Posted by:
Lost Mystic
(
)
Date: March 22, 2012 10:59PM
In order to tell my story, I need to start at the beginning. I was the fifth child born to my birth parents, but the first one given up for adoption. I was given away at 3 days old to a family who had one natural born son. I was told of my adoption at such a young age, that I don’t remember a time when I didn’t know. This knowledge has been a source for many issues for me psychologically, and has played a role in my spirituality as well.
My adoptive family was not really religious, but they always had an interest in spiritual things. My mother is a Presbyterian who attends church once a month or so, and my father considers himself a Christian who doesn’t subscribe to any organization. He attends church once or twice a year. Very early on, I began to show a strong interest in things of a spiritual nature. My parents, for reasons unknown to me, nurtured this drive but in a very strange way. They would tell their friends and relatives cute things I said about God, but they never really talked about God themselves unless I asked. Even then, their answers were usually very short and included “I don’t know”. I really admire their willingness to admit things they weren’t sure about. They wrote down all kinds of things I said about God when I was a little kid, and praised me in my spiritual quest for knowledge. I was an odd little fellow who spent a lot of time wandering around outside pondering life and the mysterious world around me. At the same time, I developed strong social skills and was always starving for attention. I learned early on how to make people laugh and tell me how cute I was.
I became the spiritual representative of our family as I grew older. Starting in about second grade, my parents pressured me to say grace before meals. Yet if I didn’t say grace, it wasn’t said at all. My parents and my brother wouldn’t say it. They would say “You are the spiritual one”. I never understood why they placed me in that type of position. I was the family’s medicine man.
As I grew older, my love for God deepened. I was Christian, but personally believed that God expressed “himself” in different ways to different people. I felt that God spoke to me in a way that only I could understand. And I believed he spoke to all people in a way only they could understand. I believed that God loved all people, and that all people would eventually be “one” with God. I didn’t believe in hell.
In junior high, I began attending my mom’s Presbyterian church fairly often and became involved in the youth group. During services, I would look around the chapel, seeing light pour through the stained glass window, and feel what I believed to be God’s presence. Yet it felt like a partial presence, like something was being withheld a tad to keep me searching. It was comforting and mysterious at the same time. When I attended youth group, I asked questions that stumped the youth group leader. He eventually developed a distain for my curiosity.
I felt like an alien in my family, and at one point, my mother even told me she loved my brother more than me because he was theirs naturally. She said that she couldn’t help it, because she carried him inside her and developed a bond with him. I had always sensed this, even prior to Kindergarten, but to hear it was heart-wrenching. I never felt like I was accepted fully by anyone. I longed for female attention, and was kissing girls in 2nd grade. In 5th grade I French-kissed most of the girls in my class. In junior high, I lost my cuteness and moved cities. I went through the awkward stage, but emerged a very attractive young man when I started high school. That is when most of my serious trouble began.
I was addicted to female attention, and I had learned how to get it. I became highly sexually active, and measured my self-worth by the attention girls would give me. I became a master at flirtation. Yet nothing prepared me for when I first fell in love. After dating for a year, she left me for a friend of mine. I attempted suicide and almost succeeded. The rift between my parents and I grew.
Things got so bad at home that for most of my junior and senior year, my parents stopped taking family photos. They wanted to forget that time period, and any memory of me during that time. I still felt love for God, but didn’t really want to talk to him. I felt abandoned by everyone.
I moved states when I turned 18 and I see my parents once every 2 years or so. I made a lot of very close friends, and my spirituality picked up again. We would talk until the early hours of the morning about God and other things. Many times, people would tell me that they felt that God was speaking through me to them, and they would get goose bumps and the warm fuzzies talking to me. A few of these friends became addicted to these experiences, and I felt uncomfortable that they were putting too much importance in my words and perceptions. I didn’t feel like a mouthpiece for God. I just enjoyed my personal relationship. My mother, despite our rocky relationship, would ask me spiritual advice and tell me she thought God spoke through me at times. My father said similar things, but less often. They told me that I should start my own church. I laughed at the idea. I knew I had charisma, but I didn’t want to manipulate people spiritually.
