Peterson Toscano's A Musing

Ghost Ranch Originally uploaded by p2son . I communed with spirits today-- some may say with ghosts. I saw echoes of O'Keefe in the New Mexican red, purple hills. I climbed Chimney Rock with Russell, a lost artist I hope to find in me who will perhaps speak through me one day. Another ghost strode ahead of us, Resolute, Resplendent in intellect and art. I rushed forward to reach him as he spread himself thin among the snowy clouds. Georgia offered a rare smile, one so often trapped in her wealth of wrinkles, and took my hand.

Ancient God of War Originally uploaded by p2son . Bloodthirsty ancient God Is your lust for death yet appeased? The dispensation of animal sacrifices passed, under this new epoch of grace, why do you hunger still? Living and dying by the sword we embrace the vengeful God of antiquity-- that wrath filled relic-- And we tread under foot the blood of Jesus, the Feminine Christ who labors to birth a revolution of Relationship.

Georgia O'Keefe in New Mexico Originally uploaded by p2son . He called you a bitch, like he knew you-- like he knew what motivated your artist heart. If you were a man, they would call you eccentric, particular, genius. You wanted space, a room of your own, Solitude, and he calls you a bitch-- Diva maybe, but not bitch. You wanted privacy to keep prying eyes from your infant works. Isn't every mother protective of her young?

Moonlight, stillness, Forgotten Whisper by Eva Lapka Originally uploaded by p2son . In the Quaker meeting for worship we gather in silence. We must labor to enter into stillness though. Put aside burdens and concerns, the "could have said" and "should have saids" Unlike most who worship in churches mosques synagogues Quakers do not have leaders to instruct us. We look to the Light within, the Teacher within. We must bring our minds back from wandering. Be like John the Baptist and go to the wilderness. We then give each other and ourselves the GIFT of stillness within. Then we wait, listen and speak out of that stillness

The Lavender Language Conference American University, Washington, DC Queer socio-linguists and anthropologists swap theories on how language oppresses and liberates (sometimes at the same time). They dig and dip and dive into the fray of Egyptian gay men's pronunciation and the use of female pronouns when addressing each other. They explore homophobic speech among Chilean men and the use of speech acts by poor, lesbian African-Americans (in order to stave off welfare cuts so a daughter can go to school instead of work) Scholar-as-activist. Each wears the role differently, unsure of how to disseminate the work (like delicate dandelion floaters or molotovs thrown into the classroom, through the TV screen, into the heart of America?) Their theories, their ideas, their passion, stir my artist heart to save our country from the madness that grips common sense and mutates Southern hospitality and poisons Christianity.

Rich Kiamco Originally uploaded by p2son . Being an invisible double minority, as a boy, Richard purchased a sewing machine and began to design. By high school he made all the prom queens' dresses to the dismay of his conversatvie, Mid-Western parents. "Richard, why don't you want to be a doctor?!?" On stage Rich creates new worlds and recreates old painful ones that he fearlessly revisits, even as they break his heart. His healing hands, hearty laugh and quick smile propel him into human arts with a generous sprinkling of the divine. He is quickly becoming the most visible invisible person I've ever seen.

playin' in Stamford Originally uploaded by p2son . As a boy, I had a pair of ceramic football bookends. On the outside of each football-half, a player displayed his prowess. One was charging with a small football and the other was kicking another ball. Our life gets separated by BOOKEND-LIKE experiences. These are life experiences that reoccur in a similar fashion months or even years apart. For instance, you may be a parent and remember the moment when you held your first child (or a niece or nephew!) Years later you may hold your first grandchild (or grand-neice or nephew.) The events are similar, but the person having them experiences years of living, relationships and knowledge in between. Life offers repeat opportunities where we have a chance to relive the joy of a first time or get to do things differently the second time around. In the Bible, we see a bookend experience with Peter when he first meets Jesus. Peter...

Quaker Meeting House Originally uploaded by p2son . Lynn J., a fellow Quaker, exudes beauty and light. Her flawless skin--rosy, porcelain--reminds me of a soft English rose I once photographed on a rainy February day near Oxford train station. Delicate Silky Hardy in all sorts of weather. She once faced bitter betrayal, and even her body plays cruel tricks on her as she leans on her walker, shaken by MS. Her peace testimony soaks her bones, upholds her smile and propels her from bed (even when her body pins her undercovers) Her face responds to suffering, not by growing hard and sallow, but miraculously exudes more beauty and light each day.

Age 7 Originally uploaded by p2son . Age seven, I spent the summer at Sasha's Boutique amidst the purses and antiques and costume jewlery. I would play with Sasha, the cat and talk to my cousin Grace who owned the store. Amazing Grace. Could she tell how much I wanted one of those purses? I loved that place so much that now I own the building

(from "Queer 101", a theater piece I wrote for HS students. The character, Chad, ends the piece with this poem) You wanna be an Activist? Change the World? Be yourself -- without apology and without shame, walking hand in hand in public with the one you love knowing that is a loving act of Protest. You want people to change? Laws to change? A global trasfromation into a shimmering butterfly society? Then You must change, be yourself be Real Knowing that the most powerful activists in the world are those people who are unashamedly Themselves.

