From: richard@elroy.Jpl.Nasa.Gov (Richard Weidner)
Subject: In Search of the Gentle Ones
Summary: Introspection 
Organization: Image Analysis Systems Group, JPL
Distribution: usa
Date: Tue, 6 Oct 1992 00:44:17 GMT

(A few words first. A sort of apologia. This is really
about probing walls and dark places. Things which I can
say obliquely instead of directly because ... 
Well because they can not be said yet. This is not really
meant for discussion or the controversial start of a thread.
If it offends someone, I apologize. If it strikes a responsive
chord then good.)

In Search of the Gentle Ones

Ever notice birdsong on a quiet summer morning? The
creak of leather shoes walking ahead of you? Ever stop
to study a fallen leaf lying in the water running down
a street gutter? Or a red tailed hawk sitting
on a telephone pole?
 
Then want to share just being alive with someone? Not only
the birdsong and leather shoes but the pain in your
heart from dissapointment, the fear of rejection,
the shame of being not perfect.
 
The gentle ones who listen and understand and "know"
about that which you speak are rare. Truly, many "real" men
exist. Cold warriors of the day, never needing, never feeling
never seeing. Their counterpart, female scarecrows of hard beauty,
strut before you, but you float as insubstantial as a wraith in their
sight. Neither can see you or the muddy leaf.
 
Ever want someone who notices the wind and cries in
the dark? The same someone who also knows myriad ways of making you
laugh and lifting your heart above the mud in which
you crawl.
 
Here's what you are supposed to be to measure up. That's what you
are not. But what you are down deep inside is pure and real and
shines as if it were crystal dew drops on an October morning.
 
There exists in you a symphony of feelings, emotions, laughter, tears,
anger, frustration and  joy like songs under firelight.  So much
to share. If you can find the gentle ones.
 
For whom do you search? Does it make any difference, the matter worn
as badges upon their flesh? The bulges here, the holes
there, so much clay carved in odd shapes by the wind.
Mighty penis or proud clitoris. Which makes any difference
when you look for the warmth of their heart and the
gentle substance of their brain?
 
Sure, you wear the chains of your life. They are fused into your flesh.
Hetero possibly by training and thought. Homophobic probably
because you don't understand and you are afraid.  But inquisitive.
The gentle ones are hard to find.
So few you can not deny the fabric of their soul for
the mortal coil in which it finds repose. Homophobic
you might be. But you are Homofond also. Delightfully,
deliciously Homofond.
 
Relish the expressive nature of the gentle ones. That he loves
him means he LOVES him. That his heart is affected by the breath
of another soul is more than his penis can aspire. Sex is a
minor god compared to the gift of laughter when you are sad
and a shared caress when your heart is wounded.
 
But still the gentle are few. Most of us would disparage another.
We attack the chains we wear. And we destroy the meek who
stand before us like lilacs on a killing field.
 
Yet ever you reach out for the will o' the wisp. The fae who dance
on Solstice Eve in rings of moonlight. Incorporeal their
substance eludes your fingers if not the spider web of your
mind.