While I was going to LSU, I partied as hard as I studied. My roommate and I threw enormous keg parties on Fridays and Saturdays, and we had a few friends over on Sundays to finish off whatever was left in the kegs. I met my future ex-wife at one of my keg parties. We had an instant attraction to each other, and after a very complicated and short period of time, we started dating. She told me she was Mormon, but I really didn’t know what that meant, nor did I care. After a while, she began to cry during sex and told me she was feeling guilty for “breaking the law of chastity.” I remember thinking WTF? What law is that? We hadn’t broken any laws yet as far as I knew! She told me that God was angry with her for having sex with me. This was a completely foreign idea to me. I had a fairly good concept of what was right and wrong, and I didn’t feel that we were doing anything evil. But now that she was crying, something was obviously not right. I didn’t understand, but I wanted her to feel better. She said that she would feel better if she started going to church again, and that I should go with her.
I thought “why not?” I still had a deep love for God, and loved going to different churches. I wanted to continue the relationship, so I went. We also began going to the institute classes on campus. The institute teacher was the most Christ-like man I have ever met, and had a deep love for mysticism. As I would find out later, the things he taught would get him in trouble with the church fairly often. Therefore, the open-minded and deep teachings were not mainstream to Mormonism. If I had known this right off, there is a chance I might not have converted.
One day I was at institute, and saw some movie that showed Jesus going to the Americas. I loved the idea, because one of my questions had always been “why didn’t God expose more people to Christianity?” It just felt to me that this made more sense from a loving God. I was intrigued at some of the other things I heard, so I signed up to have some missionaries come by. Now, I had been exposed to Mormons when I was growing up, but I didn’t really know much about what they believed. I just knew that I had to work extra hard with my charm to get Mormon girl’s clothes to come off.
When the missionaries came to my apartment, my roommate wouldn’t let them in. Granted, they probably wouldn’t want in. Our apartment was known as “The House of Sin” due to extreme partying including drugs and alcohol, gratuitous sex, and of course my roommate’s pornographic magazines that could be found in various rooms. The missionaries were very polite and down to earth. Again, it wouldn’t be until later that I would discover that their personalities and approach was quite different from “the norm” of LDS missionaries. (I am still very close to one of them, and he is happy for me that I’m exmo. He was supportive and excited for me as I journeyed out of the church. I love him deeply.) Since we couldn’t go inside, we sat on the deck and had a fantastic discussion.
One Elder had just started his mission, and I was his first contact. He was nervous and said “bear with me. I haven’t done this before.” I replied “it’s my first time too, so let’s just relax and have a good time.” And that we did. I learned that the Mormons had answers to many of the questions I had come up with that other Christian churches couldn’t answer. Also, they taught that everyone goes to heaven. Baptisms for the dead also made sense to me in order to include all of the people who never heard “the gospel”. I always believed in an all loving, all inclusive God, but thought that everything would just work itself out after death. The apostasy idea made sense to me, because I too wondered how there could be so much contention over which church was the best to join. I also liked the idea of eternal marriage. Eternal families didn’t make sense to me, but eternal marriage did. I also loved the idea of an eternal mother. Everything just felt so damn good.
I took all 6 discussions in one sitting, and committed to be baptized. Their teachings had hit all of my right buttons. The biggest buttons being that I could eventually marry a girl who would never leave me, and I had a mother in heaven who loved my unconditionally. I was given the promise to have eternal female attention! All of my fears and insecurities would be dissolved! At least that’s what I thought at first. Little did I know that I had just committed to join something that would begin to destroy everything pure and sacred within me. My insecurities would eventually become exploited and intensified. I would join an organization that is the spiritual equivalent of the Hanoi Hilton, where spiritual torture was a specialty.
