enjoy the facilities every two or three years and let them absorb all the cost of building and maintaining the place. Meh! And Meh again!

I hope you survive the heat wave. We're used to such temperatures here in the West but it's the humidity that really sapped me, even when I was as far North as Michigan and I can hardly breathe. Just flying home from the East Coast and seeing the Rocky Mts in the distance helped me breathe easier because I knew that finally I'd dry out a bit and not have my hair sticking to my neck all day. I so loved our trip out east for your wedding and the fall is spectacular but I think I'll stay here in the dry high desert in the summers. The green and lovely flowers are spectacular there though and I find myself a little jealous of all the variety you have.

When I got home my garden had gone bonkers with stuff. I've got pumpkin plants with leaves as big as tires and I picked a five gallon bucket of peas, some of which were past their prime and quite woody and bitter. I even had raspberries but nothing like what they have in Washington. The beets will be ready in a week and the broccoli, sprouts, tomatoes and potatoes are really going gangbusters. The squash beetles are really having a hay day with my squash and zucchini though and I suspect without being there to monitor and protect the tender plants I won't end up with much of either. The cucumbers are really looking good though and I suspect I'll have buckets and buckets of those in a month or so. The pole and bush beans seem to be struggling a bit and I think aren't getting enough water. The corn is pathetic and I think it was a waste to plant it. It takes so much water and fertilizer and I can buy corn much cheaper than I can grow it.

When Bill and I get home to New Harmony permanently I think I'll be able to do it better. It's really hard to take care of when I'm only home on the weekends. I miss it so much and find myself a slave and very beholding to that garden. When I got home Tuesday night late I still stayed up for two more hrs. just watering and checking my plants by flashlight. I guess we love what we serve. I don't even like vegetables that much but I love growing stuff.

I'm so glad you had a great time with your cousin David. Crazy family makes for good stories though and perhaps you can regale a liberal crowd at some dinner party with tales of your batshit loony Mormon relatives. We don't even have to embellish the stories to make them downright ridiculous and funny. Dumbfuckistan produces some of the best fodder for comedy and they don't seem to mind being the butt of so many jokes. I think it feeds their persecution complex and justifies their hoarding and fears that we're all out to get them. Scary when they get elected and start making laws, but otherwise they're just silly and fun to mock.

If California does fall into the ocean (they had a recent 5.4 earthquake that did knock a few things off a shelf somewhere and made the news for almost five minutes) then maybe Bill and I could list our house as ocean front property and get what we paid for it. Let's all pray for some massive calamity that will consume 40 million American Citizens and make the rest of us glad for our common sense in staying inland where we only get talk radio and FOX news to keep us informed in a fair and balanced manner. NOT!

Meh

Love,

Dana

Spiritual Amway - By Insana D

2010-04-14T18:57:00.000-07:00

On a site called PostSecret there was a link to a blog by a young woman from Canada who is forced to fake her religious beliefs for her marriage, I saw the term "Spiritual Amway" in one of the responses. Crikey, that is exactly like what I felt while I was in the church. My ex pushed us to join Amway when we were newlyweds and the tactics and products were so parallel.

The Amway people would only tell the good stuff to get us in, making it seem like it was just a matter of telling a few friends about the program and products and before we knew it, we'd be Double Diamond direct and get to go to the cool private Amway Island in the Caribbean with the other Double Diamond Directs. They would have the so called "Success" stories parade on a stage every week and tell us how in just a matter of days they went from poverty to wealth beyond their wildest dreams, just from selling a light bulb to one Disney official, or panty hose to one beauty queen, or soap to one motel.

We were young and needed to be fabulously filthy rich. We had the filthy down well, but we were driving an 1978 Pinto and making less than $1,400.00 a month, half of which was our rent. To get our Pinto started we had to lift the hood and spray an igniter into the starter, then drop the hood and run to the drivers side, pump the gas and turn the key (which had broken off in the ignition so we had a pair of wire pliers duct taped to the key hole.).

If it started then I'd have to rev the engine a bit to make sure it was catching well and then hope to God no one was in the driveway as I backed out because once it was rolling it was impossible to stop without killing the engine. I'd go out in reverse till it started to fade, then jam it into drive while pushing on the gas, hoping it would stay lit long enough to make the transition. Once I got rolling I did well till I came to a light and had to come to a full stop so I devised a route that by-passed all the stoplights till the highway and then I'd go on the access road as long as possible and then cut up fast onto the highway.

If I had to come to a full stop I'd make sure I was in the right hand side of the lane because I knew it would be a matter of minutes before it would kill again and I'd have to hop out, lift the hood, spray igniter, slam the hood, start the car, and try to move through the next light, all while in the bus lane. We'd go to peoples houses with this smoking behemoth of American made crap and then proceed to tell them how they could become wealthy beyond their wildest dreams with Amway. It was not a very good calling card to be driving a Pinto while promoting wealth. for some odd reason no one took us seriously.

My ex would spend plenty on their kits, their tapes, the seminars and kept telling me we had to spend money to make money. We never made any money. I hated it so much and finally after about five years told him I would not go to one more "testimony meeting" of the Amway folks.

I lost count of the fake friends that called after a 20 year absence and suddenly were so glad to hear from me or find me in the phonebook, and within minutes they're giving the pitch for some bullshit MLM. Now when one calls from my old HS I just assume they're selling something. I'm jaded beyond repair.

The church does the same sorts of things, promises huge returns if you give them everything, your time, money, children, talents, etc. and then pressures you to get others to give everything as well. The investment makes people think that the payoff is already there in the social connections and without the church you'd just be out giving blow jobs at truck stops for laundry money, or shooting up with heroin.

General Conference is just like an Amway Rally, where they get people all jacked up on the Kool-Aid and chide anyone who isn't towing the line, make the ones who are feel like they're more special, more entitled, more righteous and if they just keep going a little longer they'll get to rise up the ladder to the Celestial Kingdom. The payment structure is the same as well, milking every red cent the silly members can squeeze out and telling them they need to give this to succeed.The church, almost any church is selling eternal life. You can't touch it, taste it, see it, or prove it exists and in order to enjoy this priceless product, you have to DIE!

To suggest that Amway and the LDS church do not apply undue pressure is a reflection of a lack of awareness of what many have been through. The leaders of the church and a lot of the invested members are callous and cold to the painful stories but that seem to only feed the deep pain we already feel. It's like telling someone who just lost their child to BUCK UP, YOU AREN'T SO SPECIAL!!

The peer pressure, the way you're surrounded and coerced into agreeing to things you clearly dislike, the fake smiles, and the pressure to keep quiet when your mind is essentially being raped is a common experience. I would love it if I were the only person who had ever experienced this. The fact that Postmormon and dozens of other sites, each with hundreds of participants would suggest that this is an institutionalized problem that the LDS church should be aware of but pretends is just an occasional anomaly.

One thing that genuinely offends me is when some arrogant entitled LDS person thinks that by lumping all those who leave the church into the "Offended/Sinner" category it absolves them from having to examine the vast wasteland of horrific offenses that the church has done to so many and permeates the culture and history of the church. If they can marginalize those that leave with such a blanket accusation it may offer them some comfort for their own ignorance and naive perspective but it does nothing to help bridge the chasm that exists between the disaffected and the devout.

I left because I was offended. I was offended at the doctrine, the leadership, the history, the culture, the oppression, the lies, the lies, the lies and more lies. I was offended at the corruption, the graft, the good ol' boys games, the misogynist sexual discrimination, the cruel way the culture extorts silence from dissenters, the ostrication, the manipulation and backward indoctrination of children, the group think mindset that dominates any sort of honest intellectual integrity. I was offended by the grey dull tedious repressive leaders. I was offended by so much that it would take volumes to write it all out. I left because I was offended. Lies offend me. I must be a big baby.

I will continue to be offended at the lies the church continues to tell and forces their devotees to swallow. If it comforts those who give their loyalty to such a corrupt organization as the LDS church to think that folks like me left because we were offended, then by all means, placate the passive aggressive game with such silliness. They sure as hell won't win friends and influence people but they can sit comfortably in their little home teaching room and congratulate themselves that they stayed loyal to a corrupt lying organization and are among folks who think just like them. They belong there.

Marginalizing Milton - By Insana D

2010-04-14T18:11:00.000-07:00

In the few years that I've been participating on discussion forums I've heard many stories from former LDS men and women who have paid a heavy price for their choice to leave. I get the impression that their position as father, provider, and husband is in a sort of flux where the respect and well earned position of leadership are being questioned and threatened. I think a lot of fathers that leave the church go through that. I realize that the role for men as they leave is somewhat different than the role for women who leave. Not that either is an enviable position.

No matter what, our value and respect is marginalized and continually threatened. It's so frustrating because as a human being we've only gotten better, more intellectually equipped for the big wide world, more compassionate and wise, but in the LDS bubble, we are a serious threat and must be reined in or squashed and expelled.

Maybe it's different for women. I was never really in any position of power and so saying NO was not really a viable option. While I did spend a lot of years as the breadwinner in my family I still didn't hold the priesthood and so by LDS standards, what I contributed, led, or influenced my family was still less valuable than what my ex could dictate. His authority trumped my job, my hours and hours of work, my collective wisdom, my right as a mother.

The only choice some of us have is to walk away with nothing. No respect, no authority, no position, no assets, no power in anything except the power to will ourselves to walk away.

I can say that a lot of that injustice rights itself somewhat. It took years to gain my children’s respect and trust and for the injustices their father imposed to reveal themselves. They still won't give me credit for much and are uber defensive if I even hint that I deserve some credit for anything, but reality has come around and the fact that they know they can count on me proves that I'm not the indigent worthless vile heathen whore of Babylon that the church and their father would deem me.

It's so hard to leave with nothing. Freedom ain't free, but it sure as hell is worth it.

Recently I went to the funeral of my very old devout LDS uncle, my mothers last surviving sibling. He was a school teacher most of his life and lived on a very small income, raised three sons, and was heavily involved in scouting most of his life. He lived in a really shabby home in a bad part of town and spent most of his life fixing a crappy run down VW Van, hauling his wife's craft and LDS wedding reception stuff around, going to meetings, going to the temple, going to baby blessings, stake missionary work, etc.. According to the speakers he had a full rich life.

Every person there that was obviously devout LDS looked as haggard and colorless as three day old oatmeal. they were even more plump and paunchy than myself and their clothing was frumpy and ragged. The building looked like something out of a 1950's Soviet propaganda industrial movie. Granted, it was in a sad part of town, but since the church is the same wherever you go, it was reflective of low income wards all over the nation.

The music was predictable, the speeches dull and full of empty platitudes heard a million times in any LDS setting. Each speaker (my mom included) made grand assumptions that everyone was either LDS, wanted to be LDS or was familiar with the tedious inbred doctrine and colloquialisms.

My cousin who looks, speaks, walks and acts very much like Milton the stapler guy in Office Space spoke about his father. He sighed a few times, trying to find words to describe his father's life. I sighed too, hoping to not be too conspicuous as I fell asleep and probably snored through most of the meeting.

I knew what was going to be said before I got there because I've heard it all a thousand times. My uncle has a different name and was raised in a different place, but otherwise it was pretty much a form that was filled out and then regurgitated. The Mcfuneral of Mcfunerals, followed by cheap pressed ham, cheesy potatoes, watery green beans, salad, rolls, chocolate cake and tepid tap water. There were green fake ivy vines down the middle of the tables but that was the only color allowed.

If it's such a good life, so full of fulfillment, so rich with marvelous works and wonders why are so many of the members so dreary, dull, uninspired, uncreative, colorless, washed out, lumpy, frumpy, dumpy and absolutely boring as hell? Gawdddd, I've had a better time de-worming my dog.

If it was a missionary opportunity it sent the message that whatever you do, don't join that damn tedious cult or they'll suck your brain and heart out and leave you a zombified corpse, shuffling, waddling, mumbling along looking for your red stapler in life.

LDS Women, Their Own Worst Enemies – By Insana D

2010-04-14T17:42:00.000-07:00

Following is a blathering dissertation reflecting how I believe the women in the LDS church are their own worst enemies and promote and enforce many of the things we grow to loathe. The reasons behind this are as varied as the women themselves and maybe I can shed some light into that since I’ve seen both sides of that raggedy jaggedy sword.

I also believe that the culture, even above the doctrine can imprint itself on the psyche of men and women to the depth that even when they escape, the mindset keeps them (me) still locked down in that mentality of blind servitude and lack of confidence. I’m a fifth generation LDS woman and it’s a daily struggle to overcome the decades of negative messages that come from my mother, her mother, and her mother’s mother’s mother. Perhaps some of it is just part of growing up as a N. European serf with no hope for much more than a warm fire and dry slippers as the eternal blessing for a lifetime of hard labor, but in 2010 I’m barely a notch above the kitchen scullery maid in my view of self worth. Many LDS women are conditioned to believe that this is all they should ever hope for. It kills initiative and dreams to know that you’ll always just be a jewel in some man’s crown and only as worthwhile as your uterus.

Perhaps I have more testosterone in my system than most women but I also believe that the LDS church squashes a woman’s natural instincts in the sexual and intimacy realm. This is terribly detrimental to their self esteem and it’s doubly bad for the men in their lives since they have to spend “Eternity” with a cold frigid inexperienced and uncreative wife, and relegates the act to just procreation or momentary necessity. It may help a man believe his wife will stay true to him if she’s inexperienced or disinterested, but in many women’s hearts they turn to many other things to escape the monotony of boring sex by Mormon Minute-men.

Just because she’s not sleeping with someone else doesn’t mean she’s true in her heart or mind. Fabio, Tom Cruise (ok, that was in 1984), Peter Jennings, or even Brian Williams may be where her mind is. The Victorian mentality that GOOD Women don’t desire sex, don’t enjoy variety or creativity, etc. squashes many women in the prime of their lives. The LDS church has promoted some of the most backward, damaging, and cruel practices with their freaky uncomfortable garments and dowdy dress code and shunning of anything that might even inform women about technique or creative lovemaking. It has made many women feel like they are only as attractive as a Nun and shouldn’t desire to embellish or love their own bodies, to feel shame at their own femininity.

From the 1820’s to now, LDS women have been the mules that the LDS hierarchy have used up and tossed aside when they’re done using them. If you only get to see the buttocks of the mule in front of you and are not allowed out of the blinders, you may never even know that the grass is so much greener outside the mucky trodden corral. By the time a young woman is in her teens she’s been conditioned to revere and obey her leaders to the point that many of them often retard their own growth and instincts for the sake of conformity and acceptance.

It seems safe but is like a slow death. By the time she’s in her 30s and has a van full of kids, debt up to her eyebrows and middle age and fatigue set in, it’s just an exercise in seeing if you can “Endure to the end”. “Smile till you’re Happy”, “Fake it till you make it”, and “Make lemonade from the lemons” are the mantras that are supposed to comfort and justify all the sacrifice. In the end, they become grey, used up, spineless, spiritless, and the very model of all that we imagine in the Molly Mo. Sagging used up breasts, frumpy dress, sloppy shoes, dirty van, overloaded church bag, brittle flat hair, sad eyes, vacant thoughts, and an empty heart. They shuffle into Sacrament meeting like a slow herd of Zombies, counting the minutes till it’s all over, wondering when they can take their next Zanex and what the long-term damage to their liver will be like.

In the realm of arts and science and things that embrace critical thinking, new ideas, or innovative and different concepts the LDS church seems locked in a time warp and it’s 1952. I believe that with the old geezers in the hierarchy ruling over every aspect of the culture and meetings that they see this as their prime, when women were homemakers and TV was innocent, and children were sweet and silent and the Commies were bad, Americans were good, and all was right with the world. They’re trying like Hell to keep it that way but forgot that 50 some years have passed in between. Women cast off the girdles and cruel underwear of the 50s and opted for fun dresses and flirty swimsuits. We didn’t revere a new vacuum or washer and dryer the way they showed in the Sears commercial, we want IPods and access to information, art galleries, interesting conversations, and updated news feeds. We may still love our homes and babies but we are so much more than a clean floor and matching sweater set.

LDS women learn that to have support and approval they must cater to that oligarchy 1952 mindset, even promote it as that Sherry Dew creature does. I read or hear her words and I swear I’m watching something out of “I Dream of Jeanie”. Of course the LDS men love this. It feeds the need to dominate, control, protect, and manipulate women. It’s duplicitous in many ways because it makes women into the passive aggressive manipulators who perfect a million skills to keep men thinking they are in charge, coercing, guilting, pandering in order to extract the things they believe they want. The women learn pouting and acting like a coy child, doing the little Shirley Temple coo to make a man sign over his 401k. I’m ashamed of women who do this and it angers me that it’s the expected and rewarded behavior that the LDS feign is the true nature of women as childlike, in need of constant protection, and too simple to think for themselves.

My own daughter decided early on that it was a good skill to master and so now is reluctant to show her husband that she knows how to change a tire, roof a garage, heave a wheelbarrow or other typical masculine endeavors that she learned out of necessity when she was a child because she feels this thwarts his manliness. If he always has to be the tough one, always has to handle the hard things like earning a living and balancing the checkbook she can remain sweet and innocent and clueless to the difficult things in the world. It’s a co-dependency that many LDS families have fostered for generations but in truth, it requires the woman to play dumb, and the men to step up and dominate, feeding that circle over and over.

It seems that many women raised outside the LDS church learn to be inter-dependent with a man or partner. In healthy relationships she brings all her best stuff to the table, as does her partner, and together they solve whatever problems they can with everything they’ve got. No one has to pretend to be dumb in order to make the other feel smart. Regardless of their education or work skills, they both recognize that changing a baby or mowing the lawn is not impeded by ones breasts or penis. It’s just a job that has to be done.

From the time I was a toddler to the time I left the LDS church the examples of women that I saw daily fed the belief that the only GOOD women were self sacrificing, quiet, patient, peaceful, subservient, and only gave leadership within other women’s auxiliaries but NEVER pursued career or interests in fields that men typically dominated. GOOD LDS women stay home and have babies, possibly become nurses or kindergarten teachers, feed the homeless and make fancy scrapbooked or tatted lace doilies. GOOD LDS women sing in the choir, make casseroles, and hot glue stuff on Wednesday nights. GOOD LDS women wear frumpy floral print dresses with big white collars and sensible shoes and drive Ford Aero star Vans or in later years, a large Chrysler with automatic windows. GOOD LDS women let their own teeth rot right out of their face while they give up every comfort and penny to make sure their kids get top notch orthodontic care. GOOD LDS women only have sex to conceive and after those four minutes are up go back to thinking about canning peaches… and never ever EVER watch anything racier than Apple Dumpling Gang Rides Again.

When these are your role models it becomes a complex dance to continually try to escape that future. I’ve railed on this before but I lost count of the times I was shunned or reprimanded for asking difficult questions or seeking answers beyond what I was told by my priesthood leaders. In the 4th grade I asked for a subscription to National Geographic for Christmas. I was led to believe that it would only bring me frustration and doubt and instead encouraged to read the Children’s Friend, and on a really wild hair, maybe Life Magazine. My brothers got Boy’s Life and scouting magazines. We got knitting manuals and stitchery patterns. I actually had to sneak Science and Art books home and read under the covers in case it was found that I was reading about evolution or looking at Renaissance nudes. When I questioned the logistics of gathering animals from the separated continents in the legend of Noah’s Ark in my CTR class I was told that it was inappropriate for me to question the biblical authenticity and to “Leave it alone”. It was just a simple question!!! Perhaps if a boy had asked the same question it would have had validity, but was just too controversial and deep for a mere girl.

In my 37 years as a devout LDS woman I felt squashed, hurt, and continually frustrated. In the last five years of my involvement I was self medicating to mask the pain I felt and could easily have become one of the many Zombie LDS women you see on Sundays, shuffling into church with that dead stare and counting the moments till I could take another pill.

Getting out was a life saver for me. I’ve learned more, had more fun, met more interesting people, discovered more, embraced more, and enjoyed life so much more since leaving the church. My heart aches for many of those intelligent women still in the church who are relegated to the role of uterus or mule or marginalized library worker. It takes enormous courage to get out, especially when your entire family or support system remains entrenched. Smarter women than myself have stayed but I can imagine they’ve paid the price of their mind and soul. I could not give those things up in order to stay in the church.

