Brokeback Mountain

The theater today was full of as many showings as it could handle of the movie, matinee and evening showings held few empty seats. I suppose it was the spectacle that brought them, the critical acclaim and, for a few, a genuine interest in the subject matter.

I left crying, I always seem to leave crying lately, and on the drive home we talked about the desperation in which so many human beings live, about the sacrifices of conviction, about the dangers that lurk in the hearts of men who hold opinions contrary to our own.

I was raised in a strict Christian household, the child of a preacher who finds homosexuality so offensive that it far and above tops his list of unforgivable sins against God and country. He feels so strongly about it that he even chose my heterosexual wedding to preach on the subject, since he had the floor, to an audience of which not a single one was gay. I remember when my mother, in dismay, asked me how I could think that my parents' religion was one of hate when they had taught nothing but love, from her point of view.

The world is full of hateful men, hateful men who mistake their hatred for spiritual concern, who mistake their personal agendas for godly ones, who mistake their good will for selfish will and, as hate is not confined to the religious and the irreligious, hateful men find a whole host of well-meaning banners under which they advance disrespect, condescension and narrow-minded ideals.

I feel so often that I am not doing enough with my life, that I have the capacity to do so much without any idea of where to direct that energy. I feel as though I am languishing behind a desk, serving a useless institution, when men all around me are suffering, when there are more causes to take up than there are days left in my lifetime. When will I finally make a step in the direction of my hopes and dreams? When will I finally unshackle myself from the prison of the "should be" and go forth into the world with a blazing heart and sympathetic ear?

And yet, what if my desires to change the world are just as I said above, the misguided and mislabeled kind of hatred that constantly buffet humanity? What if I, by stepping off in any of those directions, lead other men to ruin and despair? What if I unwittingly set in motion a catastrophic chain of events? What if my desire to help the world stems from some bourgeoisie notion that the less fortunate need saving?

Why can't we all have a Clarence at the ready to show us how the world would be different without us?