The six-headed beast sits perched on her rock, Scylla.
Across from her, the twin disaster, swirling, the whirlpool, Charybdis.
How is it that now I am drawn to the Arcana of Temperance?
All my life, A Gay Christian, treated as an oxymoron, I try to balance the cups,
in my hands as I tread through life, searching for a home or rock.
Throughout this path, at times desperately and listlessly, I try to uncover and find love.
A priest, had told me one time, “If you’re gay, you can’t have Jesus’ Love.”
There, in my memory, one of the sneering faces of Catholic Scylla,
peering down with a Saxon smile, gatekeeping the Father’s rock.
Swirling keep swirling in the dogma and fundamentalism of Charybdis.
Here I am in the midst of it all, putting my feet in the waters, measuring cups,
In the fear, questioning, screaming, doubting, I must remember Temperance.
She stands at the water so serene, as she measures the waters, Angel of Temperance.
Swirling around trying to reconcile faith and sexuality, where is love?
I hear the words and measure, my sexuality is not a sin, theology to balance in each cup,
I can find waters true and untrue, but then there’s the beast, smiling Catholic Scylla,
confidence is lost and doubt and fear is smelt from the frankincense whirls of Charybdis.
Coughing on the smoke, shipwrecked and forlorn, but the only safety is on the beast’s rock!
The preachers have often said Jesus is the true one and only Rock.
A firm and solid foundation in times of trouble, the model of Temperance.
But once I reach firm ground, the preachers toss me into the mouth of Charybdis,
Whirling jeering, “Jesus loves you but, Jesus loves you but.” Jesus loves
And the priest’s slithering scales harden sitting perched on the church’s altar as Scylla,
The priest said, “Jesus hates your gayness, repent and deny your ways to drink from the cup!”
In eighth grade, staring in the mirror, crying, “I can’t be gay! Lord pass this cup!”
I knew my path would be difficult, seas would be rough and I’d have no rock.
They said Jesus was my rock, but when I approached, I was attacked by priestly Scylla.
So, I had to take a step back and defend. I stood firm to their attacks and held Temperance.
How dare those “holy” men tell me there are conditions to Jesus’s unconditional love,
Those men threw me in despair and wanted me to plummet in the dark depths of Charybdis.
The waters have tried to push me down as the pit beckons, swirling whirlpool Charybdis,
But I have learned to roll with the tides and collect the waters into cups,
No longer in need of a priest to speak on God’s behalf and about love.
Beasts in any form shall be toppled, so that I can reclaim my safety and rock.
Calm coolness and introspection wash over me, poured by Jesus’ Temperance.
The pain and desolation of years of rejection shall be slayed like Ulysses striking Scylla.
Holding the cups of discernment and wisdom in my hand, my goal is to attain Temperance.
To my right, I see slain Scylla. To my left, the waters of churning Charybdis evaporate.
I walk forward, as a Gay Christian man, knowing I am not sinful because it is men that I love.
SOBER POETRY: This is a space where recovery and creativity meet. It features heartfelt verses that capture the emotions of sobriety. Written by various Sober Curator Contributors and readers about their recovery journeys, these poems provide inspiration, healing, and reflection for readers seeking solace and connection.
COMING OUT SOBER: Here, you’ll find stories from our Sober Curator Contributors in the LGBTQ+ community about coming out, living sober and out loud. Let’s dive into the hilarious, heartbreaking, and everything in-between moments of breaking free from booze and societal norms.
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