An Open Love Letter to My Community

Dear Friends, Family, and Loved Ones:

I received a hateful and spiteful letter in the U.S. mail the other day from an anonymous writer that reads my FB and blog and lives in St. Louis. I sat with the letter for several days. At first it made me angry, and then it made me feel ashamed, and now I hold it for what it is: a sad, hurt, angry, self-loathing attempt by someone to offload their own feelings of inadequacy on others. The only thing I truly have to say to you is that I hope you find the love, healing, grace, and peace that you seem to not have in your life in this moment. You deserve it.

The one point in the letter, though, that truly made my eyebrows raise was when I was accused of, and I am paraphrasing, loving my friends, boyfriend, community too much (or as anonymous said...when I am in love the whole word has to hear about)....acting as if you are all superstars, phenomenal, the best people ever. Please note I was not accused of putting down the friends, family, and loves of others only that I loved you all too much and too publicly and without the appropriate amount of humility and self-effacement.

Guilty.

Let's start off with something simple. Nico, I love you. But you already knew that. And you know why. You are French and stoic, so I won't embarrass you by listing why exactly you have captured my heart. I love you. Now get back to saving the world from itself.

But that's not all, I love so many other people: David, Kenyon, Rodrigo, Jennifer, Nubia, Chad, Jenna, JT, Umberto, Pookie, Tasha, RJ, Bebe, Amber, Jay, Collette, Susan, Rocki, and so on and so forth and on and on and on and on. Guess what? There is no lack of love to be given or accepted. I love you all, my community, my friends, many of my former boyfriends, some folks that are no longer on this earth. I love you. Thank you for all that you have given me and for the times you have allowed me to be of service to you in friendship.

To my family, my brothers and sisters, my Dad, my Mom, my step-Mom, my nieces and nephews, my godson, cousins, family of choice, family of origin, I love you. Thank you for holding me, raising me, growing with me, and giving me the gift of your love.

To my political family, especially Paula Austin, thank you for building with me, checking my ass when it needed to be checked and DOING IT WITH love and compassion (shout out to Irma and Lolan), and to those that have helped me understand what it means to be a feminist, a radical, a man, privileged as well as oppressed, and the responsibilities that come with access. Thank you. I will continue to fuck up and I know that you will hold me down and hold me correct when need be. Thank you.  I love you.

To the poets and writers of the world, I love you, keep sharing your stories and your truths....we all need them. To my ancestors: Black, White, Anishinaabe (LCO Band of Ojibwe where my Mother is an enrolled member as are all of my relatives of the last generation), and Puerto Rican...thank you....your work and breath made my life possible. I love you.

And to those that have offered up their less than loving critique, thank you for giving me a gift to see myself, my work, and my place in the world as distinct from how you live yours. I will continue to celebrate my life with love, my community with love, my work with love, my family with love, and even those that believe I am nothing more than the basest of their perceptions, I love you too.

Thank you to you all. One love.

Love,
Brandon

A Change is Gonna Come

Living in my house, right now, is like living in a constant state of spiritual warfare. And, today, I almost lost a big battle.

I am a recovering addict. I spent several years using crystal meth fairly heavily, and I hid it quite successfully from the people that love me. I was a binge user, and I used on a clockwork schedule: every two weeks for two to three days at a time, almost always over the weekend.

After having a near complete breakdown and spending a week as a guest of the mental health ward of Fairview Riverside hospital and then spending another almost six months in various structured recovery programs at the Pride Institute in Eden Praire, MN, I was able to get to a place where I had the skills to fight back against my own biology. Addiction is a physical and mental illness and it takes physical and mental therapy to keep it in check.

I have had, what is called in 12-Step lingo, slips. But I haven't slipped for a long time now, and I am aiming to keep it that way. But, to do so, I have constantly to find ways not to internalize difficult emotions and emotional situations, I have to eat well and exercise, and I need to be engaged with a life and a world that is spiritually uplifting.