Prior to getting baptized, I had a lot of work to do. I had to stop using drugs (they were used occasionally for recreation), stop drinking alcohol, coffee, tea, stop smoking cigarettes and stop having sex. I didn’t know how I was going to do it. I felt “the spirit” about most of the teachings that were presented to me, but giving up all of those things seemed silly to me. I could see how certain drugs and cigarettes were harmful, but the rest seemed strange to have rules about. Jesus supposedly made wine for a wedding party right? Oh well! No big deal! If I had to stop doing these things to get that eternal female attention then I’ll do it. Deep inside, I felt that I could still receive unconditional love from God despite the word or wisdom and sex, but perhaps there was a reason to stop anyhow for my own benefit. It was time for me to grow up a little anyhow.
So I meet with the singles ward Bishop for a pre-baptism interview so he can make sure I know what I’m getting into. I took the discussions all in one day and committed to baptism…of course I didn’t know what I was really getting into! But something about it felt right, so I was encouraged to run with the feeling. It felt good to run with the feeling! Anyone who knows me will tell you that I am severely impulsive and spontaneous. Once my brain gets stuck on something, I run with it. It’s something that I continue to struggle with.
Anyway, I meet with the Bishop. He is a really good hearted man, and in his dealings with me, he always believed he was giving counsel on what was best for me. In our initial meeting, he told me that I had to completely give up all of my vices, and we recognized my hypersexual tendencies as the biggest hurdle. I told him “Well, I guess I will just have to resort to masturbation for a while.” Oops! Here is a subject that the missionaries failed to let me in on! The Bishop responded “Well, you will need to obey the law of chastity completely, which includes not pleasuring yourself.”
I was floored. How on earth could God not want me to masturbate? That is something that is a normal and healthy part of a person’s sexuality. I was in for a serious struggle. I was never blessed with nocturnal emission, for every time I started to have sex with a girl in my dreams, I would wake up or my dream would shift. However, I was able to stop long enough to be baptized, and truly believed that God would help me overcome my desire for earthly pleasures. The Bishop, missionaries and everyone else was telling me so…
At the time, I was now living together with my TBM girlfriend, and we were winning our struggle in obeying the law of chastity despite living together. I was on fire! After receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, I almost constantly having goose bumps and feeling more than just warm fuzzies. I was being love bombed by all of the members of the singles ward, and they kept telling me what a spiritual giant I was going to be in the church.
Meanwhile, my girlfriend’s parents and family hated me. I was covered in tattoos and piercings, and living with their daughter out of wedlock. They referred to me as “PT_” (pierced, tattooed ‘name’). They screamed at her that she was dating trash and that it didn’t matter I was now a Mormon. They told her I was trash because I didn’t go on a mission, and that God knew I was trash otherwise he would have had me to be born in the church to serve a mission. Instead, God waited to have me converted later on because I wasn’t missionary material.
Not long after I was baptized, I was asked to give the opening prayer in sacrament meeting. I hadn’t been trained in the Mormon way of praying, so I just prayed from my heart. It went something like this : “God, you are the best! I love you so much. Sometimes I feel like I might burst because you fill me so full of love. Help all of us to be guided by you, and to put other people first. I love you, Amen.”
The reaction of the ward was immediate. By the time I returned to my seat, I received about 4 comments and 9 dirty glares. Some people whispered something to the effect of “Wow! I’ve never heard a prayer like that. Thanks so much.” Others said something similar to “that’s not how you are supposed to pray. Have someone teach you.” I was so confused. Why was my prayer so surprising on two ends of a spectrum? What was so great about it? I had only prayed out loud because I was asked to. WTF? Why were so many people visibly upset? Why did a couple of people chastise me? I didn’t do anything wrong. I sat down embarrassed and confused. I wanted to go home.