Sometimes I think I'm over it all and then I hear of other women or people still stuck in the church and the pain they go through and I know it's important to speak out. Exposure is the only way that people will start to see it for what it is. The facade I lived for all those years is a huge lie. Families are Forever? Not if you ever decide you don't agree with every tick and bubble of the LDS church. They'll send you out on your ear faster than you can say Fannie Alger.

I know there are many LDS women who felt exactly like I did, oppressed, squashed, marginalized and passed over. Intellect is not a male or female trait. It's a human trait. Some possess it in greater abundance or more creative ways than others but no matter the gender the desire to pursue ones own thoughts and dreams should never be limited by the twisted doctrines of a backward archaic church or culture.

Most of the women who leave are similar to the ones I meet in professional, educated, or the arts communities. They're, bright, funny, intelligent, creative, and very strong. For the LDS to suggest we are stupid and weak for taking such great risks is arrogant and short sighted. The LDS church will continue to hemhorage it's intelligent and talented people. It will be left with the blind and feeble and weak whose only interest is to do the bidding of the grey ones. They deserve to stay.

A Damn Ondi Omen and Middle Missouri - By Insana D

2010-04-14T17:19:00.000-07:00

For most of my life it's been a common discussion among devout LDS to plan to someday move en masse' back to Missouri to help set up the Kingdom of God prior to the Second Coming of Christ. I'm not making this up. Many LDS really believe that when Jesus returns he's heading straight for Missouri and that's where the REAL Garden of Eden was.

Mormon wikipedia:
A quick review: Adam-ondi-Ahman is a gentle little valley located in Daviess County, Missouri. After the Saints were driven out of Jackson County, they settled in Clay County with Far West as their central settlement. North of Far West was a spot known as Spring Hill, which the Lord revealed to Joseph Smith as the location of Adam-ondi-Ahman (See D&C 116). Adam-ondi-Ahman it turns out is a place fraught with theological significance. In 1835, the Prophet Joseph recieved a revelation that stated in part:

Three years previous to the death of Adam, he called Seth, Enos, Cainan, Mahaleel, Jared, Enoch, and Methuselah, who were all high priests, with the residue of his posterity who were righteous into the valley of Adam-ondi-Ahman, and there bestowed upon them his last blessing. And the Lord appeared unto them, and they rose up and blessed Adam, and called him Michael, the prince, the archangel. And the Lord administered comfort unto Adam, and said unto him: I have set thee to be at the head; a multitude of nations shall come of thee, and thou are a prince over them forever. (D&C 107:53-56)

We learn elsewhere that at the end of time, Christ and the Ancient of Days (Adam) will appear to a great convocation of Adam’s posterity at Adam-ondi-Ahman. (See D&C 116, Dan. 7:13-14).

Not only is Jesus coming back for a second tour, but he's coming back to a very special place that Joseph Freaking Smith saw in a vision, probably while in a drunken stupor or possibly on a mushroom psychedelic high and came across a loamy swamp in Eastern Missouri and lo and behold, A-Damn Ondy Omen was born. It's this field with a few trees that the LDS consider a holy of holy sites where none other than Jesus himself has set as the ORIGINAL Garden of Eden and the place he'll come back to when he graces us with his presence.

Screw those stupid scientists and archaeologists that have surmised that the fertile crescent and places in N. Africa are the likely origin of man. NOPE, all of human kind started right here in middle North America, and they were so untraveled and uncouth that they considered Missouri the place that they should call heaven on earth. Forgive me but I've been to Missouri and while it's green, rolling hills, arbor laden landscape is indeed pretty it's a hot sticky tornado ridden frequently flooded mountain less land and loaded to the gills with hillbillies, red necks, and Jesus freak fundamentalists.

If I were Jesus and had the power to re-create heaven on Earth I'd do a little more research and choose somewhere like New Zealand or maybe Southern France. A swamp in Missouri wouldn't even make the top 100 list of places to recreate heaven.

If you want to hear the really bizarre stuff about when Jesus comes back you have got to listen to a FLDS fundy give their take on the future bliss. I've heard four year olds give a more rational perspective on an imaginary world.

Washing Jesus Feet- By Insana D

This is going to sound so bollocks but I heard that the Plyg women aren't actually allowed to use "Hair Spray" to get that big hair "Semi-truck" look. They aren't allowed to use makeup or any "Unnatural products" so they mix corn starch and water in a spray bottle and then tease the hair behind till it's upwards of a foot above the forehead, then comb the bangs over the top and pin it down at about the middle of the crown to give that funky dinner roll thing on top, then braid the rest in interesting and complicated braids.

I asked a former polygamist why the women aren't allowed to cut their hair and this is what I was told, (Paraphrasing), "There's a scripture in the bible (or maybe the BOM or D & C) that says that when Christ returns to the earth that the righteous virtuous women will wash his feet with their long hair.".
Now this conjures up the most hilarious images for me, the evil one, of Jesus, surrounded by the prophets and Apostles dressed like Santa's elves or something. Jesus is sitting on a throne with his feet in a big dishpan of water and these ladies in their Easter dresses are lined up for miles, all waiting for a turn to wash his feet with their long hair.

One by one they file up to the throne, bend down on all fours and swash at his feet with their braids and look up all hopeful for his approval. After about 1,000 of these he's a bit bored and his feet are getting all soft and milky and he's like, (use monotone bored bitter Santa lookalike voice here)

"Thank you for washing my feet with your hair. Bless you." and an Apostle hands the gal a candy cane or a little plastic statue of Jesus or something and she waddles off as the next steps up to the throne. "Thank you for washing my feet with your hair. Bless you", and on and on it goes.

Now I'm not virtuous, or righteous , and I doubt I'll get to be here when Jesus comes but I've never ever been able to get my hair longer than my shoulders. I got burned when I was little and it damaged the follicles or something and so I have short hair. I'd have to go up to the throne and bend down all the way and just scrub Jesus feet with the top of my head like a brillo pad or something. The humiliating position of me with my head in a vat of stinky water full of corn starch bits and loose hair from all the other ladies, and Jesus feet all milky and water soaked , my ample arse in the air as I scrub away is just too much. It would ruin the spirit of the event and the giggles and outright laughing would just take all the holiness out the window.

I'm pretty sure they won't invite me.

Moonie Mormon Missionary Sites – By Insana D

2010-04-14T16:43:00.000-07:00

Cove Fort is just off the I-15 and I-70 interchange in central Utah. It's in a pretty little valley that is very cold and windswept and surrounded by lava strewn hills and juniper forests. During a snowstorm it is the best place to pee while waiting for the snowplows to come through. The Mormons have done it up like Santa's village at Knott’s Berry Farm with all kinds of 'Authentic" reproductions of little houses and cabins and barns and such to replicate the thriving wealth of the former prophet Gorden B. Hinkley's ancestors. The fort itself is interesting and sturdy, made from thick walls of lava stone and sturdy heavy pine doors. It's just precious, in that sort of sickening sweetness that one gets from downing 9 cups of artificially sweetened, thick carob flavored fake hot chocolate.

Watch out though because as you drive up to the site and park in the nice wide parking stalls with the well lit walkways and brightly painted reproduction pioneer houses you'll see little shadows of chubby older men scurrying behind the corners of buildings, lurking and peeking, giving each other the eye to see who can waddle over to approach you first. It's almost a geezer race and you're the ribbon at the end of the track. The dominant or more agile one will get to you and the sad look or latently angry glare from the "loser" will fill you with a curious awe as he shuffles off to his post behind a building or back to his well appointed RV or double wide modular home on the premises.

The goal of these well meaning but desperately bored old farts is to take you to the gates of the fort, and with some carefully practiced lines, get your name, address, and phone number so "Some representatives" can call you. Even if you're just there to pee or other necessary business they want to get you on their list, sort of like army recruiters at a high school football game, desperate to fill the dwindling ranks and assured of a "Heavenly reward" for the bonus of getting your contact info.. Don't succumb, or better yet, give them Infymus's e-mail address. That would be too dang funny. Just do your business and get the hell out of there because if you stay, it's like an endless Amway convention and you've just been selected as "Sucker of the moment".

The fort is pretty cool and well appointed with the trappings and artifacts from all kinds of legendary pioneer accoutrements. The garden just outside the fort is so well attended by these competing old men that nary a weed pokes it's desperate head above ground before one of them comes and chops it with a sharp hoe. The same for any nay sayers of church doctrine or revisionist history so watch out when they come at you with their "hoes".

Speaking of Hoes, they have these sweet old ladies that have been placated over a lifetime with the expression one masters at the end of a really good bowel movement....ahhhhhhhh, that feels so warm and good. The sing songy voices are so anxious to tell you the fabulous tales of the generous and welcoming Hinckley family who opened their big wooden doors to all the weary travelers passing on their way south or to California. They have the well practiced gestures of an airline stewardess, guiding you through the little rooms and showing you the precious beds and kitchen implements, all the while bearing testimony to the truthfulness of the gospel because the chamber pot is the one GBH's grandmother used and it must be good, otherwise God would have seen to it that it would be lost from the site.

You won't get out of there in less than 45 minutes if you succumb to the gates. They keep you in those little claustrophobic rooms while they witness to you till you relent out of desperation to escape. Give them anything, a name, an address, whatever or they will surround you like toothless piranhas, gumming you to death.

I made the mistake of going with my mom, sisters, and daughters on a church history tour. Forget the passive aggressive 101 fiasco of navigation and resentment. That's another dissertation but Good Gawd, site after site is an exercise in redundancy and bullshit that can hardly be imagined. Nauvoo is absolutely beautiful and the restoration is so commendable, but crikey, don't get stuck in one of those buildings!! They corner you and close the doors from room to room and continue to bear witness till you will do anything to escape. I found myself having multiple Morgasms (faking pleasure and approval) over and over just so I could get through these little pieces of "History".

I'm not sure what codswallop is but I hear Brits and Aussies use it all the time. It flows like sewage on a rainy day and you get it all over your shoes, it creeps up your pant leg and pretty soon you can feel it gooeing between your knees. Slogging through it from house to house you soon feel like Tim Robbins in "Shawshank Redemption". That moment you get out of the town limits is just like when he leaves the sewer and breathes fresh air. You gasp and gulp and spread your arms in a grateful gesture of freedom.

At the printing office in Palmyra one gilded and naive old lady stated that the "Not YET LDS" printer of the Book of Mormon died shortly after the first printing, but that since he'd "Served his purpose here on earth", that God took him for his heavenly reward. I was fairly incensed because I doubt his non-Mormon family felt that his sole purpose on this earth was to print the codswallop that was the BOM. While he may not have been paid well, it was his JOB and from what I understand, printers print stuff in exchange for money, even bullshit fantasy like the BOM. I suggested to this sweet schitzforbrains matron that I highly doubted that this man's family felt that "His usefulness" was over nor that his purposes on earth had been well served by printing the BOM. Of course mom and the entourage were upset at me for ruffling the pretty surface and I had to walk away, steamed and incensed and indignant. The rest of the trip went accordingly.

I took some fabulous photos of Nauvoo with the leaves turning and sun setting over the Mississippi, the light glowing on the temple and the valley below fading into darkness. Palmyra and the surrounding area are equally lovely and I could spend weeks there going up and down the little country roads, enjoying the flavor of New England towns and history that the west just can't hold a candle to. Pretty is different than authentic though and every single site is a contrived, trumped, overdone, absolute fabricated version of the real life there or true history of the church and the people and the times.

Like going to Santa's village at Christmas, it's fun to see the efforts of the crafty folk who decorate and create the illusion, but don't forget that it's all fantasy. Don't make jokes about "Governor Boggs" when someone knocks on the door at the Liberty Jail, or ask about any authenticity to the first vision in Palmyra, or ask where the wars were fought in the surrounding forests. The sweet old geezers and "hoes" are ill prepared to deal with controversy and really are just the little costumed elves helping to carry out the fantasy. It's not their fault that Santa is exploiting them or that he gets to sit around getting all fat and lardy while they toil away fabricating the playthings that are the doctrine of the LDS faith.

Like any museum or art gallery, the goal is to sell you stuff. They take all credit cards, cash, and travelers checks at the gift shops with authentic resin statues of JS or the other characters in the fantastic legends. You can get little aprons and clothes and nightgowns so you can look just like Emma or the other wives and concubines. You can get cast iron pots and pretend to slave away over the dishes displayed in the recipe books from the times. You can get an authentic Mormon Brick for free, well not really because you have to pay with the price of your ears swelling from a nasty puss oozing infection of Mormon bullshit first. The brick is about the size and consistency of the rest of the crap they spew and passing it hurts like heck, but eventually the sphincter relaxes and you get back to normal.

If you go, try the Fall season. The sites really get all decked out and Nauvoo celebrates Halloween in a big way with a big pumpkin carving festival and parade and trick or treating, live bands, and a few impotent "Christians" decrying the foulness of the doctrine and JS. Nauvoo is so pretty and the whole place is fun to look at. There's a big statue of Joseph Smith in front of one of the gift shops but don't try to sit on his lap. To say he'd get a big woody would be a misnomer. He's larger than life and ready to "Frig" anything that comes his way.

Facing Your Rapist - By Insana D

2010-04-14T16:21:00.000-07:00

Last fall as my husband and I were meandering through Vermont with my very cute fun 18 yr. old True Blue Mormon (TBM) daughter I mentioned that we'd stop at the Joseph Smith birthplace in Sharon, Vermont so she could see something that was on her list as well as all the stuff on our bucket lists on our New England vacation. I was pretty cool with it till we got off the exit and saw a little church. It wasn't even an LDS church, but may have been the Methodist church Joseph Smith's mother went to. Then we went up this absolutely gorgeous hill past an absolutely gorgeous pond and trees and farms to the turnoff. Instantly I was overcome with anxiety and the panic attack washed up like a huge wave.

We passed a very tiny LDS chapel an up a tree lined asphalt lane and could hear "Praise to the Man" playing on speakers in the nearby forest. The monument is a typical tall granite phallic symbol as most monuments are and there was the traditional LDS visitors center with pretty grounds and pretty trees and pretty sidewalks and pretty decorations and nice placid looking missionaries walking around. There were a few tourists, excitedly jumping from their cars or a bus to go get a picture of the phallic symbol where their prophet first graced the earth.

I tried to be polite but as we walked toward it I knew it would be seconds before I was overcome with the bitter frustration that has welled up for all these years. Some of the missionaries were eyeing us as they are conditioned to do and I could tell that if we weren't careful we'd get some spiel and I was in no mood to take it kindly. The music was supposed to emit an aura of holiness and spiritual confirmation but it was just invasive and contrived. I felt like the whole place was one super frosted highly decorated sugar covered cyanide pill and was being crammed down my throat at the end of a pitch fork by smiling frumpily dressed Post-Amish type cult soldiers, hell bent on making sure everyone got their recommended daily dose whether they wanted it or not.

My daughter had veered off to have her own experience and BABB and I walked the perimeter of the loop and the tears just suddenly started flowing and bursting and I couldn't stop crying. The rage and frustration of the past 47 years of the LDS influence in my life and extortion of my family, my integrity, my creativity and heart just came over me. I was nearly on my knees with the pain I suddenly felt at the church that has drained so much from my life. The lies, the massive wall of lies and more lies and lies to cover lies and lying leaders, lying prophets, lying culture, lying community just came on like a freight train. BABB took me back to the car and I just sobbed for 15 minutes. I really keep thinking I'm over all this and then one little thing can bring it right back.

I know that suggesting that the LDS church is like a Rapist is quite a dramatic comparison and I certainly don't mean to minimize the experience of those that have experienced such a horrific theft of something so precious, but standing there in the place where it all started felt like I was facing the person who initiated all the crimes that have been done to me and many of you who have experienced similar pain at the hands of the LDS church and culture.

I felt so much rage that Joseph Smith had even been born, that he had used the gifts he'd been given to swindle, cheat, lie, and manipulate so many and we are the product of all those lies. I felt so angry, violated, so cheated of the things I can never have with my own family because of how the church and culture have conditioned them to shun and deny any who do not believe as they do. I felt angry on behalf of my children and grandchildren who will continue to feel and learn of the lies, the corruption, the frustrating numbing lifestyle and culture that they belong to. I felt loss at the things I can never have with them because of the barriers the church enforces between us. I felt sadness at the wonder they may never experience because they're held hostage by these backward beliefs.

The sugary sappiness of the whole place, and any of the LDS church history or temple sights offends me. It's all set up to entice people in like flies to a spider web. They have no idea the dark twisted things that exist inside but the prettiness of it all and the feigned placid niceness of the missionaries makes it seem like such a nice pretty pill to swallow.

Toward the end of the trip we stopped in at BABB's ancestral home near Albany. It's a beautiful old 1790s home on about 18 acres of rolling farmland and tree covered hills with a really incredible babbling stream below that has steps and schist’s of dark flinty shale that keep the water cascading gently and pooling into beautiful little ponds. On the property is a perfectly symmetrical mound that the family always considered a possible Indian burial mound but it's never been excavated. When BABB was a kid it only had grass on it but in the decades since it's grown up with trees and brush. Anyway, my daughter and I climbed to the top of the mound and determined our Indian names will be "Shops with a Fist" and "Hey, STOP THE CAR!! I JUST SAW ANOTHER CUTE OLD FARMHOUSE!!!-ahauntas".

I wanted so much to delve into the archaeological discussions regarding mound building but I certainly didn't want it to delve into the BOM legends so I just veered the conversation off into other stuff. What reams my hide sometimes is that the very easily discredited BOM has stolen some rich and varied Native American Histories and wrapped their own arrogant manifest destiny white European Christian bend into the ancient history. To have a conversation with any TBM about Native culture seems to only feed their own bias about how the "Lamanites" got here and traversed the continents. I didn't want to get into an argument with my daughter so I felt sequestered and frustrated that I'm compelled to help feed the illusion and lies with my heavily purchased silence.

As we've traveled through several New England states I can say with absolute confidence that the most ratty run down nasty rusted rat filled abandoned farm house is far more enticing to me than the pristine heated bathrooms of the LDS "History" sites. A dump is honest, it is real, it does not deny it's toxic sludge or rotted stink. It does not draw you in with false promises of glorified Heavenly Reward and then proceed to suck every breath of life from you. A slum is a slum and allows you to accept it on face value. I feel rage at the false facade that I've seen in a thousand dark ways with the LDS experience.

Insanad's Lament- By Insana D

2010-04-14T15:47:00.000-07:00

A friend recently wrote a wonderful essay about how important it is for each of us to take back the power and teach our loved ones how to treat us. His words are wise and practical. He is a well respected doctor, a provider, a scientist, father, husband and beacon in his community. He has earned all the respect and love he has as well as some reverence for the things he offers in a conversation.

I read his wise counsel and then carefully thoughtfully penned this response, perhaps more to convince and absolve myself than anything. It's one perspective and in my heart of hearts I wish I could adopt the position of control and power that he so gracefully reflects.

Perhaps this could be understood more from the perspective of Power vs. Powerless.

When I divorced my children’s father I was immediately reduced to a position of powerlessness in regards to the respect my family had for me. Even though I was the breadwinner and the most consistent and reliable provider for them the fact that I "Threw away a perfectly good man" relegated me to a very reduced position in the minds and eyes of the LDS.

For the past decade I've been slowly scrambling, clawing, climbing my way back into their hearts and even now don't believe they respect me for all that I've done for them or contributed. I'll always be a fallen woman, always an apostate, always a rebel that no matter how much I do am in a continual position of shame and marginal value. This is what happens to LDS women who divorce. I would fight it but it's so institutionalized that it's just bigger than me.

I even suspect one of the reasons their father embraces the church so completely and feigns devotion is because it feeds the illusion that he's the poor dejected RIGHTEOUS man and I'm the wanton hussy that threw it all away. The chasm is so wide it can never be brought together.

That position of power, no matter how erroneous and out of context is wielded over me in every situation with my children and extended family. I cannot walk into a family gathering without first donning the scarlet A and walking with my head low, mouth shut, and remember that I'm nothing in their eyes.

I didn't commit adultery in leaving my marriage, I committed Apostasy. Adultery could be forgiven. Apostasy is dangerous, contagious, and so ugly and damning that I'm a literal pariah and leper in the eyes of many. All because as they often like to say, "She thinks too much.".