In general, my life is centered around all of those things. I have a great partner that is extremely supportive, I am a Christian that believes in the universal and healing power of love embodied through Christ (one of many Sons of God and prophets sent to teach us), I have recently begun chanting in the Nichiren Buddhist tradition (nam-myoho-renge-kyo), I use this blog as a vehicle to draw out lessons from my daily experiences that I need to learn or look at more closely, I write and perform poetry as a way to externalize my feelings, and I try to find small ways, each day, to experience God, the Divine, and love.

Unfortunately, with the love of my partner and a desire to build a home with him, has come his ex partner (of whom I have written plenty before) who lives in our living room on our couch. I am not overstating or exaggerating when I say his presence is an actively hostile and malevolent force that is actually palpable. His energy is destructive and hurtful, his words and actions are negative and damaging, and I, as the new boyfriend of his ex, am the direct and active target of his hate. When something goes wrong or amiss in the house, I am to blame. When David and I had our first threesome, which was a beautiful and spiritually uplfiting experience with an amazing human being, he didn't speak to me for almost a week yet did not treat David the same way, he stares at me with such undisguised loathing that it feels like a punch to the stomach. To be the object of revile for anyone, particularly someone with whom you live, is a constant burden and pressure.

I quite literally choose whether going to the bathroom is sometimes worth the walk to the living room, and I tell you that on more than one occassion a bottle has looked more appealing than a porcelain bowl on the other end of the house through the spectral landmine field I have to cross to get there.

The economy sucks, and David, as a freelancer, has had a great reduction in the amount of work he has been able to do. Yesterday, he left for a two day gig in the Hamptons. We can use the money, but, more importantly, David needed to work, for himself, on a fundamental level. For several days leading up to his leaving, I felt the weight of his absence. David is a buffer of sorts between the ex and me. His ex feels required to constrain himself when David is around. When David leaves, he feels no such constraint. I wrote before about the ex and the ex's current boyfriend and their ambush and attack of me. This time, there was no screaming...just a heightening of his already hateful presence. And, frankly, I reached the end of my spiritual reservoir.

Thank God that God had my back.

Quite literally, yesterday, I was on the fast track to relapse. I began looking for a connection. In this interconnected Internet ready world, finding drugs is as easy as logging into Craig's List or any number of cruising sites. I know all the code words and key phrases. Luckily, just as I was on the edge of the relapse cliff, my phone rang. I had just come home from a work event, and my best friend called. We have been trying to see each other, unsuccessfully, for weeks. The one sure way to get me out of and away from myself is for someone else in need to ask for my help. He sent a text saying that he could use some friend time. I packed a bag, jumped in a cab, and I headed to Harlem and spent the night. This morning, we got up and chanted together, which fed my spiritual well just enough to keep sober, though I didn't know I was going to need to use it so soon.

Today, the ex did one of his favorite hate tactics. He played on my fears and vulnerabilities around David. He enjoys telling me stories about the few times, over their ten year relationship, when David did not adhere to their relationship rules. And though I know in the moment that exactly what that hateful man wants is for me to start questioning David and myself, there are times when fears slip through cracks. They did, and I was again speeding down the path to relapse.

Except this time, as I started to leave the house to look for drugs, I stopped myself. I looked up at the rapidly darkening sky. The clouds were rolling in thick and black and ugly from Jersey...and I began to ask myself what the hell I was doing. I had gotten up from the computer where I was doing work for my amazing job. I was walking away from the committments I made to my partner. I was walking towards hurting myself deeply and fundamentally. So I turned around and walked home. I ordered some terrible MSG filled food from the Chinese spot downstairs, and I ate myself into a near catatonic state, all the while composing donor renewal letters for work (I may be crazy, but I am definitely productive).

I am done with letting another human being impact my life and spirit to the point that I am willing to do myself harm and, in doing so, hurt the people that love me. The ex is moving out of our home at the end of July. I am not sure if I can find enough ways to sustain myself until then, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. I may have to spend many more blog entries between now and then speaking to you all about this situation.