A few weeks later, I was asked to give a talk in sacrament meeting on temptation. To my horror, there were over 200 people in the chapel the day I was to give my talk. There were so many people that many had nowhere to sit. I forget why there were so many people, but I was also told before sacrament meeting started that the stake president and some high councilmen were there as well. Now I was petrified. I remembered how my prayer didn’t go over very well, but I was feeling “the spirit” so I just put my trust in God. During my talk, a few people began crying. The crowded chapel was totally quiet, and nobody was moving around. After my talk, the stake president walked to the podium to be the concluding speaker. He teared up and started praising me for my talk. I felt embarrassed again and didn’t want the attention. There were no glares this time. People looked like deer in headlights, and I was confused. After the meeting, the Bishop pulled me into his office. He asked me to go home and write down the talk I had just given. He said that he had never felt the spirit so strong, or a talk so powerful before. He rambled on about how he wouldn’t be surprised if one day I was to become a patriarch, apostle or even the prophet. Hearing this did 2 things to me. First, I became very uncomfortable, similar to how I felt when my friends wanted to repeatedly talk late into the night to get goose bumps and the warm fuzzies. They were putting too much faith into my words. Now the Bishop was doing the same thing. Yet he was a leader that I had put my trust in because I was new in the church, so I began to think that maybe God did have some type of special plan for me. Maybe that’s why he led me into the Mormon church? So as the Bishop was stroking my ego, in addition to saying it was God working through me, I began to believe him.
After leaving his office, dozens of members approached me and asked me how I gave a talk like that. “How did you do that? I felt God speaking directly to me! How did you prepare for that talk? Could you feel how strong the spirit was when you were talking?” The comments went on and on. I felt uncomfortable but accepted at the same time. Maybe the Bishop was right…Maybe God had a special use for me in the church.
I went home after church and typed up the talk I gave to the best of my ability. The next week, I gave it to the Bishop. After reading it, he grew disappointed and frustrated. “This isn’t the exact talk you gave. You have most of the same points, but it just isn’t the same. Try again.” This went on for 3 more weeks and then the issue was dropped. He was so disappointed in me. My charismatic traits have always been shown when speaking from my heart, but not in my writing. I think that those who were moved by my talk were feeling my passion and love for God, and when I tried to write it down, the experience wasn’t the same. Anyway, I felt that I let God down somehow. I was getting such mixed messages from the leadership. The Bishop and Stake President had spoken to other leaders about me, but now they had nothing to show for it. “Are you praying about it when you write it? You must be doing something wrong because the spirit isn’t the same in the written talk.” I was confused and started doubting my connection with God.
I kept attending institute classes, and kept asking all sorts of questions. People began to view me as a deeply spiritual guy, and often kept me after class to get my thoughts on things. My institute teacher and I developed a very close relationship, and discussed mysticism. He told me that there are very few mystics in the church, but that our job is to teach Christ’s true teachings for our compass will always point true north. He saw the leaders as good people, who run a good business, but they often got caught up in the letter of the law.
During this time, almost all of my friends converted to the LDS church, with the help of my passion and charisma. Over the years, each of them left the church for their own reasons. I later vowed, even while still a member, to never persuade anyone to join the church.
It wasn’t too long after my baptism that I gave in to my earthly desires. My girlfriend and I began to be sexually active again. I had masturbated. I looked at pornography. I had smoked and drank. I still felt “the spirit” during this time period, and even when I was doing these “evil” things. Members and leaders told me this was impossible. How is it impossible? I know for a fact it’s happening to me! They told me that perhaps I was feeling an evil spirit. But I discounted that theory, because it was the very same feeling that led me into the church, and the same feeling that was with me when I felt close to God.
My girlfriend and I were summoned to see the Bishop related to our sexual activity. He heard our confessions individually, and as a couple. He asked so many details that we basically gave him audio porn. After this embarrassing confessional, he met with his counselors. A few days later, my girlfriend and I were informed that we would need to attend a “court of love”, where a bunch of men and the stake president would need to hear all of the details of our sex lives. The process was the most humiliating experience I have ever endured. Again, my girlfriend and I were interviewed individually and as a couple. I think there were about 10 to 12 men there, asking the most personal questions about our sexual activity. For example, someone asked “So when you would lie down together and snuggle, what did you do in order to turn the situation sexual? Where did you touch her? Where did you put her hand? Did you get an erection once you started kissing? Once you were heavy petting each other, did you think to stop? How did y’all decide to start performing oral sex? Did you talk about it first or did you just decide to orally pleasure her? Did she have an orgasm? Tell me about the next time…” The questions were endless. I was sitting with my back to the wall on the far end of a room. All of the men were on one side of a table at the other end, and a few of the men were sitting in chairs against the far wall, because there wasn’t enough room at the table. She was interviewed first for about 90 minutes, then came out crying. Then it was my turn for about 90 minutes. Then we were interviewed together for about 45 minutes. The process was beyond humiliating. Afterwards, we waited to hear the verdict. We were both disfellowshipped, and reprimanded out of love. They required that we each read “the miracle of forgiveness”, and that we move into separate apartments. They also told us that we either had to break up or get married. They went on and on and on. We each totally put our trust in them, after all, we were so humiliated and beaten down at that point that we would agree to do whatever they told us to do.