That lowly position keeps me in a very complex tango where I'm continually stepping on toes, out of rhythm, and clumsy around the devout TBMs in my family, including my grandchildren whom I adore more than my own doggy or children. Prior to my "APOSTACY" I was the revered Aunt and took my nieces and nephews on many outings that had nothing to do with the church but I was a trusted adult that they could have lots of fun with. Many came to me for advise or when they got married to have help with the decorations and arrangements. I was sought for my knowledge on architectural design, art, literature, even science and other information.

Once it was obvious that I was not coming back into the church I not only lost my creds as the favored aunt, but I was suddenly dangerous, immoral, and probably mentally ill. Nothing about me changed except that I got divorced and left the church. A close relative inferred that maybe it was pre-menopausal stuff that made me unstable and therefore easily led out of the church. She suggested that perhaps some estrogen would help balance me. Yep, estrogen will make Tonto a Jew and Joseph Smith a loving husband and prophet of God.

That lowly position and the twisted perspective of many LDS who are conditioned to believe anyone who leaves the church is either inherently evil or mentally ill has marginalized me to the point where I am the beggar at their feet, hoping for a few crumbs of leftover respect and attention. I can bend over backwards, take it up the rear, smile pretty and keep eating ladle full’s of steaming shit, and still I can't do enough to win their respect.

So the dilemma is how to prove that I'm a good and valuable person while still holding to my integrity and convictions. I'm not allowed to discuss anything that even slightly hints that I disagree with the church. I can't offer gifts or entertainment that doesn't promote the church. I can't discuss ideas, art, movies, books, politics, etc. that don't favor the church. All of me must be so tightly contained that even a wry smile in regards to the hypocrisy of the church must not escape.

While I appreciate, admire, and genuinely envy the position of respect and importance in ones own family, I don't have that luxury. It might just be my family but when I read about other ex and post Mormons who go through exactly the same kind of treatment I have experienced I know that it's a nearly universal experience that many of us bear. We sit in awe and envy of those who are able to maintain their position in their families while still holding true to their own integrity, but their situation is the exception rather than the norm.

Blaming those who leave is the easy and nicely packaged answer that they've been conditioned to purchase. It fits them and their beliefs. The SHAME hat they've placed on me covers everything I've ever done or ever will do.

I can change myself and how I react to these painful treatments and beliefs, but I cannot change how they see me or treat me. I come to the forums to vent and seek confirmation and solace, but that doesn't change how many LDS treat their family members who choose to stop believing the dictates and history of the church. They will probably always feel justified and entitled to such cruelty. Without such justification they would have to examine their own narrow beliefs, bigotry, backwardness, and immaturity and that is just too painful.

Enron Scandal and People of Wal-Mart - By Insana D

2010-04-14T15:27:00.000-07:00

The Enron scandal that broke in about 2001 and obliterated millions of dollars of working class pensions and 401K investments is one of those grotesque parts of the financial meltdown of this century. Thousands of hard working people in the US who had spent half a lifetime with one company or another had invested their pensions and savings into various companies that were related to Enron and it's subsidiary companies. The hardest hit were the folks who were close to retirement.

Many were in their 50s or early 60s and having given over years to various companies with the goal that one day they'd retire in comfort and have rewards for the sacrifices and work they'd given over the previous 20-30 years were now nearly bankrupt and their pensions virtually disappeared. Too old to start a new career and too invested to walk away, they were trapped in a mess that even the Federal Govt. couldn't fix. They became the flood of new greeters at Wal-Mart, hoping to get enough hours to qualify for some miniscule health insurance.

Now play that same level of time, devotion, work, and in some ways financial investment into the LDS church. There's folks who have been members since birth, giving 10% of their income, 50% of their time, their children, their talents, their skills and so much more, even their hearts and souls to a church that promises enormous returns and a cushy retirement in the Celestial Kindgom.

As the scandals break and various bits of information leak out regarding the fraud of the early founders, the historical lies, the doctrinal lies, the cultural lies it is almost too much for most of those so heavily invested to comprehend. They continue to contribute in hopes that they can salvage the disinitgrating corporation but deep in their hearts they may know that it was all for naught. Then there's others, many others that no matter how many pieces of the puzzle you put before them they refuse to see the big picture. It would negate so much of what they've devoted their lives to that it's just incomprehensible to think that it couldn't be real, therefore, don't look, don't think, don't read, don't investigate and it will all be ok.

There are many others, especially in the hierarchy that are like Kenneth Skilling, or Arthur Anderson, or Gee Duhbya who have all kinds of financial incentives to lie about the dark twisted shenanigans and placate the masses in order to avoid implication or prosecution. Instead of being more transparent in the information they in essence "Kill the messengers" who point out the flaws and lies. For those so heavily invested, it seems easier and more comforting to believe those who are the liars and villains, than to acknowledge the lies. The alternative is just too horrific to imagine. "Please God, don't let it be true that we were lied to all these years.".

I suppose with anything we invest so much into, our children, our careers, our homes it's just too terrible to see the flaws. The work of repairing or starting over is so daunting that maybe it's easier to just keep investing, even though we know deep down that the payoff is not there.

For those of us that do finally leave, we're the semi-retirees, working as greeters at Wal-Mart. Starting over at the bottom. Knowing that what we gave was thwarted, wasted, lost and not to be seen again. We get together here in the lunchroom and bitch about it but bottom line is that we just have to start from scratch. I sometimes feel old. Too old to re-invent myself but in truth, the things that I am, was, will be are all still there and just need to find their way out. Maybe that's all any of us can do is just rely on our own soul and talents and ideas and make the best of what’s left after the ashes blow away.

Dog Poop Casserole - By Insana D

2010-04-14T15:12:00.000-07:00

I've used that phrase and I hear it from the LDS in reference to anything that doesn't emulate what they believe is the high moral platitudes of the religion, it's movies, books, magazines, music, etc.. As I read from former LDS people and hear the frustration and downright anger at the church and it's people, doctrine, and practices for what seems like blatant lies and cover-ups throughout the history and leadership of the church I am compelled to think about the motives of those who would create the lies, perpetuate them and enforce them.

I made up this casserole recipe and it's a metaphor for the varying levels of believers, enforcers, or creators of the lies.

Dog Poop Casserole

1 bag of tater tots (Ore Ida is best because they come from Idaho and we know that Idaho is a good place because it has Mormons, and Mormons are good because they say they are.)

1 lb. scrambled ground beef (made from hormonally induced cows) drain the fat and rub it on your thighs cause that's where it's all going to go anyway.

2 cans of Campbell’s Mushroom Soup ( the high MSG kind because it hasn't killed me yet so what's the worry?)

1/2 cup of shredded or finely chopped onions. ( I like to sauté them in with the hamburger.)

season to taste with salt, pepper, and other things that you like.

Stir the scrambled hamburger in with the mushroom soup and onions and seasonings and pour the gravy mixture into the bottom of a cake pan.

Sprinkle and spread (and if you're really anal retentive you can lay them in tidy little McMormon rows) the tater tots on top and lightly season again with salt and pepper.

Bake for 1/2 hr. at 350 or till gravy is bubbling and tots are toasty. Cool slightly and serve with green Jell-O with pears in it and cherry Kool-Aid. My kids called it dog poop casserole because the tots looked like little doodles left on the lawn by our dog Honey. Sometime I'll give the recipe for Cat vomit casserole but that's another day.

Sounds pretty good eh? Now what if I told you that there was actually 1/2 cup of fresh dog doodles in the ground beef. Mixed in and seasoned with onions it is hardly noticeable is it? The MSG from the mushroom soup will kill off any bacteria and negate the fecal taste. Besides, it hasn't killed me yet!!

When I hear the LDS mention that even with the inconsistencies in their doctrine or scriptures, or the revisionist portions of the history and counsel from the "Prophets", I am reminded of the dog poop theory. Even if it smells good and looks good and might even taste good, it still has that essence of shit stirred in and contaminates the whole batch.

Now if you frequently made such a casserole and you didn't know it had the 1/2 cup of dog poop but you served it up anyway, and no one even knew it had been contaminated or read the labels, then it would probably continue to taste good. You'd create a tradition that everyone believed was good, therefore, why mess with tradition. You're not lying if you don't know you're lying.

What if someone, maybe a nutritionist or some other nut job told you that there was MSG in the soup, hormones in the hamburger, and that they make tater tots from the cut off spoiled chunks of potatoes at the ORE IDA plant and they bleach them with food bleach to look nice and white, AND that the onions were grown in sewage fertilized fields in California AND that there was 1/2 cup of dog poop in it.

Well of course, discredit the nutritionist!! They are just naysayers and negative nellies and probably don't even say their prayers.

Now what if YOU actually read the labels, studied the Ore Ida processes, and saw them spraying reclaimed water from sewer treatment plants on the onion fields, and actually knew the person that had slipped the 1/2 cup of dog turds in the mix? If you served it up then, boy howdy, you'd be a regular bastard. If you knew all that for sure and still served it up for dinner with a big cheesy smile on your face, well what does that make you?
Now what if you were the guy working at the Ore Ida plant and you had a side job at the Campbell’s soup factory and your brother owned the onion field and you supplied the raw sewage for fertilizer, and you knew the dog who'd crapped in the vat? What if you didn't narc on anyone. What if you just closed your eyes and reasoned that you're just a MAN, following the leaders and doing your job? What would that make you?

Now what if you OWNED the Ore Ida Plant and the Campbell’s factory and the mortgage on the onion field, and it was your dog that was always crapping in the vat, and you ordered your workers to keep quiet about the vegetable bleach, the MSG, the hormones in the beef, and you didn't stop or even scold your dog for crapping in the vat, and you made lots of commercials and promotions for DOG POOP CASSEROLE, making sure that your loyal customers believed it was good for them, would make them eternally happy, and even if they smelled the poop or suspected it was there, it was just a part of the test and if they smile and EAT SHIT, they'll be happy forever and ever. Forever AND EVER!!! What would that make you?

So when we're mad at our moms or dads for perpetuating what we've discovered is a big lie, remember, they didn't read the label or work at the factory where the lies were made. They didn't put the dog turds in the casserole and they are not the ones we should focus our anger on.

I understand and agree with many who feel great contempt for the leaders and those "in the know" who continue to perpetuate and enforce the things we've discovered are lies. In fact, I find those leaders far more culpable than the dregs that work in the factory or just cook the casserole. When I see a bishop I feel a little resentment and see a player. When I see a Stake President I see an instigator. When I see a General Authority I see a perpetuator and enforcer. When I hear about the teachings of the prophets, new and old, I see a shyster on the level of P.T.Barnum.. "There's a sucker born every minute". As long as the Mo's keep popping babies out like Pez dispensers they'll have devotees to fill the big circus tent.

Dang, I'm hungry. I wonder if there's anymore casserole left? Maybe I'll write a cookbook and call it "McMormon Stew-pid Recipes for the Logic/reason Challenged".

Leaving Gilligan's Island - By Insana D

2010-04-14T14:54:00.000-07:00

The Holidays seem to send me into a tailspin every year and then I have some recovery months where I almost forget the nauseating pain that inevitably comes with trying to interact appropriately with my LDS family. As I was driving back to Vegas from Utah I got the impression of leaving the Twilight Zone with the music of Deliverance in the background and the cast of Gilligan’s Island, all fading into the 1960s somewhere at the Stateline.

When I was a young girl we did not own a working television for most of my youth. I had heard a lot of hub bub about the television series “Gilligan’s Island, but hadn't yet seen it so in second grade I determined to do what it took to see the show. I pretended to fancy the perpetual nose miner kid from up the road and eventually he invited me over after school. Sure enough GI was on, only by this time it was in re-runs. I saw an episode where Gilligan tries to fly off the island with some palm tree fronds and the Skipper ends up swatting him with his hat. The other characters play their typical lines and roles and it was funny, the first time. A week or so later I decided to see it again and after working my feminine wiles on the nose miner he invited me over again. Sure enough, it was a re-run of the re-run that I'd already seen but I didn't know about re-runs so thought that that one episode was what the whole show was, day after day, week after week, year after year. Even in second grade I could deduce that the fans of GI were complete idiots and that Gilligan and friends would never possess the collective intellect to escape the island.

By the time I was thirteen I'd been to the LDS church (Gilligan’s Island) enough that every episode was a re-run of a re-run and I knew that the funky band of buffoons would never get off the island. If there was anything that didn't fit or make the island look like paradise they would put it under a big smelly rug and place a table and lamp on top and we'd all pretend there was nothing nasty to smell or see oozing out from underneath the rug. It became an exercise in survival and I found some solace in the silliness of the characters and foolish simplistic plots. It got weirder when I became an adult and got roped into the temple experience and then a lifetime of mindless busy work while my kids were little kept me from really examining the plot less writing, the shallow characters, the trite lines and predictable scenarios year after year. I just went along and when I'd find some garbage I'd tuck it under the rug with the other refuse and skeletons and wretched shameful detritus of the islanders.

By the time I was in my 30's I had outgrown the church and was feeling the suffocation of going along, saying the same lines, wearing the Mary Ann costume, baking pies, never having good sex, and pretending the Professor was interesting or powerful. Besides, Gilligan and The Skipper were always bungling things up and that damn Ginger was always getting all the attention with her bodacious ta tas. The Howells were reaking feetards and completely useless.

I tried to convince my family that there was something far off in the mist away from the island that looked really promising and if we could just brave the unknown a bit we could see if there was more to life than an artificial desolate island with very limited intellectual food. I wanted a better show but everyone around me, including my own children liked GI and if I was going to leave the island it would have to be without them. I knew I would miss them terribly but I wanted to see what was on the horizon much more than the deadening "Security" I felt on the island.

The only stuff I had to craft a raft from was a bunch of crappy wire hang-ups that were constantly getting all bunched up together and poking me in the ribs. So sadly waving goodbye to them I pushed off on my own. Sure enough, waves of poverty, loneliness, and fear washed over me and threatened to drown me but eventually I hit calm waters and began to paddle my way through the doldrums with the jawbone of a thesaurus I'd found floating nearby. I paddled and paddled and eventually the misty shadow on the horizon became more defined and interesting.

I could see that it was a huge colorful rich and wonderful world, but there would be perils and danger and cruelty and unpredictable things if I decided to land on those wide shores. I missed my family and what I'd known but the promise of the rest of the world and what it offered seemed so much more interesting and a place where I could truly become a whole new character. I took off the Mary Ann apron and found the costume of a liberal bohemian, complete with Birkenstocks and a oily paintbrush and gardening shears.

I tiptoed onto the big mainland, tepid and afraid and completely inexperienced with what it offered. I floundered and failed and made all the mistakes the characters on GI told me I would if I left the island. I was a cautionary tale for sure. But then I started to learn, to grow, to blossom and eventually to find that the mainland was actually a wonderful and continually fascinating place that could give me everything I'd ever imagined and more. I found true love. I found art and history and literature and creativity around every corner. I found interesting people and beautiful architecture and places to go that I'd always been told were bad and scary and evil, but really were quite wonderful. I ate new food, saw new movies, listened to new music, met new friends and learned many new things.

I still missed my family so much. I wanted them to know all the amazing things that abound on the mainland so I loaded my pockets with trinkets and images and got back on my raft of hang-ups and took my jawbone of a thesaurus and paddled way back across the doldrums and wild waves and through the mine laden island coast and came back to GI. I showed all my trinkets and images and tried to regale my family with the wonders of what I'd seen and learned.

They shunned me, chastised me, marginalized me. They denied that my trinkets were evidence of a wonderful world outside the island. They chastised me for wanting to know more, for wondering, for questioning, for seeking. My mothering instincts and gifts became suspect. They pulled my children away from my influence and warned them of the evils of my trinkets and knowledge. Eventually they told me that if I wanted to stay on GI I would have to pretend that I'd never seen anything new, learned anything, or been anywhere but on the island. If I couldn't praise the island and the Professor and various silly characters and say my lines, wear my Mary Ann costume and just bake pies then I would have to leave.

I had to leave the island and go back to the mainland and again I found even more amazing trinkets and knowledge. I thought surely these would be enough to prove that there was more in the world and so after some time I rowed back to the island. This time they saw me coming and built a wall, laced the perimeter with hair trigger land mines and placed guards at the top of the wall. I could look through the gate and see my children and grandchildren and they could come to the gate and touch my fingers, but I could not embrace them without the guards shoving a sharp spear between us. I was not allowed to give them any of the gifts I'd brought. Eventually after days of trying different ways of presenting the gifts I knew that I had to leave again. I shoved off this time, sad that they would never leave the island and eventually they would be eaten by cannibals.

Maybe soon I can swim and make it without the raft of old rusty twisted hang-ups. I will keep the jawbone of a thesaurus. It's served me well.

Useful Images for blog and discussion boards

2010-04-02T13:13:00.000-07:00

Query Letters, Redundancy Repeated Over and Over Again and Again

2010-04-01T10:51:00.000-07:00

I'm starting query letters today. I've narrowed the field down to about 8-15 viable publishers and have made some charts that will help me evaluate the progress and responses. The publishing times range from one year to two years and so I think this is a really long ways off for now. The ones I got immediate responses from turn out to be some of those self publishing outfits and I am wanting to avoid that route so I don't end up with a garage full of books no one wants. It's such a daunting process and most of the info warns of very hard stuff ahead, especially a ton of rejection before the right thing comes along. I hope I have the stamina for it. It's so hard to believe in myself. I just wasn't raised that way.

Well, here's the first query letter geared specifically to the American Athiest Press. I went to their website and found the editors own work and used a quote he quoted by Thomas Edison and tried to make the query specific to the market of other atheists who read and publish in that genre. We'll see. A growing number of formerly religious folks are finding great enlightenment in the mindset of famous athiests like Dawkins, Harris, and others. I'm none of that but the process that led me out of religion might have resonance with many who escape for similar reasons.

To: Frank Zindler

Subject: Query: Finding The Pony

Dear Frank Zindler,

The evolutionary processes of the mind seems a fascinating subject that has engaged my own mind since my children have grown and gone and I finally have the time to devote to such matters. My own evolution has led me from the rigid dictates and memes of a Mormon childhood and indoctrination to the very enlightening and colorful world of open minded Agnostic and now Atheists rationality.

I was given two cheap black and white crayons with which to color my world but by finally having the courage to shove off that tiny island I found that there was a big box of 64 fabulous crayons that could be mixed and matched and give whole new dimensions to the big world. I felt truly reborn and excited to dance through the next half of my life. The idea that there are no concrete hard answers for how to live a happy life has liberated me to join with Thomas Edison and so many other learned folks in confidently declaring, “I’ll be damned if I know.”.

Finding The Pony is a celebration of the spirit of optimism in the face of the huge pile of fetid feces that life often places before us, especially the life relegated to a spirited, playful, irreverent, young Mormon girl. In addition to a personal story relating to the cultural experience of being LDS this tale includes numerous dark parodies and tender essays that culminate the mood and indoctrination that inevitably spawn a determined spirit of rebellion, freedom, and courage to finally be free of all those anvils.

Perhaps many people who escape religious oppression will relate to the process of enlightenment and human nature to reach beyond the tight tiny island borders and brave the waves to a new way of seeing their world and fellow human beings. Some of these stories are exclusively LDS but have tones that apply to Muslim, Jehovah’s Witness, or most any Patriarchal dominated religious order. Humor is a great salve for most wounds, especially the wounds of the mind and I approach my own difficulties with a spirit of silly, bawdy, ironic, and sometimes very dark humor that appeals to a more sophisticated audience.

After two years of daily practice in the arts of entertaining, enlightening, and supporting hundreds of others who have been through similar experiences, come to remarkably similar enlightenment into the Agnostic and Atheist reasoning, I have finally decided to respond to their encouragement to offer my writing to a broader world. This book is the culmination of many of those engaging conversations.

When I have recovered from the success of this book (Do you see the frisky happy pony yet?) I hope to offer another more sharp edged book where I channel the spirit of the great Molly Ivins in a playful attempt to poke a few holes in the vast weak dam of Mormonism and religious devotion at the expense of reason and practicality. My own Unitarian & Post-Mormon communities claim to be on the edge of their seats in anticipation. I hope to not keep them waiting long.

Finding The Pony is ready for your consideration. I’m ready to start digging for the publishing Pony!