On Sunday, while I was in Huntsville, AL for a performance, I attended the Huntsville Friends Meeting (Quaker). The gathering met in the private home of a lesbian couple. In fact, I was the only male in a group of 14 worshippers. I loved the way the women made room for everyone, being certain everyone had a seat, even people who hadn't yet shown up. We sat in a rich silence for 60 minutes. In the middle of that silence I centered myself and thought I'd be real spiritual and let the "Light" search me out and do some work in me. Here is the result: In my mind I constructed a prayer, "Lord, I am open to see what is wrong with me." Out of the silence I heard, "Friend, let me show you what is right with you."

The low-carb craze proceeds relentlessly in the US. Now every store sells low-carb pasta, reduced carb non-dairy creamer and of course nearly carbless bread. I’ve tried the low-carb bread with its extra chewy, spongy consistency. It’s a lot like the real stuff but not quite. It looks and smells like the bread I’ve devoured since youth, but after three slices—dressed up with almond butter and apricot jam or faux turkey and soy cheese, it still does not satisfy, does not provide that starchy comfort, that real food feeling I crave. It’s nothing new though; I’m used to this feeling of dissatisfaction. I’ve consumed low-carb Jesus all my life. I don’t mean those bone-dry wafers the priest adhered to my tongue during my Catholic youth. (I couldn’t even wash down those woodchip-like hosts with wine since the cup was reserved for the sole use of Father Justin and his altar thugs.) No, Jesus with reduced carbs is not just a Catholic offering. This low-carb Jesus transce...

Her father sexually abused her relentlessly. He referred to queer people as "those goddamn faggots!" He cursed her for being lesbian. He died in bitterness and alcoholism. Regina never liked him. But Regina's mother sat her down this past November to set the story straight. "Regina, when you told me you were a lesbian, you may have wondered how I took it all so well," her mother began then dropped the bomb. "Your father liked men." Seems all his homophobia was aimed right at himself as part of his own self-loathing. He never hated Regina because she was lesbian; he hated himself. In spite of the mess she was given, Regina speaks of hope and healing and love. Regina: "If we are not real, it will kill us and we will take other people with us." Regina: "I want to expand the meaning of the phrase, 'My People.'" Regina wants to include more than just other African-American Lesbian Women in ...

Human We want so much to be OKAY, but part of being human beings is being desperately Unwell. Part of being human is emptiness is confusion Part of being human feels disconnected. Being human in the modern world, We want to be fixed, To be whole, To spackle over the flaws and gashes, To facelift it, tuck it, liposuck it. but we war not against flesh and blood We have to live with it. Although it feels like stacks of jagged bricks Cascading on my head, pummeling my body, Bloodying me…it will pass. Yes, The pain will lessen, will dull. These shadows have become part of what makes me Beautiful, Noble, Authentic. Some wounds do not heal Or if they do, they leave behind their Beauty Marks, gnarling our souls, making us human to each other

The Bible speaks of a blessing or a curse that can be passed down from one or both parents. Parents have the power to bestow a blessing on their children. Many give this blessing passively through their example and personal success. The good things they have they share with their children. Most powerfully, they speak words of affirmation to a child; these words give life. Similarly parents possess the power to invoke a curse that mars the life-path of a child, not always permanently, but the curse leaves the way cluttered with doubt and low self-esteem suffered by the cursed child. I've seen this so clearly in the queer community. Many folks who become well adjusted in their sexuality and personality received the blessing from their parents. Even if there was an initial difficulty on the part of the parents to accept a gay, lesbian, transgendered child, once folks come on board and embrace their child, queerness and all, it results in blessing, confidence, health. Similar...

His bright, sunny smile could easily beam over South Beach or P-Town's glamor throngs, but he shines his light in the Mid-West, snuggly set in the buckle of the Bible Belt. Fearlessly but never recklessly he speaks truth to power, shoots straight to the top to undo a wrong. He is a founder, a builder, a funder, a worker tending to the fruits, yes the fruity fruits, amongst him. He feeds them, organizes them, provides social activities for them, raises money for them, takes them in not realizing that he is entertaining angels unaware, these queer folk, he makes them family. Yet he never trudges, he strolls with a grace and elegance that he draps over all he touches. Even when his own body seems to war against him, and medication jazzes or drags him through the day, his effervescence saves each day and propels him to make the world a better and much more beautiful place. (note: Tim G. founded Openarms Youth P...

At a conference I appeared at Saturday in Ypsilanti, MI, I met Rev. John S. A commanding presence with a quick, broad wit, he presented during the opening session and spoke about race, queer issues and the church. Love the LOCKS! His dreadlocks, full and long, took many years to grow. From listening to him and then connecting with him after the conference, I was taken by his journey with its unique twists and turns. Solid man. Man of vision. Man of love. Hi is a bisexual, Black, Christian minister who oversees a residence for those suffering with HIV. He is a teacher. He is a preacher. He is a father and husband. and I can tell you right now... He will be a dear friend.

Yes, I am a virgin. A blog virgin. I feel a tremor of anxiety and anticipation as I reveal my first tender thoughts to you on this screen. Will I know what to do? Will I seem too eager? Will I disappoint you? Gentle reader this is my first time; please, go easy on me. After months of ruminating, "To blog or not to blog," (that was the question) I have chosen to go all the way with you. As I stand here before you, naked, (okay, not really naked, and I'm actually sitting down,) I lay back on my pillowed bed, force myself to relax and open wide my...alright, this is getting too weird. Hey, I'm here, I'm Queer (in so many ways) and I'm about to explode on the screen. Look out! (This might get messy) ;-)