“So are you going to end your relationship or work towards getting married in the temple? You have no other options in your repentance process. This is what the Lord requires. We have prayed about it.” Well, seeing as we didn’t want to break up at that point, and that we had been through all of this together, we agreed that we would work towards getting married in the temple. I proposed to her officially not long after. I didn’t really want to get married, but I felt that God was telling me I had to. I began to doubt my own reasoning, my own relationship with God, and I felt like a lowly, evil, unworthy piece of shit. I mean, what kind of piece of shit is told by leaders that he is potentially going to be a future prophet of the church then ends up being blasted by those same people for having sex? I was lucky that the leaders and the other high councilmen loved me so much to forgive me and show me how hopeless I had become. Where would I be without them telling me the exact things I need to do with my life in order for God to forgive me? I felt I could no longer trust my own judgment. I wanted to get to heaven, and I was scared. I was scared that I was wrong about how I used to feel regarding God’s love. I was scared that I would never have that feeling again. I was scared that I might not get that eternal female affection. I was scared that I would ALONE FOREVER. I obviously couldn’t trust my decisions and feelings, because they led me to this point. Somewhere along the way, I went from feeling so damn good, to just feeling damned.
So now, for the first time in my life, fear was injected into my relationship with God. This virus replicated rapidly, catalyzed with shame, guilt and doubt. Ever cell of my spiritual being was infected. Anytime my soul attempted to question the change, fear itself would knock me back in my place. When my heart protested, I had thoughts like “This doesn’t feel right! I used to have such a pure relationship with God!” Yet I couldn’t risk feeling that way anymore. I worried “What if I had been wrong all along? The feelings of the spirit led me into the church, and had led me to this point. It couldn’t be wrong could it? I can’t take the risk! I have to trust the leaders and their counsel! I can’t trust myself anymore.” The virus sickened my entire being and all aspects of my life. And the sickness itself was telling me that I was the illness. I was unworthy, evil and needing to depend on the church leaders to save me. The church had effectively taken my pure love for God and turned it against me. It corrupted the very thing that was most sacred and valuable to me. It took my love for God and used it to manipulate me for its own gains. I had finally lost my innocence.
Looking back, a scene from “Green Mile” best represents what happened to me. In the movie, a rapist abducts two sisters. He tells each of them “If you make any noise or resist me, I will kill your sister.” He used their love for each other to destroy them.
I launched myself in the most desperate race for salvation. I started living church law, and did everything I was instructed to do. I read my scriptures every day, I started praying the Mormon way, I obeyed the word of wisdom and the law of chastity. I attended all 3 hours of church every week, and met with the Bishop very frequently. I stopped watching rated R movies, started paying a full tithing, “magnified” my church callings (when I finally got some once I was re-fellowshipped) and did all of my home teaching. I became obsessed with trying to do everything required of me. I did everything to the best of my ability, but it was so damn hard. It was never quite enough.
I built up so much stress during this time that I needed a new outlet. I was still attending LSU at the time as well. So to relieve stress, I started exercising. I ran at least 4 miles a day, and lifted weights for a few hours every other day. I became ripped as all hell. All of my frustration was poured into exercise.
Yet I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t even feeling the spirit as much. I was becoming some kind of Mormon robot. I began to judge people, and looked down on anyone who wasn’t doing everything the church demanded of them. I judged my friends who weren’t Mormon, and I offended some of them so bad that our friendship broke beyond repair. If I was at one of their apartments, I would sit with my back to the TV if they were watching a rated R movie, and complain that they weren’t being respectful of my beliefs. “Why did y’all rent this when you know I can’t watch it!” It’s embarrassing to even think back to that time period.