Most sincerely,

Insana D
insanad@cox.net http://insanad.blogspot.com/2010/02/wot-aaaa-siam-part-i.html

Walk A Mile In These Cute Pumps! - by Insana D

2010-03-30T20:35:00.000-07:00

Sex in the Mormon culture and religion is a very taboo subject. It is so uncomfortable for most LDS to discuss or even joke about that they’ll go to great gyrations, denial, and outright legal limitations to keep the members from discussing or openly engaging in fairly normal human experiences. Plenty of sex goes on with the LDS members and some very scandalous parts of the LDS history, especially surrounding Joseph Smith and Brigham Young’s dark histories has tainted the puritanical façade of LDS leadership.

Rape, coercion, incest, child brides, teen pregnancy, pedophilia, porn addiction, and other problems are as common in the LDS culture as they are in any other group. The big difference is that the culture does not allow the members to discuss or work through these challenges in healthy, honest, clear ways. Sexual dysfunction, rigid frigid cold loveless sexless marriages abound. Unfulfilled women, frustrated men, and un-informed children are the rule rather than the exception in the LDS culture. I was one of those unfulfilled women while I was married to Pat.

It wasn’t for lack of libido or enthusiasm. Pat and I were fairly incompatible from the beginning of our marriage and we were both naïve, both inexperienced and conditioned to believe we were not supposed to really explore our sexual natures in normal ways. I had absolutely no useful information on birth control or how to work through various sexual situations with a spouse and Pat seemed to be even less emotionally equipped for exploring my needs.

It led to some very frustrating and empty experiences and by the second or third year of marriage it had completely lost it’s sparkle, at least for me. I also brought a lot of our personal problems into the bedroom and that eroded any smatterings of love I might have held for Pat. Beyond occasional driving need or curious playful exploration we stopped having genuinely fun sex early on. I found myself extremely frustrated and anxious. Fortunately that only lasted for eighteen years.

I lost forty pounds and was in the best shape I’d been in for almost eight years. Most of that weight had been dropped because I was walking every day, sometimes four to five miles in a frothy fitfull attempt to exorcize the demons of anger I had during the ugly divorce. I’d walk vigorously, swinging my arms, cursing into the crisp country air, yelling at the world and Pat and the lawyers and judges and anything in the big space that might hear me. I must have looked like a complete lunatic but it had a fantastic effect of helping me expel some of the anger and lose weight, all of which were very important in my healing process.

Shortly after I was legally divorced from Pat I found the magical bizarre world of internet dating. Imagine every stereotype you have ever heard and multiply it times ten and you have the world of internet dating. Hideous, dangerous, ugly, slovenly, nasty, greasy, disgusting, troglodytes abound. Then now and again a tiny light of someone that seems nice appears and a connection is made, only to reveal that he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, still married, or worse, a serial dater who just loves to use women and pretend every kind of instant connection to lure her into his intricate web of lies. I was as naïve and inexperienced as they come and I fell for one of these charlatans soon after my divorce. He must have seen me coming a mile away and played me like a fiddle and I still reel with shame at my ignorance and naivety.

After eighteen years of pent up anxiety, of repressed sexual need, of tightly contained rigid obedience I was ready to breathe free, to try something new, to test the boundaries and taste a little bit of the world I thought I’d missed. This seemingly hansome man came along and answered every one of my questions with exactly the answer I hoped for, wanted everything I thought I wanted, liked everything I thought I liked, and was what I was just sure was a dream package. He was tall, attractive, active, independently wealthy (or so it seemed) and of course the most romantic suave guy a gal could dream about. I was over the moon and willing to do the most foolish dangerous things to just bask in his amazing studliness.

He drove across three states to come see me and I was sure it was true love. A gal will do anything for true love. I pawned my youngest daughter off on a neighbor for a couple of days and arranged a place for this man to stay. Of course we hit it off instantly and the stars aligned, the earths gravitational pull drew us together and in an instant I was throwing off all my previous convictions and beliefs and lost in the throes of what I thought was pure love. His skills were quite remarkable and I found out things I’d never known about myself. I’m pretty sure the earth spun faster and new colors in the universe were invented that day. We spent three days in what I was sure was pure heavenly bliss.

Then he had to go out of town for something and then something else, and then he started making some fairly wild excuses about his work and pretty soon I was caught up in a web of lies and games and my mind was in a froth over how to reconcile what I thought was true love with the realities of just being another little notch on his well notched belt of conquests. He’d come back after a week or so and we’d be lost in the moment again, but each time my trust was eroded a little more and a little more. My self esteem hit a new low and I saw that I’d put my kids through so much, my integrity, my reputation and now my standing in the LDS church was being threatened.

On one of our encounters he had borrowed my car keys to go get something from the trunk and had left the keys on a hotel ice machine. We couldn’t find them so I used my spare key to drive home and when I got home there was a message on my answering machine from the Hotel telling me that someone had found my keys and they’d mail them to me. My children had gotten the message and of course it made a straight line for Pat, who wasted no time telling the bishop that I’d been to a hotel. That fact alone led to the very true assumption that I was engaging in adult activities with a man I was not married to, an excommunicable offense in the LDS church. I received a summons to come to a meeting with the bishop.

Perhaps this is not a universal experience among those that leave the church but I think most folks have one moment, one pivotal experience that helps them draw that line and finally say, NO MORE! I WILL NOT SUBMIT! My silly paltry pathetic church court was that moment for me.

Some part of my mind had not completely wrapped itself around the gravity of what I was facing. I was still under the illusion that I had earned the respect of my neighbors, of church leaders, of my friends and family. I’d served dutifully and given my time, talents, money, even my children to the church for thirty seven years. Prior to my sexual indiscretion I’d never committed any act worthy of major reprimand. I hadn’t stopped going to church and still had a calling teaching in Primary, and I was still paying tithing, still helping my kids with their church activities, still supportive of my family, still a member in mind and spirit, except for having had amazing sex with someone I was not married to.

In my naïve optimism I went to the meeting assuming it was an occasion to discuss my perspective, my experiences, the complexities of my life and what might have led me to experiment so wildly with another adult after my legal divorce. I could not have been more wrong. I was dressed casually in a pair of jeans and t-shirt and some little slip on shoes that I’d tossed on quickly after working hard in my yard all day. All I knew was that the bishop wanted to have a talk with me. I walked into the Bishops office and suddenly there were seven sets of eyes, all male, and all on me. In a way I was flattered that a mere woman such as myself warranted such a gathering of “Worthy” priesthood holders. It was a weeknight, just past dinner time and surely they had better things to do with their time than sit in on a meeting with a bishop as he offered his milk-toasty counsel to a wayward daughter of God.

I didn’t sit down. He offered me a seat but in an instant I knew what I was facing. I’d heard about these meetings, about the “Courts of Love” that the Priesthood leaders held when they were reprimanding a member of the church. I’d never considered that I would be a participant one day. He started off with a prayer. I didn’t close my eyes or fold my arms but stood there incredulously as these seven men, few who had ever had more than a passing hello exchange with me were sitting there in judgment of me and my life.

He then told me why they were having this “Disciplinary Court”, the overheard message of keys left at a hotel, the witnesses that I’d been seen dating and riding bikes with a man I was not married to, the strange car in front of my home that did not leave until the next day. I was aware that Pat had others keeping tabs on my whereabouts but I’d not really considered that the bishop would give credence to his tattling since I was legally divorced and had a right to my own life and privacy. Not so. He asked me if it was true that I’d had relations with another man. I looked at the seven men in front of me and suddenly realized why they had taken time from their precious families to come to this sensational meeting. I was thirty seven, in my sexual prime and had finally gone out and experienced what few of them dared imagine. They were there for a really hot story. I’m a pretty good story teller but I was not about to give them the satisfaction of knowing the details of my personal life. I stood for a full minute, trying to work up how I should respond.

Finally I took off my little shoe and placed it on the table and said, “If any man here is willing to walk the half block from this church to my home in MY SHOES, then I will gladly open my heart and tell you what you want to know. Till then, you can all go to Hell.”. Their heads fell forward and none of them could meet my gaze, even the bishop. Finally he stammered a bit and tried to clarify his position and I stopped him short and said, “Never- mind, I’m done with you.” And I took my shoe and walked out.

Three days later I received a letter stating that I’d been formally disfellowshipped from the church and that in a years time if I were to renounce my wicked ways, pay a full tithing, obey my leaders and fully repent of my sins that I would be welcome back into the church. In the meantime I was to remain active but I could not hold a calling, partake of the sacrament, offer a prayer, or lead in any sort of activity.

I burned the letter and with it my desire to ever be part of the LDS church again. In a way, they did me a huge favor. Like the moment the judge announced that I was legally and lawfully divorced from Pat, I was free. The sheep had morphed into a goat and now all I needed to do was find my goaty little dancing legs.

From The Frying Pan Into The Fire-by Insana D

2010-03-30T13:24:00.000-07:00

The ugliness was just beginning and we spent the next year in custody and asset battles, mediation, court spats, restraining orders and more. Then I received a subpoena to appear in court on a contract that Pat claimed I’d signed for nearly $30,000.00 in supplies from one of his paint suppliers, using my little cabin as collateral. I was quick to prove that the signature was forged, the notary a convicted felon, and Pat a crook but in spite of all the proof and complexities I still had to file for bankruptcy a year after my divorce.

Pat had lost the house shortly after I’d filed for divorce and the car was not far behind it, but I was determined to take care of only myself and my children and scrape along till my business could stand on it’s own. Most months I got by on fumes and a few contracts, but by my second year I was starting to recover.

Our kids were damaged the most from our petty squabbles and their trust was seriously broken. Their father had been on a campaign since the beginning of the divorce to convince everyone that I was a wanton whore, a child molester, and a terrible mother. He would not hesitate to defame me in front of our kids and to anyone within ear shot and most quickly grew weary of his outrageous stories. Still, others who had known me since childhood partially believed his sensational fabrications and treated me with disgust and shame.

I had known he would do some of this but I was unprepared for people I’d known all my life to abandon me so quickly when I most needed their help and trust. I think for most of them it was such a messy ugly divorce that they wanted nothing to do with either of us. I don’t blame them.

The end of our marriage opened a new door for me, at first inadvertently but then it turned into something that I’d been subconsciously wishing for for years.

I did not intend to find fault with the LDS church or it’s leadership or culture. Those flaws came at me like deer on a country road and mashed into my perspective till I couldn’t ignore them any more. The way the LDS church treats divorcees, anyone who doesn’t tow the line or feign perfect reverence for the doctrine is well documented by so many of us who have been badly abused by this church and it’s culture. My story was not unique, but it serves to help expose the darkness that abounds behind the façade of happy families, happy marriages, happy members. That façade is still being pasted up in the LDS media but many of us can tell a far different tale.

Finding The Pony - By Insana D

2010-03-23T09:31:00.000-07:00

After looking up the title "Laugh So I Won't Cry" I discovered that it's a title already used for a book about several Kenyan women who survived the genocide, rape, murder and violence in their own country. It's hard to compete with murder and rape so Saturday as I was helping Bill make dinner the title came to me in a flash. "Finding The Pony" isn't a recent book (so far) and I'm excited that it fits the theme of my story. Several friends have mentioned that if there's a pile of shit I tend to jump in and start digging excitedly, just positive there's a Pony in there somewhere. After all the tough stuff I've been through I think it'll be humorous and invite the reader to want to know what positive outcome came from all the crap life tossed my way. Three words are simple and easily remembered and I think the artwork I put together will be a good start.

It's been a very lonely and disappointing process to work on this. Not because I'm disappointed in the writing, although that's sort of grueling, but I tried to recruit some close friends to help me and keep me on task, cheer me on, help me edit a few chapters and one by one they just stopped talking to me, stopped writing, answering my e-mails. I wonder if it was because my writing is less than interesting to them, or if I made it hard to respond. Either way, it revealed that this is pretty much a single person effort at this point. Maybe it saves me from having to write a lot of thankyous in the foreward. Maybe it reveals all this is crap.

After the past two years of being supportive, friendly, empathetic and trying so hard to be a good friend when others are struggling it stings to realize that it's a one way situation. It's humiliating to have to beg for the help or even a little encouragement and makes me feel even more pathetic.

I'm on the final leg of the writing side but I suspect there will be a lot more editing and refinement needed. It's so hard to know what is good and what isn't. Sometimes I think an essay is perfect but with no response I can't seem to gear how it will be recieved. I've been posting a few essays on Postmo and occasionally I get a good response but often just nothing. It makes me wonder if I'm not self aware enough to realize that it's mostly crap. When I let the self doubt take over then I start deleting my writing and trying to erase the blathering stupidity but even then I'm not sure if it was good or just ignored.

I've read that these are common thoughts for writers. It's self torture and destructive. That's why I tried to recruit help from the get go because I feared my own dark voices. Maybe I'm just too much work and depressing to be around. I hate this feeling.

Animorphing From Sheep To Goat- by Insana-D

2010-03-06T20:02:00.000-08:00

Sears was having an underwear sale and I had recently lost 40 lbs. and needed some new bras and panties, preferably something pretty that reflected the New Me! I tried on several sets in bright bold colors, something I’d not dared even look at for the previous 18 years. I looked in the mirror and saw a flash behind me and to my side view!

Mom!! What are you doing here? Why are you mostly naked? How did you get into my dressing room and why have you taken over my body? I realized I was delusional and in divorcing as soon as I graduated from college I was essentially repeating my own mother’s history. We all become our mothers in one way or another.

I’d filed for Divorce the first week of January, 2,000 and had set up my own checking account, mailbox, and taken Pat’s name off my utilities and the mortgage to the cabin as well as any other documents I could find to separate our financial entanglements. In spite of a loss in income tax returns I chose to file separately and let him absorb the past due bill since he had been the one to misrepresent our income and cause the previous years discrepancies.

My lawyer came recommended from some other divorced acquaintances but he charged a retainer and then promptly sent my case to an assistant fresh out of college who proceeded to do nothing. The following months were a living hell and I managed to ignore every piece of advise given me and got stuck deeper and deeper as Pat fought to force me to stay in the marriage.

Perhaps he assumed that if he took away the car, forced me to close my office, entangled me in his own financial fiascos and got the kids, our friends, my family and even my business associates and contractors involved he could intimidate me into staying. It only drove my resolve to leave and end the marriage permanently.

We spent months doing the most unspeakable things to each other, dragging our kids through the mess and making fools of ourselves. It was everything I’d ever feared and more and yet I often wished I’d done it sooner. I could not escape that marriage fast enough and for every regret I had in the foolish acts we committed, I had ten victories in gaining my independence and releasing the demons of pain that had consumed my life.

I managed to get a bifurcated divorce on April 26, 2,000 at 10:36 a.m. and literally did cartwheels once I was out of the courtroom. I felt as if a huge anvil had been lifted from my shoulders and no matter the pain and humiliation I was facing, I was out of that miserable marriage. It was one of the happiest days of my adult life.

Published letter in Salon Magazine

2010-03-05T21:52:00.000-08:00

http://www.salon.com/mwt/feature/2008/10/31/proposition_8_mormons/
The following was snipped from an article in Salon Online Magazine by By Jeanne Carstensen

A Big Gay Mormon Wedding......

Mormons have poured over $11 million into supporting Proposition 8, or 40 percent of the total raised so far. When I asked George how he felt about the proposed constitutional ban on same-sex marriage, which would put the legal status of his own son's union in jeopardy, he didn't want to go there. "This discussion has been based on feelings of love, of concern for the happiness of my son and I'd just leave the politics out of it," he said gently.

"I'm not surprised at all," Jay said when I told him what his dad had said about Proposition 8. For all his life, George has "left politics out of it." But "based on his actions and his words at our ceremony," Jay believes in his heart that he supports equality for all.

When Jay's father agreed not only to attend the wedding, but to speak, Jay had "this weird Darth Vader moment," he told me, laughing. "No, he's not Darth Vader! But the analogy here is this spark of amazing grace in him."

Many of us at Jay and Brian's wedding were indeed deeply moved by George Redd that day. A man of medium stature, with close-cropped fine gray hair and glasses, he spoke eloquently and lovingly to his son and new son-in-law. We only had a small inkling of the journey he'd been on to reach that moment of accepting and blessing his son's union with Brian, but we knew he was reaching out across a cultural and religious abyss to do so. "Jay, who has blue eyes, red hair and a red beard, told me he met someone who makes him incredibly happy," he said, looking over at the grooms, who were seated nearby, fingers entwined. "And that man," he said looking at Brian and smiling, "has blue eyes, red hair and a red beard ..." It was hanky time again.

Jay does not feel the same kind of grace from the Church of Latter-day Saints, however. Regarding its aggressive campaigning for Proposition 8, he is sad and angry. "I feel cast out for who I am," he says bluntly. "Though I no longer identify as a practicing Mormon, it still burns. This is a church that has been persecuted for its flavor of Christianity, for its past marriage practices, for its past religious practices. And here they are turning around and persecuting another group of people. I feel like it's very shortsighted and it's not a very Christian way of treating people."

In the end, Jay's dad even helped them finance the wedding. Jay was worried about "how far to push the envelope with him." His ex, David, even told him, "It's good enough that they're coming out. Don't push it too far." But ask, and you shall receive.
"I feel like they really sacrificed," Jay said. "My father's not a big fan of freeways and big cities, but they drove for two days from Utah to come to our ceremony. They really went the extra mile."

http://letters.salon.com/7b9594a2dba198595b45d1f012e01d85/author/

Insana-d

Published Letters: 1

Page 1

Friday, October 31, 2008 12:16 PM

Original article: A big gay Mormon wedding

Left Out Leftie

This is a wonderful story of compassion and growth between a father and son. Too many times we hear just the opposite from people in the LDS church of how they shunned and ostracized their own children and family for not following lock step with other Mormons in the archaic and cultish practices of the church and culture.

As a parent I am deeply touched by this fathers compassion and depth of love for his son. To genuinely rejoice and see the love these men share at such a time is a great model to other LDS parents who feel conflicted over the issue of Gay marriage or even the choice of their children to leave the church.

As a former Mormon I have had the heartbreaking experience of being excluded from two of my children's weddings beause they married in the private LDS temple where non-or lapsed Mormons are not allowed to attend. I was invited to a little room off to the side where LDS propoganda movies were shown and many people gave me that pathetic, "Too bad YOU'RE NOT WORTHY" look that made the experience uncomfortable and awkward. I had no unworthiness other than that I chose not to believe the dictates of the LDS church, but was excluded from attending my own childrens ceremonies. This tragedy happens every day for many former LDS and is a blight on the church's facade of "Family Togetherness".

I'm thrilled for the father and the son in this case. In choosing to marry outside the LDS church they also had the choice of allowing anyone they wished into their ceremony.

On the good side, my children allowed me to pay for the bulk of their various wedding expenses so at least I wasn't shut out of that "joy". In truth, the LDS ceremony is much like an automatic car wash and the various temples brag of processing several dozen weddings a day, sort of like the McWedding of weddings. After having been through a few myself, I'm pretty sure I've only missed a half hour of my childrens lives and have the rest of the time to cherish and nurture wonderful relationships based on acceptance and truely Christlike love. Those LDS people who can shun their own children seem to only know the term of "Christlike" and not the act.

Those that support the bigotry of Prop 8 will someday be seen as we see the cruel Supremacist and Ku Klux Klan of the 1950s and 60s. Someday our children will look back on this era with equal shame.

Illusions and Delusions, Revisions and Derisions, True-isms and Blueisms, and One Poopy Day by Insana-D

2010-03-05T00:11:00.000-08:00

Don Quixote and Sancho Panza by Gelli Michailovich Korshev- oil on canvas

Illusions and Delusions, Revisions and Derisions, True-isms and Blueisms, and One Poopy Day by Insana-D

It’s finally sunny outside. The air is clear and the food processing factory must be on a temporary reprieve because it doesn’t smell like rancid cabbage when I step outside and I think the Air Force must be on leave because at this very moment there’s no screaming jets or helicopters going overhead….oops, I lied, here goes one now.

Cabin fever, winter doldrums, unemployment, mooshy weight gain and muscle atrophy has just eroded my soul and I fear that if someone brought out a beer or salt shaker I would get some on me and instantly shrivel up. I’m just overwhelmed with a sense of worthlessness and void right now. I’m worried that my writing is so pathetic and myopic that it won’t be entertaining to anyone and reveal how completely untalented I really am.