Also, my insurance kicks in tomorrow and you best believe that me and therapy are about to get real cozy like again.

The minute that man exits the building for the last time, I am going to have a shaman, a priest, a Vooduin, a medecine man, a rabbi, and any other holy person I can find to come over and deep clean his ugliness and hurt and hate and pain and darkness out of this place. I wonder if they got some sage flavored Febreeze at the Target.

Thanks for reading ya'll.

C-YA Oakland

I am going to miss a few things about Oakland, but, you know, the ride here has been hella-interesting. I made mistakes--quite a few. And I spent a lot of time dealing with the mistakes of others. A lot of time. Peace Oakland. Peace.

A Letter to the Harris Family and "Mona"

The world lost an amazing woman this week. She changed my life. Here is a link to Mrs. Harris' obituary. After the letter is a poem I wrote to remember Mrs. Harris.


Dear Harris Family:

For 17 years, you have welcomed me into your lives, and into your home. I have spent Thanksgivings, Christmases, and Easters with you. I have met Grandmas and Aunties, cousins and siblings. I can remember Marcus before Shelley, Shane before potty training, and Nicole when she started dating Erik....the first time.

I remember the first time I met Mrs. Harris. It was after the regional speech tournament. I had just won a medal for storytelling and Mrs. Harris gave me a ride home from South High School. I think I talked non-stop through the entire ride from S. Minneapolis to Camden. That poor woman.

Over the last almost 20 years, your family has become my family. If I didn’t show up for a holiday, I heard about it the next holiday...from the entire family (including new relatives that I hadn’t even met yet).

When I heard Mrs. Harris was sick, I wasn’t worried even a little bit. I had just lost my cousin to cancer. So I refused to believe that God would take away two people that I loved from the same disease. Plus, I thoroughly believed that nothing short of the second coming would move Mrs. Harris from here to Heaven. That woman was a force of nature. But, God had other plans for Mrs. Harris, and, as happens more often than I like, his plans and my plans weren’t the same. Good thing He is running things and not me. When I got the call from Noodle last weekend that Mrs. Harris was in hospice, I quite seriously was unbelieving and stunned. I had just spoken to her not too long previous to that. I had just spoken with Mr. Harris more recent than that. When Noodle called to tell me that Mrs. Harris had gone home to her King, I was walking down the street. And I felt like the world had gotten colder and darker. A great light was taken away from all of us on Monday.

I believe in God. I believe in his mercy, his love, and his justice. I don’t understand Him sometimes. And I don’t undestand this. Perhaps I am selfish. But I want to hear Mrs. Harris’s laugh again. I want to see her smile. I want her to hug me. She once came to visit me in the hospital. I had been with friends all evening, and I had not cried. But when the nurse said that she was there. When I saw her. When that beautiful spirit walked into my darkness, the glory of God was made manifest and for a moment, I had hope and the darkness was blasted away by the power of her spirit. She held me as I cried. She made me believe that I would be ok. Mrs. Harris knew all my secrets and she still loved me. She taught me that I didn’t have to hide anymore. That I was worthy of being loved. I never really got to tell her what that meant to me. She was the angel God sent to me that day. She never treated me any differently. Her heart and her home opened wider to me. And I thank God that Mrs. Harris allowed me to be a part of her life.

I wish I could be there with you all today. I wish I could hug Mr. Harris and thank him for 17 years of laughter. I wish I could hug Marcus and tell him thank you for the years of joking and welcome. I wish I could hug Shane and thank him for being a part of my family. Most of all I wish I could hug Noodle, my big sister, my friend, and give back some of the love and warmth that she has given to me since I was 14 years old.

I never once called Mrs. Harris by her first name. I was raised old school by my Mom. And the parents of friends are Mr. and Mrs. Period. But, I thought, this one time, Mrs. Harris wouldn’t mind.