The law of chastity was killing me, yet I obeyed the law. There were many times where I cried out to God to give me physical release. I would be sobbing, tears streaming down my face, doing everything in my power not to touch myself in a sexual way. I was determined to stay worthy. A few times, I found a way to compromise…a slight loophole. This loophole only worked if I was to the point where so much sexual energy and frustration had built up that a release was necessary. I would lie face down on my bed, and pray to God in a mantra. Something to the effect of “Just give me release God….Just give me release God”…over and over. I would just move my hips ever so slightly and after a few minutes my release would happen. I didn’t feel guilty because I was praying to God the whole time, and it really didn’t even feel sexual anymore. I just needed something to give me relief so I wouldn’t be stuck, lusting after anything that moved.
The harder I tried, the worse things got. The church’s laws CREATED a problem. It made issues where there didn’t used to be any. It’s similar to the “don’t think of pink elephants” effect. It creates all of this “forbidden fruit”. The harder I tried to avoid behaviors, the more intense my thoughts became about them. I spent most of my time fighting off cravings for one thing or another. My brain was a damn greyhound station. I developed sleep disturbances.
Meanwhile, my fiancé and I fought like crazy. I had my own apartment now, and the stress from our repentance process along with the changes forced upon our relationship almost ended it. We really weren’t very compatible, but we saw our relationship as something that we were supposed to see through. It was our relationship that led me to the church in addition to reactivating her. So it had to be heaven sanctioned right? I realize now that I was just afraid of being alone, and felt tremendous religious pressure to marry her. She too was terrified of being alone. We were in this scary process together, and we were familiar with each other. Why stop now?
There was strong pressure for many couples in our singles ward to marry. Aside from my relationship, because I was a convert, the other couples had a dynamic that always confused me. They had all dated each other like musical chairs. It seemed that with most of the pairs, they just ended up getting engaged because pressure came down from the church leadership to stop messing around and get married. So when the proverbial music stopped, whoever was holding hands at that point became destined to be married. And the concept had been indoctrinated into all of us that it doesn’t matter who you marry, as long as they are upstanding worthy members of the church. “Any two people can have a successful marriage as long as you put the church first!” The singles ward was the most internally incestuous community I have ever come in contact with.
Many of us couples began to get prepared to marry in the temple. We started taking temple preparation classes. The temple was taught to be the epitome of spiritual growth and experience. I had only been once by this time. So at this point, we are going to need a flashback.
I went to the Dallas temple on a singles ward temple trip, because Dallas was the closest. Baton Rouge didn’t get a temple until later on. Even though I was deemed worthy to attend at the time, I was extremely nervous. There was so much secrecy related to the temple, and most of my questions were dodged because it was “too sacred” to discuss. So we all loaded up and headed to the temple to do baptisms for the dead. Right when I walked in, my mind turned into George Carlin. It spewed out every curse word known to mankind. Luckily I didn’t blurt any of the words out vocally. The reason this happened was because I was so paranoid of having any evil thoughts. If I say “Don’t think of pink elephants”, the first thing that pops into your head is a pink elephant. So that’s why I was cursing in my mind. It stopped soon after we got inside once I started to just relax.
What happened next was to be my one and only good experience in a Mormon temple. I was watching some single women being baptized proxy-like, and the way they looked when they came out of the water was so beautiful that I even have a hard time putting it into words today. The way their hair fell, being dressed in white, I don't know what it was. I saw something about them that gave me an overwhelming love for humanity and god. I tried to describe it to my Bishop on the drive home, and he shut me down. Made me question my love at first, but I decided that I must not have explained it right, because there was nothing but purity in what I felt. Every temple experience after that was a horrible experience.