It’s my last hope too. If it turns out that I’m really as crappy as I imagine then I’ve got nothing left. My talents are all pretty much of no value anymore. My painting is just a whisper below mediocre, my youth dried up, my energy gone, my ambition dissipated, and now I can’t even get my favorite people to read what I write. They’re saturated and know all they want to know or need to know about me, there’s no surprises or sensational stories left. My jokes aren’t funny anymore, even to myself. I’ve got nothing, nada, zip.

While wallowing in my misery I tried to crawl under the desk to have a good cry but my sore butt hurts too much to fold myself up that way because I’m a damn klutz and can’t even put on a plastic booty without hurting myself. Anyway, so I decided to crawl behind the couch and feel sorry for myself and I got bored and found a couple of my art books that I’d forgotten about. One is a little sampling book of the art at a very fine gallery in Scottsdale that I went to about eight years ago or so. I’d seen this huge gorgeous painting of Don Quixote and was so drawn to it.

While I was looking at it this really slick looking guy with gold chains and shiny shirt came in with this sort of Barbie looking woman. She had perfect hair, breasts, toned body, etc. and they stood looking at the painting for a minute. They didn’t know who Don Quixote was or why he would be looking off into the distance. In my usual fashion I decided to enlighten them with my amazing wisdom and insight and went into a very excited telling of the story of how he saw windmills and thought they were dragons and demons and wanted to fight them to try to restore his usefulness and validity. He was old and feeling pretty well past his prime, just like I’m feeling this week.

I was so thrilled with the story that I forgot that my enthusiasm is not really that contagious, more like obnoxious and so after a few minutes the pretty couple excused themselves and left the gallery. They probably would have bought the painting (a mere $70,000.00) if I’d not bothered the hell out of them.

I meandered around the gallery a while as the irritated matron sort of watched me with a wary eye and then I left and went to some more galleries, but the painting kept drawing me back and I stepped back in and couldn’t tear myself away from it.

The story of Don Quixote is so timeless and personal to me. I saw Robert Peterson do “Man of La Mancha” at the Shakespearean Theatre in Cedar City. It so moved me that I just couldn’t stop thinking about the themes and music and wonder of those with vision. I have grand illusions too and yet haven’t really accomplished that much in my life to validate my illusions. That makes them just windmills. That’s sort of depressing.

I really want to go outside and feel alive again. I want to garden and touch the soil and dig something and help it grow. I feel so disconnected from the beautiful things on earth and from other human beings. I’ve heard from all three of my kids this week and I miss them but feel like I have nothing to give them that they really need, which right now is money. I feel so worthless.

Why do I keep looking back instead of forward? I keep obsessing about what I used to do, used to have, used to be and right now I feel like I’m none of that and will continue to go downhill in value, in talent, in what I can offer the world or my family. It feels so final to be right here.

The lack of enthusiastic feedback on my book has eaten me up. It might just be windmills but I see dragons and demons of disapproval, of hard clarity that screams, “YOU SUCK!!”. The people I was sure would be most thrilled and enthusiastic have dropped me like a hot potato and don’t even answer my e-mails anymore. It sends a million unsaid but all too glaring messages that I’m more of a pest than anything, that my writing is just another chore that they dread getting to and if they do anything it will just encourage me and I’ve got no reason to be encouraged. I can feel it even though they aren’t saying it. The voices are so loud.

Is this what madness is? Is it too much time alone, too much time to analyze stuff till you destroy it from over thinking or obsessing about it?

When my father finally left and married that idiotic Ruth woman I saw him descend into a surreal madness where he would imagine all sorts of thoughts and then actions and paranoid delusions about us kids and mom. He would take some miniscule little tidbit of unrelated information and turn it into a whole scene in his mind and then yell at us or write these horrible nasty letters blaming us, accusing us, describing our motives or these imagined offenses and we weren’t even there. Most of the time the stuff was so far out of context and off base that it was hard to imagine where he even got the seed for the huge imaginary zucchini he was waving around. I wonder if that’s what is happening to me right now.

What if I actually do finish the book and someone actually wants to publish it? What if my family reads it or hears about it? What if they further shun and shut me out because it says stuff about the church that they don’t want to hear? What if I’m completely cut off? As it is right now I can just keep my head low, my mouth shut, close my eyes and walk very softly and pretend everything is ok and they’ll let me see the babies and come to a few events but if I were to actually reveal all that I’ve harbored in my heart for the past three decades I think they won’t be able to just pretend these thoughts don’t exist. It could be quite fatal.

Worse, what if I publish and then no one bothers to read what I’ve written. Then it will be like a final blow and reveal that not only am I worthless as a writer, but that all the pain and struggle I’ve been through is nothing but a whining boring story and not worthy of interest. That’s like saying my life is not worth noting.

If I write it and never do anything with it then I won’t have to take a chance either way. I can always wonder and never have the consequences of having exposed my thoughts. Mediocre approval might be better than complete disapproval.

The Pit of Despair - part VII

2010-02-26T12:37:00.000-08:00

I worked for the Construction company for a year and then was able to start my own fledgling drafting business with a few contracts and some borrowed start up money. Pat had decided to start his own paint store and told me he had gotten a loan on terms from a Paint supplier and borrowed $13,000.00. At the time it seemed like the moon. If I had known how much he was really in debt, that many of the products he had in his “Store” were stolen from his previous employers, and the extended credit he had accrued I would never have agreed to join him in his business.

I set up office in a corner of his paint store and tried to be a family and run two businesses and stay afloat. I was actually doing pretty well and getting a small share of the drafting business at the beginning of the building boom and so was able to make the payments on the little home in the mountains and the home in town. Things were very tight but we were doing ok and I could see that perhaps in a year or two we might start to get out of the hole.

Then I started noticing the bills, stacks and stacks of bills that had been coming due for Pat’s supplies and rent, utilities, and more. He wasn’t even opening them. I tried to start making sense of the mess and it overwhelmed me. On my birthday that fall I was at the edge of going completely insane and I went or a drive up the mountains above Cedar City. The trees were just starting to turn and the fresh air, the beauty of the forest and mountains calmed me. I found a place off the road a ways and walked into the aspen, hoping a re-creation of Joseph Smith’s first vision would give me my own epiphany about the complicated challenge I was facing.

I knelt down in the leaves and poured my heart out to God. I told him that if I did not find an answer soon that I was ready to end my life in order to end the pain and frustration at our horrible marriage, the financial mess, and the growing disaffection I felt with the church of my youth. I cried and lamented till I was spent. Finally I fell asleep and laid there till it started to get cold. No answers came to me that day. No still small voice, no comfort, no resolution, no connection to the God I’d served and been taught to believe in my entire life. Just flat dry emptiness.

Christmas was coming and we were in a fix. We had a car payment, two mortgages, utilities, three kids, student loans, and now from what I could tell, about $90,000.00 in debt for Pat’s fledgling business. My business was doing well for it’s first year, but was not enough to make even half of the expenses we’d incurred. I put up a For Sale sign at the little cabin. Two hours later I took it back down. I could not bear the reality of losing it and with it, my exit strategy.

After a lean Christmas we met with out bishop for the annual tithing settlement that is a required meeting for all temple recommend bearing members. In this meeting the bishop presents the family with a printout of the tithing they’ve paid for the year and then asks them if the number reflects a full ten percent of their gross income. Our children all felt that their meager tithes were a true representation of tithing on gifts from grandparents and other cash opportunities as well as their own earned income. Even our young eight year old daughter, recently baptized and excited to reflect her obedience had paid tithing on her small allowances and gift money. The bishop presented Pat and I with our statements. Pat’s statement showed that he’d paid zero dollars in tithing. The bishop asked him if this was a true representation of his income and Pat smiled, said YES, that he had not earned any money for the year, and therefore felt no problem with having paid NO tithing.

The bishop looked over my receipt and asked me if what I’d paid represented my full ten percent. I knew we were short. Christmas, bills, Pat’s debt, all of it had torn me apart and I shamefully admitted that it appeared that I was close to $600.00 shy of having paid a full tithing on my gross income. The bishop shook his head in shame. Pat looked at me like I had just admitted I was a whore. The kids responded with proper shame. The bishop then counseled me that because I had failed in my commitment that he would have to keep my temple recommend until I could get the tithing caught up. He asked me to give it over for him to hold. I removed it from my wallet and handed it to him.

Pat followed me out and as we walked home he told me that he’d never felt so embarrassed in his life, appalled that I could jeopardize our temple worthiness by neglecting to pay a full tithe, that I needed to manage the income better. The irony did not escape me.

Two days later I received a notice from the IRS that we were being audited and that previous tax returns reflected discrepancies. At that point, they claimed we owed them $2,600.00 in back taxes. It was the beginning of the end.

The Pit of Despair - part VI

2010-02-26T12:36:00.000-08:00

Pat must have known that once I finished school and could get a more professional job that our marriage would soon be over. I didn’t have a perfect plan and in the back of my mind I thought if I just tried one more desperate thing, one more avenue, turned over one more rock that I could salvage a shred of something good for us, if not for our marriage, then for the kids.

I graduated in 1998 and got my first design job at a production home company in St. George. The pay was lousy but the drive gave me lots of time to think and was beautiful in the sunrise and sunsets of the Southwest. I was definitely hooked on Southern Utah and it’s landscape and couldn’t wait till I had time to really explore the mysterious canyons and mountains that twisted and turned at every view.

One day shortly after Pat had been fired from yet another job I got a call from a federal investigator. Pat and several of his Elders Quorum friends were under investigation for securities fraud and they were trying to find out what I knew about the situation.

What I knew was that one of Pat’s friends had been convicted and served jail time for securities fraud years before, but this time he claimed his business endeavor was above board, even sanctioned by God because all three men were in the EQ Presidency and this time they were making a series of movies based on LDS principles.

The leader of the pack had written a screenplay about a latchkey boy who lived on the poor side of town. A cute cheerleader had befriended him and he was taking the LDS missionary lessons. In a touching moment of spiritual confirmation he heard the lyrics to the LDS song, “Heavenly Father, Are you really there?”. The screenwriter did not feel it necessary to get rights to the song from the author because he was sure that she would just be eternally grateful for the chance to hear her song in a blockbuster movie that was going to take the LDS market by storm and go mainstream as soon as it was picked up by a national distributor.

He had several people convinced of the value of this movie and sold stock in the production, much like in “The Producers”, only he forgot to tell them that he’d been previously convicted of a federal crime for the same thing. Many LDS people were drawn into his grand illusion and gave him over $100,000.00 of their hard earned money. He rented an office storage unit in a nearby complex and arranged auditions for the roles of the cheerleaders, giving an open casting call to all the local High Schools. The girls would come into his building and he’d have them change into a costume in his bathroom then do some cheers for the video camera, say a few lines, give a photo head shot and other information and then he’d interview the next one. Suffice it to say, a lot of time was spent reviewing these videos for the perfect actress for the lead role.

The movie never got made but within six months all the money was gone. Pat’s friend would ride him about not having sold any more of the stocks but it was hard getting people to invest in the project once it came out that the director/producer was a convicted felon. Fortunately for Pat, he never actually closed a deal even though he tried hard to get his co-workers, friends and family to buy into it. I had put my foot down early on and told him I wanted nothing to do with the scheme. I did not know he had been under investigation when the project fell apart. I was livid.

Mormon Suicide - Part III

2010-02-26T12:35:00.001-08:00

In the year since, I've had lots of time to think about my anger. Unfortunately it doesn't seem to have softened. It just gets buried temporarily by the realities of living. I want to use that energy for something worthwhile. I want to help those kids going through this to know that there's so much to live for. I want to stop the church from continuing this heinous practice of brainwashing and manipulation. I just don't know how, but someday I'm going to make a difference in this. I gleaned this essay from a mother whose son went on a mission but he just came home last weekend. She's struggling to undo all that the sick leaders did to her child as well.

Well I sit here tonight with mixed emotions. I am still a somewhat active member.....just to keep peace with my husband. My son has been through hell trying to stay on his mission. He is such a wonderful kid and has struggled with terrible anxiety and depression. He came home once after just two weeks in the MTC but his TBM girlfriend "convinced" him to go back. I wanted him to go back to College and not to BYU this time. But he ended up in Mexico City having terrible anxiety and panic attacks. I am so glad he's coming home. I just know that he is so depressed and angry at himself for not living up to the "ideal". I partly blame myself for raising him in such a messed up religion. Anyway, my heart hurts for him. He feels like he failed and in reality he is my hero. Brave, smart, funny.....now everyone in the ward will be looking down the f***in noses at him. AGH! I want out!!!

Here was my response:

I hope this is ok to discuss regarding this topic. Please forgive me if it comes across too personal. Whatever you do, get people from outside the church to help you and your son as he makes his transition. I wish I didn't have this experience but almost a year ago a nephew went through the same thing and came home early. The shame he felt and that was foisted on him was so great that he took his life rather than face the shame he thought he put on his family. The pain from that still nearly brings me to my knees.

I know my brother and his wife were as tender and concerned as any parent could be and did everything in their power to help him work through it but they were sending him to an LDS counselor, dragging him along to church where the displays in the foyer were all about other missionaries, and in a twist of horrific fate, even a huge billboard just beyond the church with the movie "Return with Honor" displayed larger than life.

All these things weighed heavy on his very sensitive and fragile heart and he was inundated with the LDS perspective that he would just have to take a little break and then go back out into that mess that he was so uncomfortable with in the first place. I don't blame my brother and sis in law, but I do blame the culture of the church for the way it pushed and pushed till he broke. I believe he saw suicide as the only way to escape the continual pain he felt inside. I wish so much that I could have changed that for him.

They send a million little messages, many not very subtle at all that tell a young man that he is worthless, will never get a good job, will never have a worthy wife, etc. if he doesn't fulfill a mission. Please forgive me for sending such a sad story. Please seek help for your son that can be more balanced and compassionate than the LDS offer.

Mormon Suicide - Part II

2010-02-26T12:35:00.000-08:00

Two days after my nephews death I sent the following letter to my children, nieces and nephews. I did not get many responses.

Dear Nieces and Nephews,
One would think that crying for two days straight would expel all the tears that could be hosted in my plump middle aged body, but sure enough, as I type this my eyes well again and I can barely see the screen. My heart is so full and yet so torn apart as we work through the myriad of emotions and questions that come with this painful experience. I have a pretty impressive bosom but it can barely hold the love in my heart that exists for all of you.

I don't know if xxx ever knew that I loved him dearly. To be shy and reserved in our family is a quick way to be dominated and out-shouted. As each new child was added to our enormous brood I sometimes thought it was all I could do to just remember the names and which sibling you belonged to, let alone get to know your personality or interests. I ache that I didn't take the time or write letters or play with each of you when you were still interested in playing with silly Aunt xxx.

Some of you were more accessible than others and I reveled in the chance to spoil or play with or tease you. Every little memory is precious to me, even the obscure things that few can recall or that I am suspected of recalling erroneously. Please know that I love you and am thrilled when you are happy, heartbroken when you are sad, angry when you are offended by someone that would dare to abuse or use you wrongly, and fierce in my defense of you.

There's going to be a lot of things to process as we all heal from the pain and heartache. We will all miss sweet xxx so much. A piece of our puzzle will always be missing but we can hold his memories precious and each other closer. Judgment, assumptions, and some statements that we may hear can be hurtful, short sighted, and possibly ignorant and insensitive. I hope that I will not add to any of that nor that any of you will. There is a lot we may never know about the pain that xxx was feeling, but I don't doubt for a moment that he knew that his family loved him. I don't doubt that xxx and xxx and their family was his refuge from this hard cruel world that eats people up and spits them out.

The strength that may come with the xxx blood can also be the weakness that you will experience as you get older. Don't be too sure that your own psyche won't someday go through enormous conflicts. It's when we get kicked in the teeth that we realize our humanity, our need for compassion and empathy for those that also struggle with the difficulties that life dishes out. Remember that you too are human. Remember that you too have soft spots that can be invaded when you least expect it. Remember that love doesn't always conquer all, and that there are some things we can't always control, especially other human beings, no matter how much we love them.

Love draws us closer. Love helps us overlook past wrongs or silly differences. Love unifies us when we are all different, all separated, and all busy with so many of lifes necessities. Love is what we share in common as well as our blood. I love you all and will cherish every moment that you are part of my life. I pray that you too will see your impact and importance in the life and heart of every one of us.

Remember that time is the great equalizer and that which is overpowering and horrendously difficult now, will someday seem simple and trite. Life is hard but it can be so much fun and so full of pleasure and joy. Those nuances of the most trivial things, a pretty sunset, the sensation of snow on your tongue, or the zing of a favorite soda pop are all things worth living for. Having 39 nieces and nephews makes life worth living. You bring flavor and joy to my life and meaning to the sacrifices that are made to gather together.

As some of you may know, I don't march to the same drum that most in our family do but I do have the deepest love, the greatest pride, and the most fabulous joy in this big family. I love you all so much. If you are hurting, I want you to know that I would move heaven and earth to comfort you. If you are happy I will dance a weird jig for you (sort of like an imbalanced washing machine scooting off kilter across the floor with hoses/arms flying and menacing anyone in the near vicinity). If you have needs, I'd do what I could to help you alleviate that sense of hunger or desperation. I care about each of you so much. I'm so proud of you. Please remember that we can be the greatest friends to each other, even with our differences or old wounds. I hope I can see you all soon.

Love,
Aunt xxx

Mormon Suicide - part I

2010-02-26T12:34:00.000-08:00

Mormon Suicide –By Insana D

Not long ago I read a story about a woman who was anguishing over her daughters attempted suicide after going to a YW conference where she came home so depressed and feeling such self loathing that she took a bottle of pills. Barely a year ago my own nephew succeeded in taking his sweet young life after he left a mission early because of the twisted pressure he received in that setting. I recently read an article, "Cure from the Mormon church" where a 70 yr. old woman who’d raised her kids, done everything for the church and given it her whole life finally could not stand the constant guilt and pressure to conform, the repeated messages of her imperfection and need to give more, and she finally ended her life.

The suicide rate among young homosexuals in the church is staggering. The social ostracization we all have felt for our choice to follow the dictates of our own conscience has cut deeply. The instant judgment that we're evil, lazy, stupid, etc. is wrong and painful and only broadens that chasm between the LDS families we love so much. http://www.affirmation.org/suicides/

The LDS church hurts many, in its doctrine, in it's practices, in it's culture and its twisted history. Mostly it hurts it's own by denying them full disclosure and transparency. It hurts those still entrenched in the church by continuing to squash creativity and inquiry. It hurts itself in it's continued position on excluding Gays from basic civil rights. It hurts the reputation of Christianity by continuing it's erroneous and bizarre concepts of proselytizing, plural marriage, classing of races, of women’s roles. It hurts society by feigning gracious generosity in one breath while stealing it away or manipulating the poor with the other.

On some discussion boards there are numerous young men who tell harrowing stories of having escaped or tried to escape and the frequent thoughts of suicide that they go through on their missions. Unfortunately some actually do that. It's been a year since my nephew came home early and took his life and there isn't a day goes by I don't think about what pain he must have felt. It drives me to continue to support those who need the love, and to expose the church for what it does to the beautiful young minds and hearts of it's youth. I want to turn my anger into something good but all I can do is listen and care and offer a kind word of encouragement.

January , 2008 –by Insana D

I don't know the steps of grief, but apparently anger is in there somewhere. I'm feeling angry at the church, at the government, at our economy, at getting older, pick a topic, I'm on a soapbox tonight.

I keep replaying the lifetime of my nephews influences and I think from the time the ultrasound technician discovered he had a little speck of the stuff boys are made of instead of the even littler speck of stuff girls are made of, that his destiny was mapped out in the church's eyes. By the time he can form whole sentences he's reciting his mantra of the typical testimony (insert yours here without taking a breath nameajeezechristnamen).

He was taught the holy chant of "I hope they call me on a mission" and whoever sung it loudest was more righteous and a bigger spiritual giant than the rest. The missionary piggy bank, the missionary costume and the way little guys are supposed to look up to the big brother/uncle, etc. that is leaving on his, or returning from “ The best two years of your life". Even girls go, and if they haven't had the good fortune to capture a man, they serve the Loword by handing out pamphlets at Church history sites and serving as secretaries and such in far away places. Even grandparents go on missions.