Love,
Brandon


Mona

I remember her smile, can call it to memory
like her laughter
like her phone number
the only one
besides my lover’s
that I have memorized


I remember the angel
that walked in a mother’s clothing
in a minister’s robe
in a sister’s body
in a wife’s spirit
in a friend’s embrace
who cooked banquets
fed spirits
til they swelled
with blessings
til they filled
with hope

I remember the woman
who loved me
when I was too lost
too alone
too scared
too broken
too heart worn
too burdened
too wounded
to love myself

I remember the gift
that opened her home
and her heart
her family
and her life
to an awkward boy
who loved her daughter
who laughed too loudly
who stayed away too long
who left a voicemail
to say goodbye

I remember the teacher
who dedicated her life
and her body
her wisdom
and her strength
to tear down obstacles
to clear paths
to build roads and bridges
into brighter futures
for Northside children
that the world
tried to ignore
or throw away

I remember Mrs. Harris
the woman
the gift
the teacher
the bridge builder
the wife
the Grandma
the Sister
the Mother
the friend
the angel
that God called home too soon

-Brandon Lacy Campos
-Oakland, CA
-12 February 2009

The World We Create

Moving through the world these days is a little bit like walking on a tight rope suspended above a caldera filled with a molten lake of lava and Hurricane Katrina coming straight at you. The world let out a joyous yell when Obama took the oath of office. Indeed, I was crying openly and unashamedly. The last week has been filled with glitz, glamour, confirmations, appointments, balls, interviews, First Family photos, and Americans finally proud to claim their citizenship—many of us for the first time.

Yet, today, Sprint cut 8,000 jobs. Home Depot cut 7,000 jobs. Caterpillar cut 20,000 jobs. A report was issued today saying that much of the damage done to the climate is irreversible (at least until the year 3000). We are still fighting two wars on two fronts. There is an uneasy cease fire in Gaza—perhaps only long enough for the Palestinians to bury their dead and their murdered. Unemployment is skyrocketing. Homeland U.S.A., a fucked up reality series about border enforcement, is actually going to hit the airwaves, and it will be another four months before I am happily living with my boyfriend. The world is fucked up right now.

The emotional, physical, psychic, and spiritual pressures on the world and the people living in the world are palpable. People everywhere seem to be scrambling as quickly as they can towards whatever short term end they see for themselves with no eye towards the future or care for those around them. Some individuals—from Blagojevich to local managers seem incapable of saying…I fucked up…sorry...and instead are doing whatever they can to protect their ego, and, sadly, they will soon find that it is only their ego that they have left. The world is poised at the edge of something beautiful or something terrible and at this particular moment in history it is a complete crapshoot. It could go either way, and it seems like crazy people are the ones tossing the dice.

Whew.

I have, lately, subjected myself to the crazy winds of the world that are threatened to blow us off our tightrope. The reality is that living in the world as it is requires acknowledging some of the world’s momentary realities. At the same time, I would be a shortsighted fool to not see that if I can abjure the winds and call rains on the lava lake that I will easily walk to the other side. In my own life I am blessed. I have a wonderful partner, I have a book being released this fall. I am working on a new play with the man I love. I am going to see my little brother and close friends in just over a week. I am going to see other close friends this coming weekend. The WORLD is fucked up but the many worlds in which we live and move and breathe and sing and dance and create and love and make love are actually still there, still intact, and full of the energy, peace, truth, and strength we need to make it through what seems like the approach of the Four Horsemen.

I challenge myself to deny the zeitgeist and to embrace the healing spirit that Obama represents (in some limited measure) and to fully embrace the healing spirit that my community embraces. This does not mean that there will not be personal or community struggle. This does not mean the path will be easy. It is my firm belief that peace is a process and not a destination. If you believe that once you reach peace that it is yours forever then you are not doing the work to maintain it. I welcome others to join me in creating love circles and peace dreams. I welcome you to stand with me in projecting into reality a new way of being that holds those accountable that need to be held accountable without sacrificing the peace and love and joy that is yours to have without question and with the responsibility of sharing those gifts with those around you: friend or stranger.