While my fiancé and I were preparing for getting our temple endowments, we decided to go get our patriarchal blessings. I completely expected God to speak to me personally through my blessing. It was one of the biggest disappointments of my life. The blessing was so generic. It could have been put in the daily paper and applied to anyone. Worst of all, my fiancé’s blessing used word like “special spirit” and “virtuous choice daughter of God.” Hers also said things like “you will be sealed to the man you choose.” Yet my blessing did not have any pet names for me. It DID however, refer to my fiancé as some type of preferred spirit. So we walked away from the patriarch’s house with the feeling that God was so proud of her, and that I was a Joe Schmoe. It may not seem like a big deal, but it really hurt at the time.
So my fiancé and I were attending the temple preparation class to get ready for our endowments. It didn’t tell us much other than we would make covenants and not to get freaked out. Everything was too sacred to talk about, so it wasn’t much of a preparation class. Not that it mattered, because there is absolutely nothing that would prepare us for the bizarre horror that waited.
As I mentioned before, her family hated me. She was one of ten children, and out of the ten, only one other was living by church standards. The fact that I was worthy in the church’s eyes didn’t matter one bit. Her parents had even walked out of the room without a word when we announced we were engaged. They boycotted our wedding as well. My parents lived in my home state, and they were supportive of us. So we flew to that state to get married.
We were excited and nervous to take part in the most spiritual experience on earth according to the church. After arriving at the temple, we were separated to get our washing and anointing. Basically, I was stripped naked and had a sheet draped over me with the sides left open. Some old dude chanted while he touched me all over my body, one with water, once with oil. I was totally creeped out. I could imagine my fiancé freaking the hell out silently. Once that was over, but before the endowment, the temple workers led me to some type of waiting room and left me there for over an hour by myself. I was scared that they forgot about me. Then the temple president came in and gave me a threatening lecture about marrying a daughter of god. He made no mention of me being a son of god or anything of the like. It was very unpleasant. It reinforced my insecurities created by my patriarchal blessing.
Then I was taken to the endowment movie theater...and saw my wife be led in by a nice old lady that the temple assigned to her as an escort. Must have been nice! After 2 hours of thinking "WTF?" and playing dress-up, with occasional Macarena type dance moves, I was utterly horrified. I think I felt something similar to "opposite" of what I recognized as the spirit. The celestial room felt peaceful because the active part of the nightmare was over.
The next day we were led into the sealing room for the epitome of an anti-climax. The sealing was a major let-down for my expectations of my wedding day. Afterwards, we met my parents outside, and they could tell that my (ex) wife and I weren't happy about something. I just told them it was too sacred to talk about.
My parents threw an awesome reception. I love them so much and really appreciate their support. After our honeymoon, my (ex) wife and I flew home. By now, her parents realized that it was too late to stop the wedding, so they threw us the most pathetic make-shift reception in their ward’s basketball court. I knew about 5 people, and her mom put us up in chairs in front of the reception, that now became an audience panel. Everyone took turns telling stories about us. Here is how each one went. “I don’t know Mr. Mystic because we never met, but Ms. Mystic is so incredible! I remember one time when yada yada yada…” The reason I never met anyone is because her family hated me! Anyway, it gets worse. After some missionaries sang some weird ass songs, my MIL decided to have us open presents. She refused to take “no” for an answer and caused a scene. The entire thing was humiliating. Years later, I heard the thoughts of some who attended. If you don’t mind, I’ll repress that memory and continue on…
Mrs. Mystic and I began attending our new ward, and I received different callings. Our Bishop was arrogant prick. I have a few fond memories of him. One was where he asked me to help pass the sacrament right before sacrament meeting. I dressed in slacks and a dress shirt, but NEVER wore a white shirt or tie. It was a small act of rebellion for the sake of my Savior. Jesus didn’t wear that shit. I don’t need a church uniform. Anyway, he asked me before the meeting and I gladly accepted. Once the sacrament prayer was said, he stopped the service to announce that I wasn’t wearing a tie, and that I needed to put one on before the meeting continued. I felt like punching him in the face. I can tie a tie, but it takes me a couple go-rounds at it. He asked for a volunteer to take off their tie. A humble gentleman did and whispered “nobody cares about the tie but him” or something like that. It took me about 2 minutes to get the tie on, and then the Bishop said “ok…we can continue. Just make sure that all of you priesthood holders are prepared to pass the sacrament from now on.” I felt like hitting him in the face with the sacrament tray.