Heck, if you don't go on a mission by the time the 18th birthday candles have stopped smoking, you're a damn failure. Get with the program! If you don't enjoy the MTC brainwashing then just wait a week or so till you're dumped willy nilly in the middle of a third world country with nothing to defend against the big wide world than some silly scriptures and a backpack with a water bottle in it.

Hey, if you can't cut it out there with the desperately poor people all around you in the sweaty masses, the sirens, the strange smells, the different food, the language that streams into unfamiliar ears, the loneliness from family, the disorientation from the things you know and love, the connection to community, etc. then “You’re a loser!

Then there's the not so subtle messages of "If a young man doesn't fulfill a mission then good LDS girls shouldn't date him or choose him as a partner". "If a young man doesn't fulfill a mission he may never hold his head high in church again, and he may be denied advancement in the Priesthood, including his Elder status revoked till he is in his 30's and then it's some token parting gift on the way to the high priest quorum". "If a young man doesn't fulfill a mission it may hinder his chances at getting a good job in the future.". " If a young man doesn't fulfill a mission he may find it hard to get into BYU or other colleges". "He will bring shame on his family". "He will not be seen as a MAN by young ladies or his peers.". These bullshit messages add up. They cut into the heart. They rape the mind of a sweet innocent kid.

The sick and erroneous assumptions that my sweet nephew may have transgressed in some way are whispered in hushed tones. I do not care if a man is gay or not, but the first thing I heard was, "Do you think he may have been gay?". Then there’s the suggestion that he must have been suffering from mental illness because anyone in their right mind would never do such a thing, and since he was apparently temporarily "Retarded" he will be forgiven by God and get his chance to fulfill his mission in heaven!

The whole church, from every primary teacher to the bishops and even our own family need to sit back and look at how we added to the intense and overwhelming pressure this little guy felt. It was crushing him. I'm so angry. I'm just so angry. There's no where for it to go. It can't be resolved. I just wish it didn't hurt so bad.

Mormons and Prozac - by Insana-D

2010-02-26T12:33:00.001-08:00

Utah ranks highest in the nation in use of prescription drugs and anti depressants, including Prozac, Ritalyn, and other mind altering concoctions. It also ranks very high in depression and suicide, especially teen and suicide of homosexuals.

Mormons and Prozac- By Insana D

Following are some thoughts on depression and suicide and clips from an article that discusses some of the reasons LDS women are more likely to use anti-depressants.

http://packham.n4m.orgprozac.htm

Mormon Women, Prozac, and Therapy by Kent Ponder

It is angering to notice that the women for whom Mormonism does not work are often the highest-caliber in intelligence, education, rational ability and conscientiousness. Thus, this report.

Why Are So Many Mormon Women Severely Depressed?

As noted above, Utah is about 70% LDS, and women lead men in depression (by about double). Why is Utah #1 in the US in antidepressant-drug use, notably Prozac®? Why are twice as many women affected? A standard answer is that LDS women are overworked, heading large families, struggling to meet too-high expectations of perfection. There's some truth in that, but there are other, more fundamental, reasons.

Three realities are much more basic. In the Mormon Church:

1. For females, "One size fits all,"
2. Females obey males from birth to death.
3. Females lack control of their own life choices,
Any Mormon reading this report will recognize that virtually all LDS girls are taught from childhood to do all 24 of the following:

• be respectfully, politely, humbly and gratefully subservient to Mormon males in personal demeanor, activities, beliefs, plans and thought.
• not be, nor aspire to be, nor hope to be, independent from authoritarian males, nor independent in thought.
• attend male-directed religious services.
• participate in male-directed activities. (Even female-led projects are organized under male authorities.)
• attend male-directed weekday seminary classes in addition to academic school.
• obey all male-hierarchy-generated directives.
• submit to male-originated personal-matter (including sexual) private interviews.
• obtain a Patriarchal Blessing which usually promises becoming a mother in Zion if faithful and obedient.
• do genealogy research on male-headed (patriarchal) family lineages.
• marry an LDS man in an LDS temple.
• accept counsel from her husband, and not as just his opinion, but as God-inspired revelation.
• look to her husband as essential to her entry into the best category of Heaven.
• have children, more being far better than few.
• raise all of her children in this exact-same system.
• attend only the chapel assigned to her residence address, regardless of preference.
• accept that if she and family attend any other than this chapel, she and they cannot enter Mormon temples.
• know that her husband may, in the next life, marry numerous additional wives.
• know that she may not marry any additional husband, here (if still married to the first one) or hereafter.
• accept callings to work in church, auxiliary and welfare-project organizations.
• make several forms of financial contributions, ten percent tithing being only one.
• teach her children to become missionaries to convert other individuals into this same system.
• teach this same system to her grandchildren.
• teach her daughters and granddaughters to obey males at home and at church.
• never openly criticize any doctrine, practice, directive or male authority related to any of the above.

That's the "One Size Fits All Females" list of 24 items. Each LDS female gains and retains respect, and even acceptance, only by adhering to the behaviors and attitudes above, assigned to her by others, most often males, rather than freely chosen by herself.

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I read the article and it was like my life flashed before my eyes, in the telling of other women who've experienced a nearly identical emotional black hole while involved in the LDS church. I couldn't sleep that night because the sadness and anger on behalf of myself and the many women in the church, my own daughters, and those to come just festered and boiled inside me.

This illusion that the church will bring you eternal happiness, bind your family in blissful unity, and promote sweet spiritual oneness with God and all his teachings seems like such a fairy tale. I see much the opposite in many LDS families but the hypocrisy, the pressure to cover the big lie, the sugary coating while inside is either rotten or an empty shell is so prevalent. Now when I see what appears to be the "Perfect family" I am immediately suspicious. Pat and I maintained that facade for years. Inside it was so rotten and ugly that I get nauseated even thinking about it.

Many LDS can placate themselves that they're happier while they load up on Prozac and vats of mashed potatoes and gravy to mask the pain that abounds. I guarantee you that what they're experiencing on a day to day grind in the church isn't full happiness.

LDS therapists are subsidized by the church and in many cases the state. Their whole agenda is to keep the church foremost in the marriage, regardless of the complex problems that the church instigates or feeds. Imbalance of power or control, unrighteous dominion, sexual dysfunction don't matter as long as the couple are reading their scriptures daily, going to church, paying their tithing, and attending the temple as often as possible.

The advise of the LDS counselor to me when Pat and I were in his care was, "If you submit to the will of your husband and read your scriptures faithfully the lord will bless your family and your needs will be met.". Yeah, that was priceless. My husband wanted me to be more enthusiastic about his illegal securities fraud scheme that he was involved in, to help cover for him in his embezzlement and theft at work, and to be willing to get up at 5:00 a.m. and read scriptures every day before I went off to work for 10 hrs. and then came home and did all the household chores and then help him do his home teaching in the evenings and go to the temple on weekends. Submit....ah, yes, that fixes everything!!!

The twisted irony is that this same LDS counselor now lives with the reality that his wife (the mother of eight) and his 19 yr. old daughter both committed suicide within the same year. I'm not so sure he's the right guy to go to for advise on how to help a family cope with stress.

The Pit of Despair - part VI

2010-02-26T12:33:00.000-08:00

May 18,1993 - Apostle Boyd K. Packer tells All-Church Coordinating Council that LDS church faces three major threats: "The dangers I speak of come from the gay-lesbian movement, the feminist movement (both of which are relatively new), and the ever-present challenge from the so-called scholars or intellectuals."

Pat had been called as Elders Quorum President in our new ward but when it came time to sustain him I could not raise my hand. He and his Elders were the featured speakers for that Sacrament meeting when I was working full time as well as keeping up on the home to earn enough money to keep us afloat. He used quotes from Spencer W. Kimball, Boyd K. Packer and other church leaders to reflect the dangers of women who work outside the home, of feminism, over education and intellectualism, and embracing liberal ideas. I seethed as I sat and took his public chiding knowing that the very food he ate came because I worked so hard to provide. Finally I could take it no longer and I walked out in the middle of his talk. When the Bishop saw my reaction he called me into his office and counseled me to reflect proper respect for my husband and to pray about my rebellion.

During the last few years of my marriage I felt so much of what these women went through. Lacking any insurance or trust in the LDS counselors I was self medicating with a mixture of appetite suppressants and anti-histamines. They had the effect of numbing my senses, causing a sort of trance like dullness and apathy which made it possible to be with my husband or go to church in the last years. By the last year I was dosing myself three times a day in some twisted attempt to 'Save" my marriage. My ex finally tuned into the change in me and asked me about the pills. I told him they were "happy Pills" and that if I was going to stay married to him or continue to be a member of the church I would need something to dumb and numb me enough to stop thinking or feeling or seeing. His reply was classic, "Well, as long as YOU'RE Happy, I guess it's ok.".

The Pit of Despair - part V

2010-02-26T12:32:00.000-08:00

When our youngest was about to start kindergarten I’d seen a little tiny town south of Cedar City that was absolutely gorgeous. I wanted an escape, anything that might let me find a way out of my marriage, if not for good, then at least on the weekends when we were home together. Some strange things had come together just on the day that a tiny old home had come up for sale and I called the real estate agent and borrowed some money from my mother and signed the mortgage on a decrepit 150 yr. old pioneer home on an acre of abandoned land.

I had no idea how I was going to pay for it but the price was cheap and my vision was huge. We had started renting the basement bedrooms of our home in Cedar City to foreign students who were participating in the ESL program at the college and I was making more income from three students than renting the apartment out separately. All I had to do was cook, clean, do their laundry, help them with homework, and give them rides. I had started back to school myself and had a grant, a small scholarship, some government funding to help with babysitting, and soon enough student loans to help carry us through till I finished.

Some of the classes I took for my degree helped connect the dots of information that had just floated in space for years. Little bits and names and places that my very mediocre and inadequate sheltered education and background had given me. It also piqued my curiosity and I wanted to learn so much more. While my personal life was feeling more and more heavily shackled, my mind was starting to break free. I felt like I was being given a box of 64 crayons instead of the black and white crayons that I’d had to color my life previously.

I learned about Mythra, about Buddah, about some of the ancient legends that survived long before the Christian bible, about civilizations and Gods of far away lands. I learned about artists and sculptors that were making beautiful art long before Christ was around to inspire beautiful art, long before technology or industrial tools existed to help them build stunning cities and bridges and monuments. I learned about Martin Luther. I’d never known about his revolutionary act and his thesis, decrying the Catholic church and the corruption. I learned about rebellions and uprisals and martyrs who fought and died for change in oppressive regimes, governments, religious orders. I devoured information on the founders of our nation and their amazing efforts to establish a land where freedom of thought and FROM religion were equally available, where secularism was possible and safe. I had always been taught otherwise.

I’d been conditioned to believe that the church was all I ever needed and would fulfill every aspect of my life. I was told that motherhood and being a good wife would solve every problem and fix the most messed up of marriages. Temple and church attendance, perfect tithing commitment, obedience to my husband, fervent study of the scriptures, zealous allegiance to the leaders and their word, it was all laid out for me and if I couldn’t be happy with what they offered, it reflected my own inherent wickedness and lack of character.

Believing I was a horrible human being was not much of a stretch. The doctrine of the church taught that I was a second class citizen, that at best I would become a helpmeet to my husband if he allowed me join him in the Celestial Kingdom, and even then, my destiny for eternity was to conceive and birth spirit children for him along with sister wives for populating a new world where good LDS men are Gods, and women are Goddesses. The best I could hope for in leadership was as a leader of other women, under the direction of men and still less worthy or entitled than even a twelve year old boy, by mere birthright of my uterus.

I had the added guilt of wanting a career, a liberal education, of my own life and mind, of wanting independence and to explore far beyond the rigid boundaries of the LDS church. I had what appeared to others to be a good marriage, happy healthy children and a modest but nice home. Why would I want any more than that in my life? During one especially difficult time with Pat I foolishly explained the pain I was feeling my mother gave me her most experienced and wise counsel that epitomizes the LDS woman’s life, “Sister, it is not ours to ask for what we want, but to take what we get and make the best of it.”.

During one of the more deep depressions I was given the book “Miracle of Forgiveness” written by the deceased prophet Spencer W. Kimball. I slogged through it and instead of feeling forgiven for my humanity, for the complexities of my emotional frustrations I felt worse. The Prophet suggested numerous times that women who work outside the home, seek a career, desire more than just being housewives and mothers, limit the number of children they bring into the world are inherently selfish and take good jobs away from worthy men who need them to provide for their family. He inferred that it goes against a woman’s nature to seek gainful employment and erodes her femininity.

The book filled me with self loathing and guilt. For some this works in the church’s favor compelling them to try harder to measure up, to confess their horrific sins to a bishop who can hold all the cards in their subsequent repentance. If he chooses he can deny that person a temple recommend, require a complex restitution process, or in many cases, hold those “Sins” over her head to enforce more devotion and obedience. It did not do this for me. It made me loathe my shackler even more. The depression turned me nearly suicidal.

The Pit of despair - Part IV

2010-02-26T12:31:00.000-08:00

The Red Coat –By Insana D

When some choose to leave the church they are often accused of some unseen sin, or having been offended by someone in the church and that’s why we would jeopardize our eternal salvation. They wonder why we cannot just forgive the minor offense and let by gones be by gones. It doesn’t occur to some that the offense is not another human being, but a lifestyle, a culture, a doctrine, and the entire leadership of the church.

To examine it from that perspective would lead them to try to decipher the actual offensive doctrines, and that is so dangerous as to be more than taboo, it's downright lethal.

Pat and I were both immature, both selfish, both foolish. Often arguments would erode into pretty petty and pointless finger pointing and worthless circular arguments. One time we were arguing over something we'd argued over a dozen or more times, always with the same outcome and I finally said the thing that was the most painful to actually admit out loud but needed to be said and dealt with.

It became the infamous “Red Jacket" argument. What was bizarre was as Pat started to register the very damning and true statement I'd just made the look on his face was confused, like he'd just been hit with a sledge hammer even though he always knew what I always knew. He stammered for a minute and then said, "So where's my red jacket? You wore it yesterday and now I can't find it!!!". I was really stopped in my tracks because suddenly this petty small thing came in the middle of a very serious issue and had nothing to do with the argument of the moment, so I said, "It's on the coat rack downstairs, WHERE I HUNG IT UP!!". So he went downstairs and sure enough, it was right there. While he was there he got a drink, used the toilet, then decided to watch some TV.

The argument sat there in mid air with no resolve, no response, no way to work it out. It got swept under the carpet for a few days till another insignificant thing came up and we got into it again,...and again, and again.

The thing is, many emotionally/intellectually immature people have learned a similar passive aggressive behavior and approach to the really complicated challenges we face in the doctrinal issues of the church. If it's an issue that could erode or even crumble the fragile rotted foundation of the doctrine the most obvious way to deflect such a lethal blow would be to divert attention with something completely unrelated, ...say, "Someone obviously offended you, why can't you learn to forgive them?".

The problem then becomes YOU and not the doctrine or leadership or scriptures. YOU are forced to defend yourself which instantly feeds their need to take the innocent side that's been counterattacked. Sort of like if I said, "XXX, why are you such a child molester?" and you have to vehemently deny that you're a child molester, but the more you deny the more it looks like you're the guilty party.

I don't have any background in Psychology but I do understand some levels of communication and the passive aggressive tactics are some of the most infuriating to deal with. The practices of the LDS church in feigning sweet goody goodness while doing dirty deeds behind the curtain are some of the most twisted because you never get to actually honestly discuss any of the REAL problems. Everything becomes a red coat, meant to divert attention from the problem. Small petty nothings that fill their lives and create the illusion that those that leave the church leave for the tiddly piddly pettiest of reasons, like XXX can't forgive his bishop from 20 years ago..."What a shame.".

Recently in one of the many careful tenuous and anxt ridden conversations that tiptoed on the fragile fringes of the church I was told, “Just because YOU don’t believe it doesn’t mean it isn’t true”. This works to shut down a genuine open conversation instantly. The one being accused in this situation is left to defend their mental state, their integrity and the focus is instantly off the issue and onto the one suggesting something needs examining. From the defensive position, it becomes nearly impossible to approach something with honesty and fairness.
-----------------------------------
Pat had learned his skills from his parents, I had come into our marriage with the examples of my own parents extremely sick marriage and together we were quite awful. We lived and interacted like two negatively charged magnets, never working together, repelling and resisting each other in every important part of our marriage. Petty power struggles, unsaid but deeply felt contentious hatred, manipulative games and retaliations seemed to take over everything.

We stopped sleeping together and I used a sore back and a zillion other excuses to keep me down on the couch at night and out of the bedroom. On the rare occasion we did succumb to need it left me angry and tense because of lack of fulfillment and release. We always fought the next day and I found being in the same room with him intolerable. He turned to watching basketball and I turned to books and crafts and anything but him.

The Pit of Despair - Part III

2010-02-26T12:28:00.001-08:00

When Pat was called as an Elders Quorum President he considered his role second only to the Bishop, his authority above reproach, his inspiration straight from none other than God. He insisted we get up at 5:00 a.m. for scripture reading, perfect attendance in church, seek missionary opportunities at every chance, even when we were at a fast food restaurant or among any non LDS, including his own family.

We were the picture perfect couple for sure. The kids seemed well versed in their understanding of the gospel, answered all the right questions in Sunday School, I was a doting hard working creative resourceful LDS wife, and we were on our way to the Celestial Kingdom.

When some R rated movies or even PG-13 came out that I found interesting we would conflict over whether to go to them or not. On occasion I won and we saw such gems as Schindler’s List, Philadelphia, and Shawshank Redemption. On more than one occasion we were seen going to these movies by an Elder that worked nights at the theatre and Pat was reprimanded by the Bishop for setting a poor example.

We were having marital problems and on one occasion I confessed to our Bishop that I felt that our intimate life was very empty and lacked variety or passion. He asked me if I was a lesbian, then told me I should read some of the pointers in books like “Fascinating Womanhood, and Joy of Being a Woman where subservient childlike behaviors are modeled and promoted in order to cater to a mans more “Masculine nature”. I’d read Fascinating Girl as a teenager and was appalled that such games were still being promoted to manipulate men, or that men of the 1990’s would allow a woman to play him in such shameful ways.

Fascinating Womanhood by Helen Andelin is a book written in 1965 but promoted in classes and seminars for LDS and Christian women in the US.

From Time Magazine: http://www.time.com/time/magazine/artic ... z0frk4blG6

A class of middle-aged women is practicing foot stomping. "That's right," says the teacher, "now walk briskly to the door, pause, lift your chin higher, and look back over your shoulder." The women are taking one version of a lesson in "How to be cute, even adorable when you are angry," an exercise the Fascinating Womanhood movement uses to bring husbands to heel.

Later the women will learn how to pound their fists on their husbands' chests in childlike rage. "Men love it," says the movement's founder and guru, Helen B. Andelin, 55. A devout Mormon, she developed her methods years ago when she felt her own marriage going sour. Now, after eight children and 32 years of marriage, her husband adores her, she reports, and even helps out at the Fascinating Womanhood Foundation in Santa Barbara, Calif. Eleven thousand teachers have been trained to teach feminine arts and craftiness the Andelin way in schools and churches across the country: in the past 14 years 300,000 women have taken the eight-week, $15 course. Their primary text is Andelin's 1965 book, Fascinating Womanhood), which has sold more than 400,000 copies, and is about to be issued in paperback. Students will be paying $12.50 for a new kit that includes the paperback edition of Womanhood, plus such items as the Domestic Goddess Planning Notebook, for listing tomorrow's chores, and the Love Book, for scribbling down the endearments her husband will utter once the wife learns her lessons.

Righteous Power. Basically, Andelin preaches conservative Christian doctrine on the need for wives to submit to husbands. She also teaches a kind of psychic judo for women to use on their mates: give in to get what you want, because submissiveness will bring "a strange but righteous power over your man."