Another time, I was the Sunday school teacher for the high school aged kids. We had powerful discussions, and many of them have since told me that our class was a pivotal moment in their lives, and that it helped them develop a love for God. The Bishop’s son was in that class, and the student who asked the most questions. He was starving for something different. Awesome kid. Anyway, I had a shaved head and long goatee at the time. I was called into the Bishop’s office, and told that I had to change my appearance or my calling would be revoked. I asked “why? I teach with the spirit. I have committed no major sin.” He just told me I had to be a good example and that was that. I was released from my calling not long after, because I refused to change my looks.
I had the final laugh a couple of years later. Please don’t judge me, and I’ll explain in more detail later. Long story short, later on I was struggling with word of wisdom issues among other things. I was still high on the drug ecstasy when I realized that I forgot I was supposed to be a chaperone for the primary kid’s church trip to the zoo. Ecstasy makes you feel “loved up” by giving you a severe increase in empathy due to a total serotonin dump in the brain. Needless to say, I had the time of my life bonding with the primary kids at the zoo. The Bishop had just been released, and was one of about 7 other chaperones. He, and the other chaperones made it a point to tell me that I had a gift in interacting with the children. He told me that he saw me in a new light, and felt the spirit watching me interact with the children. Side note: the children were never in danger at any point, should you be wondering. I pulled them around the zoo in a wagon. Let’s get back to my story.
Church began pissing me off to no end. At one point, I was the secretary in the elder’s quorum. The first counselor was also my boss at work. He chastised me at church about work things, and chastised me at work about church things. One day at work, he pulled me into his office and handed me a huge stack of papers. They were printed talks from Gas about the evils of tattoos. I was reaching my breaking point regarding the invasiveness of the church and its representatives.
I had many fantastic experiences as well. One time, a stake president was supposed to give a talk at a youth fireside on temples. He had to cancel at the last minute, and asked me to fill in. The fireside was at a high priest’s house. I didn’t have time to prepare, so I just went with what felt right. My talk included things like “You are the temple. Forget that building we hear about and prepare for. Your heart is the temple. Don’t stress about what goes in your body or what goes on your body. That type of thinking only distracts you from your true beauty. Just BE. Be holy in your heart. Love your God and love people. God is all present, so he is just as present in a dirty restroom as he is in the celestial room. The only reason the temple feels sacred is because we expect it to feel that way. Believe in you. You are sacred. You are God’s true light. Forget the commandments. Just BE. Empower everyone around you.”
Anyway, it included those ideas, but in the moment it just felt right. Everyone started crying. The high priest’s wife couldn’t even talk to me despite about 5 minutes of trying. She just kept sobbing. She thanked me the next week for “bringing the spirit into her house.” I just told her that I didn’t do anything that she couldn’t do just by being. It was an awesome cleansing experience. I don’t know why I reverted back to fear again after that. I always second guessed myself once fear had been introduced right after my baptism, but I experienced moments of clarity.
The fear became too much. My striving to “not” do things, like not drinking such, gave those things too much power in my mind. I was living up to all the church’s standards, but I was more miserable than I had ever been in my life. I was dependent upon my church leaders for my spiritual self-esteem. I was overwhelmed. I was doing everything I was supposed to, to the best of my ability! Why the hell was I so miserable? I felt so far from God. A feeling began growing inside of me, and one day it exploded. My wife came home to me sobbing, screaming and clawing at myself. I kept repeating that I felt like a caged animal. Over and Over. She was so worried and asked what she could do. I replied “let me be free from this pressure. Let me drink. I just need the choice. I need to know I can do it.” She said that was fine. I bought a six-pack of purple haze beer and stated drinking. The relief was instant. I didn’t know what I needed to do in order to be happy, but one thing was clear. Living to the letter of Mormon law wasn’t it. There were no “blessings” that rained down on me for my obedience. My world was about to change forever.
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 03/22/2012 11:08PM by Lost Mystic.