Beneath all Andelin's devotional trickery lies a core of compassion. For example, she suggests that before a wife tries to reform an alcoholic husband, she should fast for three days to get some idea of the pain withdrawal will cause him.
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One day while working a part time job at a florist shop the bishops wife and her friends saw me so in front of the girls she casually mentioned that perhaps I should try meeting my husband with a trench coat and nothing underneath one day after work. I was humiliated. First that she would call me out in front of her church friends, but more that my own bishop had used one of my most private confessions as a source of conversation between he and his wife.

It was not the first time I’d had private confidence breached by an LDS bishop but I decided it would be the last. I began to see them as mere men after that, men who are plumbers, lawyers, paint store managers and car dealership owners. Once they lose the mystique of arbitrary power it becomes a short step to see that the source of their assumed power may not be all it’s cracked up to be either.

Pat believed his Priesthood powers gave him insight into peoples personal lives, not just to make assumptions about them but also to give them guidance and advise, whether they wanted it or not. He may have felt similarly about our relationship and began to buy into the LDS doctrine that dictates that a man has the right to rule over a woman, that if she is obedient she will submit to his will, never question his authority or work against his rule. He did not overtly try to exert these pressures on me, but used guilt, select scriptures and examples from the church history and publications to validate and justify his dominion.

There was a lot of pressure to pretend I agreed, or at least didn’t resist and so I kept the secrets between us even while my heart was ripping apart with the frustration and emptiness. I behaved in immature and reactionary ways that only made things worse between us. I could not undermine his priesthood authority over me or our family, but I managed to undermine him in every other way, part out of retaliation and part out of my own foolishness and lack of skill in communicating fairly or effectively.

Patriarchal Blessings - By Insana-D

2010-02-26T12:28:00.000-08:00

After learning how these blessings are “inspired” I realized that with the correct learned phrases almost anyone could produce a fantastic blessing. Here's my new and everlasting (till the next one) Patriarchal Blessing with Jam, or the PB&J.

Sister Insana-D, in the name of the Lord God of Israel, and by authority of the Holy Priesthood which I hold, I lay my hands upon thy head and seal upon thee a Patriarchal Blessing, and all the promises that belong to the new and everlasting covenant. Thouest-est artest-est an elect lady artist-ist and wordy purveyor of parody and sarcastic-ist chiding.

Through thy art and words thou shalt cause great and terrible laughter, which-est will result in wet-est pants and possible solid waste that shall comest out of thy patrons nether regions. When thou timest thy parody with meal time and milk before meat drinking thou shalt cause milk-est to com-est out of the noseal area of thy sanctified victims. On some occasions thou shall not be funny but only wry, and on many occasions thou shalt be only mildly chortled at, but of the great and terrible laughter thou shalt not continually imbibe. Thou think-est thou art funnier than thou really art.

Thou art thought the silliest of heart and desires, beloved of the Lord of laughter and his Angels of juvenile humor and sexual innuendo have great reverence for thee, for thy irreverence and gross descriptions are of the most holified and grotesque of all raunch and putrification. It is given thee that thou shalt continue throughout all thy days on this earth, and in the life to come to be the jester and goofy clown throughout all time and eternity. Of the red squeaky nose and big shoes shalt thou wear and of the silly hats shalt thou endeavor to fabricate and don for the enjoyment of thy family and the holy righteous but more inhibited Saints that dwell on this earth.

If there is anything voluptuous, lowly cut, or of good retort, ye shall seek after these things, that thou may live to humor, to cause fits of laughter of thy father and mother's kindred and friends that are dead and amongtest those that are only mostly dead. In humor and mirth shalt thou maketh fun of thoseth in the Kingdom for their silliness is great in the eyes of the world and they art-est easy targets

Thou shalt experience the holy and everlasting covenant until it isn't lasting, and then thou shalt try a new one on, until thou findest one that fits perfectly. Then in thy happiness shalt thou raisest up thy posterior in supplication to his gifts, whicheth he desires to bestow on you in abundance and frequency. Joy shalt thou experience in thy posterior and thy thighs shalt quiver like unto the leaves of the trees. Angels will sing praises and thou shalt join them in Hosanna's and praises to thy new and really everlasting, or at least good for a few minutes helpmate and companion.

Thou shalt not participate in these rituals in the House of the Lord, but in the nearby forests and glens and on comfortable rocks or shaded lawns shalt thou commit thy worship, and the Spirit of inspiration and in His own time, shall thou be anointed with scented oils and stimulating tools as a Queen and a Priestess and Equal Partner as well as Co-Supreme Dictator for Life to thy companion forever and ever.

Thou shall receive blessings from the earth in abundant sunshine and small rocks whicheth are prolific on thy property. Thy garden shall never lack for the critters of the earth, and through thy hospitality, thy home shall be a resting place with pillows and cushions in abundance and pot roast shalt thou cookest when company comes, and warm blankets shalt thou have in closets where they shalt be folded nicely as well as fluffy towels, where many of the saints of God shall delight.

Thou shall live and see the redemption of Zion National Park where natural gas shuttles shall dwell in abundance to preventeth the fouling and staining of the rocks and canyons of the Lord and shalt cutteth down on traffic jams a lot. Thou shalt stand in thy parking lot as a seasoned hiker in appropriate clothing while smirking at the Japanese tourists in their plastic high heeled shoes and uncomfortable jeans.

As the Mother of non-Israeli children, who are white and delightsome with the potential to sunburn thou shalt comfort and protect with SPF 40 or better, and of the bug spray shalt thou use liberally. Thou shalt bring plenty of non-toxic containers and fill thy jugs at the fountain of pure coldliness for in that water shalt thou find sustinence as thou hiketh through Zion. Thou shalt packeth a good lunch and some summer sausage. Of these things it is written-eth.

Thou art of the House of the shtick of Bozo, that was kept under great oppression until thy soul broke free, and heir to all the resentment, rage, and slam dunk parody that belong to that Holy Bozification. The blessings of the Lord are awaiting thee for as thou grow and increase in years, thy mind shall grow feeble and more erratic and thy bottom shall expand and thou shall grow fatty tissue in unattractive amounts. But of these shalt thou make light and cause great chortling, for thy self defecating humor shalt be a source of laughter and derision for all the Saints of this world and the worlds to come.

In the first resurrection thou shalt be sanctified and thy soul shalt inhabit the new and everlasting body of Halle Berry, who by that time may be dead, or if her carcass is not available, then the body of Jessica Simpson or Beyonce, who haveth the nicest bottoms, and in that body shalt thou spend eternity. Thy eternal companion shalt live in joy with thy perfect body for time and all eternity for thou shalt giveth of thy gifts of beauty freely and without reservation, except on weekends when thou art fully booked.

Thou shalt come forth in the morning of the First Resurrection and in conversion with thy companion, receive Kingdoms, Thrones, Principality, Power of Attorney, numerous delegates, and power and a Celestial Crown in the Redeemer's Kingdom. These blessings I seal upon thy head by authority of my holy calling as a patriarch and in the name of Jesus Christ. So be it. Amen.

The Pit of Despair - part II

2010-02-26T12:27:00.000-08:00

Pat had been called as the Elders Quorum President shortly after we moved in and he considered it his right, duty, and gift to re-activate or convert every family in our ward that wasn’t already active or LDS. He tried to get his counselors on board with his near blind zealous plan. If they couldn’t get the other elders to do their part in home teaching and missionary efforts, HE and his counselors and their wives would do the job. He was sure his enthusiasm was so infectious that it would catch like wildfire.

LDS Priesthood bearers are taught that their authority comes directly from God and was passed down from Adam , then Christ, and eventually restored to Joseph Smith and through his benevolent gift, to each worthy man in the LDS church. Until 1978 this “Honor” was withheld from Blacks but in a complicated “Reverse Revelation” where Spencer W. Kimball prayed that if God didn’t want him to give the Priesthood to blacks, he should send a sign. God didn’t send a sign so then Blacks were finally given the Priesthood and rights to have celestial marriage, at least in formal statements by the church.

Worthy men and missionaries learn these mantras in regards to their Priesthood:
I am called of God. My authority is above that of the kings of the earth. By revelation, I have been selected as a personal representative of the Lord Jesus Christ. He is my master and He has chose me to represent him -- to stand in his place, to say and do what He himself would say and do if He personally were ministering to the very people to whom He has sent me.

My voice is His voice. My acts are His acts. My doctrine is His doctrine. My commission is to do what He wants done, to say what He wants said; to be a living, modern witness in word and in deed of the divinity of His great and marvelous latter-day work. How great is my calling.

" A Deacon in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints has more authority to act in the name of God than the Pope himself."

A year prior he’d been given his Patriarchal blessing while I was still pregnant with our youngest baby. We met with an elderly man that neither of us had ever seen before and he proceeded to give Pat a most spectacular blessing, even comforting him regarding our other children who had passed on. He then told Pat that he would walk on the right hand of Christ in the Second Coming, which would happen in our lifetimes, that Pat would serve as a Bishop and other leadership positions of great importance, that his election was made sure. (This is a promise supposedly reserved only for the very elect that essentially promises them that they are already saved into the highest kingdom of glory. Like a get out of jail free card that they can use in any situation to justify their actions.) We were both blown away by this and I so wanted to believe all the grand predictions of this strange old man. He delighted in our response and we left glowing, knowing that our place in heaven was assured, our children saved, and great promise was just on the horizon.

I had received my Patriarchal Blessing when I was sixteen and it was as common as most other girls excepting for one statement that suggested that my strong nature would be the cause of great persecution. At the time I thought it meant I was going to become a great leader because I had the strength to withstand the evil pressures of worldly people and influences.

The church counsels the members to keep their blessings very private and only read them to their future spouse or certain trusted family members. Part of the reason for this is the lack of uniqueness between blessings and it detracts from ones belief that they are special and gifted to find out that everyone got a similar blessing. Another reason is because if the promises don’t come about, it keeps some folks from feeling disillusioned. It makes their lack of promise more of an anomaly.

Some blessings are like getting your fortune told and often the one giving the blessing senses or knows personal things about the individual and incorporates vague language that is open to wide interpretation. Many faith promoting rumors abound around certain blessings. Some are more sensational than others but it is considered crass to read them aloud or share them with others in case their blessing isn’t as special.

During Brigham Young’s time the Patriarch received a small stipend for his blessing so some became traveling Patriarchs and went from town to town giving blessings to those who could afford them. The more one offered to pay, the better the blessing, much like fortune telling or palm reading. The Patriarchs learn certain phrases which resemble scriptural colloquialisms and give broad promises that leave the outcome very open ended.

The Pit of Despair- Part I

2010-02-26T12:26:00.000-08:00

The Pit of Despair – By Insana-D

Cedar City Utah is the same elevation as Denver Colorado. January at 5,800 ft. elevation can be a mean cruel welcoming committee and we were ill prepared for the change of climate and culture. The house I thought I’d rented fell through our first day there and we were suddenly cheated out of our deposit as well as a place to unload the moving truck so we rented a storage unit and traipsed over the ice and snow in the brisk nostril freezing air the day before Pat was to start his new job which paid half what we’d made in California, but was considered sufficient for Utah wages. We had enough money to last four more nights in a motel and then we’d be broke again.

College towns often have some of the most unique housing arrangements and substandard rentals. With some creative searching I found a little two and a half bedroom place near the University. The landlord was out of state and his last tenants had trashed the home and yard. I made a deal with him to forego the deposit if we cleaned it up and restored the yard. In less than a week I’d scrubbed the house clean, painted the kitchen and dining room, re-papered the bedroom and had started cleaning the dirt cellar. We got the kids enrolled in elementary school and I was enjoying being a stay at home mom for a little while.

We were part of a huge wave of Californians escaping the expensive housing, the economic downturn, and the forthcoming Rodney King riots, earthquake, and flooding of the early 1990s. Utah’s building and manufacturing industries were booming. I thought it was our time to solidify our marriage, Pat’s career, and our future security. The schools were much better than what we could afford to live near in Southern California and I was sure this was the beginning of a good life.

Our ward had numerous college couples with young children like ours. We made friends quickly and the children began to integrate with the ward and neighborhood children. It felt ideal. I was excited for my kids to get to know their Utah cousins better and have more access to my mother. I was really happy to get far enough away from Pat’s parents to give our marriage a little time to heal.

We’d been settled into our rented house about three months when it became apparent that we wouldn’t make it financially unless I started working. Our youngest was barely nine months old and I really did not want to leave her with a sitter, but I found a nice lady in the neighborhood and got a job with a new company that offered a good wage and future benefits.

I’d been there about three weeks and was learning the job, getting along with my co-workers, and adapting to being gone from home but still quite torn over leaving my baby so soon. I called the sitter at noon one day to see how she was doing. She excitedly told me how my baby had taken her first steps and could go from the couch to the loveseat without someone holding her hand. I started bawling. I bawled for 40 minutes, hiding in the bathroom and then finally coming out with my face so red and swollen that my boss told me to go ahead and go home for the day.

I picked up my sweet baby and held her tight in my arms, hoping I could re-create the monumental event later that day. There was a cheapness to arranging such things and I couldn’t stop crying at having missed it. The next morning I called in sick, and the next. On the third day I quit my good job. I just couldn’t bear to be away from my daughter and I decided to just buck up and try to stretch Pat’s lean paycheck a little tighter.

Our first summer in Southern Utah was fun. We discovered the mountains and an outdoor freedom we’d never experienced in California. Camping, hiking, open BLM lands where we could see wildlife and share the wonder of the Southwest with our kids. Pat seemed to be doing well in his job and we were getting by. Then he received his 401K investment from his previous employer and we learned that during the previous stock market crash the company had doubled our investment and it was now at a high mark on it’s return. We took advantage of a tax break that allowed us to invest it into our first home without paying any penalties. In just eight months in Utah we purchased our first home. I thought most of our worst problems were over.

We moved into a cute brick home built in the 1930s during an iron mining boom. The house needed a lot of repair but it was bigger than anything we’d ever lived in and had a large front and back yard, large cinder block garage with storage behind, and a basement apartment that we rented out to help with the mortgage. I woke up on the morning of my 30th birthday realizing I finally had what I thought would make me happiest, three healthy kids, a home, a car that ran most of the time, good schools, and connection to my big family. I was so depressed.

In spite of all the things, the children, the location I felt the huge emptiness between Pat and I. I felt the suffocation of the church and expectations that I would never meet no matter how hard I worked or how much I sacrificed. A house wouldn’t fix the emptiness in my marriage and actually forced us into a financial obligation that made it even harder to ever escape. Being in Utah made the surreal aspects of Mormonism even more pungent and I could see the hypocrisy all around me.

In California I’d been able to include other people, cultures, influences in my life and the friendships of my children and could balance some of the constant indoctrination that the culture demands. The members were more like part time friends that we could choose to associate with on Sundays but didn’t have to accept every day of our lives if we weren’t fond of them. In Utah, your neighborhood is your ward. The neighborhood kids are your kids playmates and if they are not LDS, they are often shunned or love bombed in the hopes that they’ll become so. The diversity was gone, the color and individuality was gone. My privacy was gone. It became evident that if I did not conform I would never fit in.

Transcending Tribal Mentality by Carolyn Myss

2010-02-25T09:18:00.000-08:00

All of us are born into a “tribal mentality” of various forms. These include our family unit, religious background, country of origin, ethnicity, etc. The tribal mentality effectively indoctrinates an individual into the tribe’s beliefs, ensuring that all believe the same. The structure of reality – what is and is not possible for the members of the group – is thus agreed upon and maintained by the tribe.

While the tribal mentality has definite benefits in terms of establishing common ground and ensuring group survival, it is not a conscious agreement. We are born into it. Yet at a certain stage, both personally and collectively, the tribal mentality must be challenged. People can then begin to recognize the need for a personal honor code independent of the tribe. If humanity is to progress, we need to learn how to treat everyone – regardless of tribal affiliation – with honor and respect.

Every one of us is plugged into the tribal mind. We support tribal belief patterns by directing a percentage of our life force into maintaining our affiliation with the tribe. This involves an implicit agreement to think like the tribe thinks, to evaluate situations and people the way the tribe does, and to believe in right and wrong according to tribal values and ambitions. As long as the tribal mentality within us remains unexamined, we unwittingly subject others to our tribal laws.

When we are plugged into tribal thought forms, we can easily believe in nonsensical prejudices held by the tribe. Tribal mentality allows us to hold harsh, judgmental positions or attitudes about an entire group of people: “All fat people are lazy,” or “all Irish are drunks,” or "all Muslims are terrorists" for example.

A rigid tribal thought form may have little truth to it, but individuals hold to such beliefs because that perspective is what the tribe has agreed to believe. Innocent children, born into the hatred and prejudice of their parents and ancestors, grow up inside a tribal mentality that sponsors an endless march toward war against the tribe's perceived enemies. People grow up hating other people – people they have never seen – based on group affiliation. This is the shadow side of the tribe.

Inevitably, some among us come to a point where we want to break out of the inflexible tribal mentality. At some point, these individuals want to explore, develop, and manage their own consciousness without the judgments and limitations of the tribal mind.

It is easy to spot these mavericks when they start to question and unplug from tribal mentality – they hang out on the periphery looking bored and restless, or whimsical and dreamy. Others may act out the agitated hot-head as they challenge tribal ways.

The unspoken assumption of the tribal mind is that everybody loves being part of the tribe. And in many ways, we do. Knowing where and to whom we “belong” is crucial to our self-concept and sense of safety in the world. Yet when we begin the real deep journey of questioning, “What do I believe?” and start to individuate from the tribe, we often enter a dark night of the soul. It is, by necessity, a passage we take alone.

It's one thing to reject what we don't want to believe anymore. It's quite another to begin to explore what we do believe. All we know as we enter the dark night is that we can't go back – even when the tribe is the only world we’ve ever known.

At this critical point in our development, the tribe doesn't feel right anymore. It no longer offers us comfort. Previous feelings of security and familiarity begin to feel like a trap constraining our individuality and hampering our efforts to discover deeper levels of who we really are.

This dark night passage pushes us to look at our false gods – the tribal belief patterns in which we've become invested and to which we've given our allegiance.

The "Unworthy"

2010-02-25T09:09:00.000-08:00

The Unworthy-by Insana-D

My daughter has been married for almost five years now and my son for 3 1/2. One would think the raw wound would start to heal over and stop gushing blood at some point. I'll pretend its not bleeding and cover it with a towel but the issue of marriage comes along and the tears come right back, my
stomach turns, my hands shake and I get that ol' timey feeling of wanting to crawl under my desk and die.

I left the church about four years before my daughter got married. When I
left I sort of peripherally knew that my time to face the music would come
but it didn't hit me too hard even though I was suddenly off the list for
the dozens of nieces and nephews weddings and such.

I hated every experience in the temple and found it suffocating,
humiliating, tedious and very cultish so going into the temple was never
something I cherished or sought. I'd been to numerous LDS sealings as well
as my own and they resemble all the pomp, circumstance and individuality
of an automatic car wash or being the four billionth customer at McDonalds.

There's nothing special about LDS sealing ceremonies. When the folks at the Salt Lake City temple brag that they performed 168 sealings in one day it should put the whole thing in perspective. Run em’ through, we're moving, we're walking, keep going, yeah, yeah, say your vows, bla bla bla, time and eternity, and ...you’re done... NEXT! I've had more intimate experiences at the DMV.

So when my daughter gave up her scholarship to USU and went to BYU-Idaho I knew it was just a matter of months before she met a returned missionary and was swept off her feet and whisked into all the bliss of Mormon Marriage. Sure enough, by mid September she had met a nice young local returned missionary from Rexburg, and by November they were engaged. In truth, they are perfectly suited for each other.

They decided to get married in February three months away and that gave me time to help her with the dress, flowers, photos, cake, honeymoon, etc. and all the planning that goes into a typical low key LDS wedding reception. We didn't discuss the actual wedding much because we both knew that I would not be allowed to attend. It was fun to help her plan but mostly I just sent money and worked on the reception side of the fence. I still enjoyed it and decided I'd break the bank to make sure it was very special and memorable. I enjoyed that part and am not sorry we made it really special.

Finally we had to face that huge elephant that was crapping all over the living room and we both cried and I told her that even if I could convince a bishop that I was interested in being part of the church I could never pull it off with my family and they would all know that I'd lied to get into the temple. I told her that it would taint the experience for her and make me feel ashamed that I had succumbed to such a low class game to be included. She understood and we cried and cried, but I think deep down she respected the fact that I could not lie like so many parents do when faced with that dilemma.

After that conversation I crawled under my desk and bawled like a baby for about three days.

When the wedding day came I was dressed up for the photos and my youngest daughter and I and my son in law’s grandmother (a non Mormon) and younger brother all sat in that little room off to the side of the temple foyer and watched the little propaganda films they have for visitors. We mostly just sat and whispered conversationally for the hour or so while the others went through the ceremony.

When it ended the real fecal matter started oozing. Pat walked out beaming. He was "worthy" and made sure everyone knew it. My mother had escorted my daughter through the rituals and she was appropriately kind and condescending which only made me loathe the experience even more. I got to be pitied and looked down upon by complete strangers who had little to do with raising my daughter but because they could answer "yes" to those silly temple questions they were invited to participate. Then we got in line for the photos. My daughter was very stressed because the photographer wasn't there so I grabbed my wallet and hired another photographer who was there for another wedding. Pat did not pony up with a single dollar to help but he was the proud beaming "worthy" father of the bride.

I smiled pretty, swallowed the shame that was served to me, and hid my tears behind dark glasses. My daughter might never know that it nearly crippled me but she had a beautiful reception, gorgeous dress, and the day she'd always dreamed about.

Then I got to do it all again a year and half later when my son got married. I will most likely get to do it again in a few years when my youngest gets married. Families are forever...Ahhh, ain't it the sweetest thing?

I have no illusions that any of what I do will impact the LDS church policies or soften their hearts toward the very people that deserve their respect.

The temple is a carrot that's held out as a way to extract consistent tithing from the members. Even if someone is inactive for ten years but their child is anticipating marriage in the temple the parents will come back to church and pay tithing six months or so before just so they can attend. Even intermittent revenues are better than none.

I paid tithing every year of my adult life and much of my youth right up to about three years before my daughter got married but even with all that I'd given it did not make me "Worthy" to go to the temple because I had stopped paying and going to church before she got married. "Worthy" is really just a way of purchasing indulgences.

As long as the church needs to extract funds from it's members they'll extort them with this twisted and cruel plot. The Italian mafia could learn some lessons from the church in shaking folks down and keeping them paying for the right to do family business in the Mormon self proclaimed territory. Institutionalized extortion. Naaa, it ain't a cult. It's a criminal venture.

Other than that I'm not really bitter.

Initian Rituals

2010-02-25T09:08:00.000-08:00

http://www.intropsych.com/ch15_social/initiation_rituals.html

Initiation Rituals

Special rituals and requirements for new members of a group are called initiation rituals. Many social organizations are quite demanding of new members. Anthropologists have a term—mortification rituals—for initiation ceremonies that inflict pain or humiliation or otherwise mortify the new member of the group. To mortify is, literally, to threaten death, and mortification rituals often threaten death either actually or symbolically.

What are mortification rituals?
For example, in the initiation ritual for the Freemasons, the candidate is blindfolded and then led around by a rope around his neck. As the candidate approaches the oath of secrecy, the sharp point of a sword is place against his left breast. The Skull and Bones secret society at Yale puts a new member into a coffin. Members chant at him and he is "reborn" into the society.

Hazing is one variety of initiation ritual. Now banned on many college campuses, hazing rituals can be painful, humiliating, or dangerous. In a typical hazing ritual, new members of a group are forced to endure pain or ridicule. For example, first-year student at a military school may be given insulting names (like "grunts," "rats," or "pleebs") and required to perform humiliating services for older students. At one United States Air Force base, pilots who had just received honorary wing pins were welcomed into the exclusive group of senior pilots by having the wing pins pounded into their flesh. (The commanding officer was fired when that particular ritual gained national attention.)

How does dissonance theory explain the effectiveness of tough initiation rituals?
Mortification rituals encourage the camaraderie that results from shared experiences of hardship, familiar to any war veteran. Also, as implied by cognitive dissonance theory, people who sacrifice for a group are more likely to adopt a positive attitude toward the group. Once they have engaged in behavior that implies that group membership is worth paying a high price, they are likely to convince themselves that group membership is very valuable. To feel otherwise would make it hard to explain why they went through the trouble and discomfort involved in joining the group.

Painful or stressful initiation experiences have a long history in the human species. In many cultures, young men or women are forced to submit to painful body alterations like circumcision or tattooing, as a symbol of entry into adulthood.

Physical stress can serve to make a new group member dependent and obedient, weary and incapable of thinking clearly, ready to do only what he or she is told to do. Dreifus (1982) quotes a young woman describing conditions at a weekend retreat for a religious cult:

How can physical stress make a new recruit more susceptible to group pressures?
We were allowed only four or five hours of sleep a night. There were also three-hour-long lectures, during which we sat on the floor, and we played a lot of exhausting games in which we learned to function under a group leader. I got so tired that it was hard to think straight.

Similar procedures are used to harden a Marine, with a few important differences. For example, Marines are supposed to be allowed eight hours sleep a night. As reported by Orr Kelly (September 10, 1979), an associate editor of U.S. News & World Report, a new recruit at Parris Island undergoes quite a stress test.

What are techniques used to harden new Marines?
From the moment the apprehensive recruits step out of the buses...and take their places on yellow footprints painted on the pavement, the pressure never lets up.

At breakfast, long before dawn, they march through the chow line silently and at attention. Sixteen hours later, they lie at attention on their bunks and sing the Marine Hymn.

Parris Island is a carefully designed pressure cooker in which 23,400 men and 2,500 women a year are stripped of their individuality and converted, in 10 weeks and two days, into Marines.

"We teach them how to stand and how to talk," says Staff Sgt. G.F. Jones, a drill instructor. "Everything they knew, we've taken away from them. All they know is what we tell them."

They are taught to speak, and even think, of themselves as "the recruit." The word "I" is gone as surely as the hair that falls to the barbershop floor early on the first morning at the recruit depot.

How are newcomers to an organization often "infantilized"?
Often newcomers to an organization are infantilized (rendered baby like) with a shaven head, long flowing robes, or rules of conduct that forbid them from speaking unless spoken to. The significance of a shaven head has been understood since the Biblical story of Samson. It indicates the taming of the wild man and submission to control or discipline. At our university, it was once the practice to shave the heads of first year football recruits before the first practice. When a new Buddhist monk, Hare Krishna devotee, football player or army recruit gets his head shaved, it is powerful symbolism that he is "in the organization now."

Mystery also plays a role in group cohesion. When a new member is recruited to a "secret society" or similar organization, promises are shared, oaths recited, sacred responsibilities pronounced and accepted. Access is allowed to secret writings or places.

Consider the typical graduation ceremony at a college or university. Students and faculty in long flowing robes listen to speakers make weighty pronouncements. Dignitaries hand out scrolls. It is an echo of ancient rites signifying initiation into a guild consisting of the educated elite.

What is the end effect of intense initiation experiences, for those who survive?
One function of intense experiences like boot camp and initiation ceremonies is to create a common bond among members of a group. Marine training may be tough, and a lot of people might "wash out," but the survivors share a pride felt by every Marine. Precisely because Marine training is tough, it is meaningful. Similarly, if every male in the village goes through the same public circumcision ceremony, there will be a common bond. Blood brothers (those who have shared in some painful ritual) are close because of their mutual understanding and sacrifice.

An anthropologist known as Van Gennep came up with a theory of understanding rituals:
-Separation: The subject is removed from their old status and often from society through some sort of symbolic act.
-Liminality: A state of transition, where the subject's entire status is capsuled within the ritual.
-Reintegration: The subject is brought back into society by giving them their new role and/or new status.

Quantifying Service - part II

2010-02-25T09:07:00.000-08:00

One day not long ago I was discussing this dilemma with a friend and he mentioned his ex wife, a very sedate and unmotivated woman who excels in an effortless existence at the expense of many around her who bring her meals, provide her income, pay the bills, and keep the fires burning while she lives vicariously through daytime television and the lives of her children.

She loves going to the temple and will arrange a ride two or three times a week, foregoing social or employment activities in order to fulfill her celestial duty in the temple. She is highly revered and given great accolades by church members for her glorious sacrifice and is considered a spiritual giant when she’ll regale others with her many unique spiritual manifestations and epiphanies received while in deep contemplation inside the temple.

She is the epitome’ of righteousness as far as obeying the rules and laws of the church. She doesn’t engage in any breach of the Word of Wisdom, unless they were to change the rules and start hinting that obesity is disrespectful to the body temple. She was pious and pure in her sexual endeavors and after bearing eight children had put herself out to pasture so as to not violate the sacredness of the procreative act. She went to church 52 weeks a year, taught in Relief Society and did her Visiting Teaching. She did not work outside the home so was therefore absolved of tithing responsibilities but would pay her ten percent faithfully when she was awarded a gift or other stipend. A truly model LDS woman.

She often bore her testimony about how lovely and comfortable the temple is. How it’s pure cleanliness gave her a sense of peace and she could shut out the needs of her own home and family and revel in the loveliness of the temple accoutrements. Sitting in the endowment session gave her a “much needed” chance to relax and shut out the worldly influences and darkness that came over the airwaves into her living room and she could close her mind off to the many evil intrusions of the world. She felt spiritually “Fed” by the temple ceremony and relished a chance to not have too many expectations of her for a few hours a day. She’d memorized the rituals and could recite her miniscule part in perfect syntax, rising at the correct time, anticipating the movements so that she could perform her part in perfect choreographed steps.

The leaders of the church are under constant pressure to provide a quota of temple attendance and so her commitment helped them to look good to their superiors and justified the expense of the buildings and sacrifice of the temple workers, who all give freely of their time as well. Most temple workers are full or part time missionaries called to serve in the temple specific days of the week and weekends, often committing to live in temple apartments nearby or in their own RVs, or if they live close enough to pay for their own transportation to attend. It is considered the height of service to be a temple worker and something many retirees look forward to.

No new technical skills are required, no physical exertion, no major intellectual thought is required, no special clothing other than the initial investment in a temple gown, no complex human relationships need to be monitored if you’re just doing endowments, and of course no difficult political or educational requirements need clutter up the experience. Any adult in almost any physical condition, in any financial or educational level can find an equal plane in Temple service. It’s the dream job of many who have little else to offer the world. The accolades and self congratulations are abundant so the payoff in this life and the alleged life beyond is enormous.

Pat would often go to the temple, especially when his work or our marital troubles were at their worst. He seemed to feel a sense of peace there that was not as accessible in the world outside the temple. Inside the playing field was equalized. His service was as good as the wealthy business owner sitting next to him. The conflicts and expectations from his boss, his wife, or his own messed up life could be shut out for two hours. The worse things became between us or in his job, the more frequently he found refuge inside the temple. He even began telling his employer he was making sales calls but attending the temple and then getting double points in his leadership meetings for having upped the temple attendance numbers single-handedly through the week. The dishonesty of cheating his employer was clearly offset by the service to the Lord. For him it was a win/win, at least until his employer found out.

Perhaps for some it’s an escape and a place to relax. The moment the lights go down for the movie the rhythmic snores of the patrons fills the air and some consider the deep REM time a time of spiritual contemplation, as if the sleep gives them special insight into the workings of the other world. Perhaps that’s true. Or it could be that it’s just boring as hell and a way to escape having to do something tangible with ones time.

It seems that for many, including my tender hearted mother, the dream of meeting others on the other side of the veil who were waiting so anxiously to become Mormons is the true carrot that drives their service. They invest thousands of their own dollars and time into the grand hope that everyone everywhere from all time past and all time forward wants nothing more than to join them in the celebration of the Mormon culture, doctrine and lifestyle.

The pressure to receive spiritual manifestation of the value of ones service increased with each invested hour and so like clockwork, many who put several hours each week or traveled long distances feel compelled to regale the rapt audience with sensational tales of meeting the grateful dead. Gerry Garcia may well have already been welcomed into Mormon heaven.

Claim Jumpers

2010-02-25T09:06:00.001-08:00

Claim Jumpers- By Insana-D

During one especially difficult time in our marriage our bishop had referred us to the Stake President. My ex was called to be the Elders Quorum President and we were on the short list for advancement, which meant we got roped into going to the temple a lot. I hated it. I hated it so much that I'd actually spend two or three hours in the bathroom before we'd leave, trying to psyche myself up for it. I'd sweat, vomit, cry, and peel my skin in anxiety but eventually the pressure to go was so great that I'd succumb.

We were all dressed in our nightgown thingy’s when the Stake Presidents wife, who'd taken me under her flabby wing handed me this floppy shield and with that sickening sweet "DRINK THE KOOLAID" smile, said, "We're going to do initiatories!". You don't just do one of those like an endowment. No, you stand there for hours while old ladies usher you into the little booth and touch your privates, over and over again, .....for and in behalf of XXX, who is dead.

I'd only ever done my own initiatory and was absolutely flabbergasted as this dry old lady touched my bosoms and belly under this sackcloth thingy (this was back when you got completely naked and put on a rough poncho thingy and they actually touched your bosom, loins, back and then gave you a rectal exam with a crusty fisted boxing glove) . I'm kidding , they didn't really touch your loins.

Anyway, I'd done my own and lived through it but swore to myself that I'd NEVER EVER let that happen again. It was the most uncomfortable, enraging thing I've ever been forced to do. I've never been raped, but in some ways it felt like I was being violated by old ladies and told to smile pretty the whole time. Then rather than have the right to decline, the old ladies surround you like a bunch of glaze eyed Moonie Zombies and smile you into doing it again and again. I swear I heard the Twilight Zone music and Deliverance playing in the background.

The Stake President and his wife took us to Claim Jumpers Steak House for dinner afterward. It reminded me of the old pedophile uncle giving the little girl a pretty dolly after he's fondled and penetrated her. I couldn't eat a thing and sat wanting to literally kill everyone at the table for going around and insisting how spiritual and amazing it was.

Its not the weird ritual I resent so much but the pressure to conform and go along and feign a full out Meg Ryan MORGASM at being subjected to this freaky thing. There were times when I actually wished for a major illness to take over so I wouldn't have to go. Something like a horrific case of hemorrhoids on my ample arse, , some kind of leprosy that affects the buttocks so I couldn't sit, some kind of allergy to Queen Anne style decor and fake silk flowers, maybe a horrible reaction to the smell of lilac toilet water that the temple workers wear, a nasty skin lesion on my wrists so they couldn't touch me, maybe some grotesque reaction to the bleach they use to keep the whites whiter. Anything, just so I wouldn't have to go to another session.

At least when you have a physical infirmity or some tangible reason for not going the local members are empathetic. To actually come out and say, "Please don't make me go to the temple. I really am uncomfortable there" is akin to suggesting that you like kiddy porn and like to have gerbil sex or something.

The worst thing was when my mom or the bishop or some other devotee would say, "Just keep going. You'll get used to it.". Would they be as enthusiastic if I were having a negative reaction to alcohol or smoking? "Just keep doing it, you'll get used to it.". Possibly I could have acclimated to the cognitive dissonance. I may have been able to stuff down the bile that would build in my throat at the thoughts of some stranger touching my whatzit and whoseyerdaddy parts. I might have been able to quell the rage when I heard the ol' "wives be submissive and obedient to your priesthood holder husband" parts. Maybe someday after enough indoctrination I could have even gotten the funky lines down and said, "Health in the marrow, something in the bones and sinus's, joy in my posterior, and peace upon the something something, bla bla bla". (I like to have joy in my posterior but I hate it when there's something in my sinews or sinus's or whatever).

I've read about how initiation rites bind fraternity boys and girls together because as they humiliate one another it brings their spirit down and then they have to rely on the group to give them back a self esteem. If they pass the gauntlet of humiliation it proves they're willing to suck it up for the group. If they don't they're expelled and never can measure up. The pressure to accept humiliation and then inflict it on others is intense in those circumstances.

I wonder if the Masons rituals were based in much less invasive or humiliating circumstances but created a secrecy and sense of superiority for having this shared ritual. I don't doubt the founders bastardized those rituals but for some LDS they genuinely love this stuff.

Sometimes when I'd be coerced into going I'd sit there looking around at the various men and women and wonder if they were as appalled and irritated as I was at this stuff being crammed down our throats. People I respected and loved would be sitting there with that placid smile and doing those freaky signs and tokens and it was like watching someone poop. I couldn't see them the same way after that. How do they do it with a straight face?

Quantifying Service - part I

2010-02-25T09:06:00.000-08:00

Quantifying Service –By Insana-D

I think many LDS that are in and out of the church had a sort of shell-shocked feeling of having been mind raped through their eye sockets. I know it blew me away and was nothing like I'd imagined nor been prepared for in the so called “Temple Prep" classes.

I heard of a woman that tried to sue the church for the wrongful trauma or something she felt after going through the classes and then the temple and being so appalled at the rituals, especially the washing and anointing that she sought therapy afterward. I don't know the outcome but that would be a landmark case if she were to receive reparations for the trauma she felt at that weird ceremony.

Most LDS are strictly don't ask, don't tell, never discuss anything that might ruffle the murky waters of Mormonism so after I went I just sat in the car seething and stewing and feeling really tricked. Pat and I were having a family party afterward to celebrate our sealing ceremony but my anger was pretty obvious and my mother inferred that I took the "Spiritual tone" down with my attitude. Sort of like those folks that tell a girl after she's been raped that she is embarrassing the family by not just smiling pretty and moving on with her life.

Recently I discovered a document that suggested that the Temple Officials often run out of names that have been verified through genealogical records so they just run the old ones through a second time so that the patrons think they're doing something important. I wonder if this is just a rumor? I wonder what the church does when they don’t have legitimate information for baptizing the dead into their rituals and run out of new information. I swear, I baptized so many Maria Sanchez, who is dead that I thought maybe all Latino women prior to 1950 were just named en masse'.

Won't that be a real zinger when they get up to the CK and the one they baptized and did the necro- endowments/sealings for are up there to greet them and then there's a cat fight over which person gets to claim credit for bringing them the gospel? It'll be like those beauty queen contests where last years queen doesn't want to give up the crown and so a cat fight ensues. Boy howdy, I'd love to see that. I'd join the church for a minute just to see that.

As much as I adore my own mother I cannot celebrate with her in her devotion to the Temple. She serves there a couple of times a week, doing all those things I have come to loathe. Hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars of her own hard earned money has been given for that questionable practice and it just grates on me.

There's something very bizarre about taking the time to go to the temple to perform a ritual that commits the name of a dead person or couple into the Mormon realm. It involves the time to drive there, do the two/three hr ceremony, get dressed again, and then depending on the distance, go for dinner and then drive home. A minimum of five hrs. is typical for those living near a temple and much more for those living a days drive away.

I don’t know where to access the statistics since the church does not publish it’s records but if one were to take the number of endowments or sealing done in a day in any given temple (I'm guessing here) but that is probably on the average of 500 people getting their endowments out in any temple on an average Saturday. They can run them through faster when they do the rote sealing or baptisms and other rituals.

Then if I calculated the number of people actually working in the temple or in endeavors to support that building and it's goals, that could be about 100 people who work on average 8 hrs. a day. My own sweet mother commits two to three full days a week, plus her gas and driving time to these rituals.

That's approximately 3,300 man/woman hrs per day per temple that's given on behalf of the Mormon church for their version of "God's work" and “Community Service”.

Then there’s the actual maintenance and building costs of these temples. One temple in Philadelphia was recently bid at close to 75 million to build. They’re tax exempt but there’s still millions of dollars that go into these buildings that serve only one purpose, to induct the living and dead into the Mormon archives. It hardly seems “Community Service” to me.

Even if you actually believe this kind of work is charitable and kind and helps the LDS connect to the dead souls they have "Served" it still seems absolutely appalling that they believe this is more important than helping real live human beings here on earth.

Think what 3,300 man hrs. would do for a school district if those same folks volunteered to help the teachers and staff. Think what 3,300 man hrs. would do for single mothers struggling to make ends meet or to teach others to read or to help in underprivileged cultures. Think how many wells could be dug or homes built or hungry mouths fed with that many man/woman hours. The real live breathing human beings crying out for help and service across the world could be lovingly cured of so many ills if this time was given so abundantly to the living.

For years after I left the church I tried to wrap my mind around why people would willingly give up their time for these bizarre rituals. Why did they feel comforted and at peace inside the temple and I felt nothing but anxiety and freakish disgust at the cult like rituals and creepy touching involved by complete strangers?