The church bells in our neighborhood continue to ring out Christmas carols. Several days after New Year’s Day, they’re playing Go Tell It on the Mountain. (I’ll now be humming that song all day.) Wouldn’t it be nice if the spirit of the holidays continued to be sung in everyone’s heart?

Two days after Christmas, I was in line at the grocery store, watching the woman in front of me try to carry on a cell phone conversation as she checked out. She made no eye contact with the Indian woman tallying her purchases except when the distracted customer dropped a bag on the floor that she was absentmindedly putting in her cart. She ended the call, looked into the bag of broken eggs, and said to the cashier angrily, “You didn’t tell me you put the eggs in that bag. I want another dozen.”

“It’s not her fault,” I said. “You were talking on the phone the whole time, not paying any attention to what you were doing.”

A bit embarrassed that she got called on her behavior, she said, “Well, people keep calling me.” To which I responded, “Quit answering the phone.”

The very nice checkout clerk rolled her eyes as the customer scurried off for more eggs. “It’s just eggs,” she said.

The next day, as Ray and a group of others waited to be called in to see the doctor, he watched the agitated faces of people around him in response to the incessant cell phone chatter of a middle-aged man conducting business in call after call as he bided his time.

“Would you mind taking your calls in the other room,” Ray asked nicely.

“Wait a second,” the put-out “patient” said to the person on the other end of the line. “These jackasses want me to move.”

Go tell it on the mountain that some people will always blame others for the troubles they create themselves. And let it be known that there seems to be an increased level of anger in the world. Have you noticed it?

Just before Christmas, I asked a friend to take me off his mailing list of circulated e-mail items. He had sent to his friends the picture of Sarah Palin holding a gun with Rudolph the Reindeer mounted on the wall behind her. In response, a wealthy, prestigious, Republican friend wrote, “Too bad she missed Obama, Reed [sic], and sweet, ever-good looking Nancy.” So much for “Peace on earth, good will toward men.”

As we head into 2010, how shall we, who want to keep the spirit of the holidays in our hearts 365 days of the year, respond to those who vex not just our spirits, but also those around us? How do we stop them from overwhelming us all with their anger?

The Tao te Ching, one of my most treasured spiritual guide books, advises us to move out of the way.

Thus, whoever is stiff and inflexible is a disciple of death.

Whoever is soft and yielding is a disciple of life.

And elsewhere:

The soft overcomes the hard; the gentle overcomes the rigid.

Everyone knows this is true, but few can put it into practice.

So, what does this mean? Sometimes it means getting up and moving, as Ray and I will do if noisy people sit near us in the movie theater. Instead of spending the two hours trying to control their behavior, we simply get up and find seats that allow us to see the film in peace. But it doesn’t mean that we allow the woman in the grocery store to abuse the check-out person or the inconsiderate cell phone user in the doctor’s office to impact the serenity of everyone around him. It’s important to speak up, especially when others are being attacked, but we can do so without the same mean-spiritedness they’re exhibiting. Being “soft and yielding” means clearly addressing inappropriate behavior, asking for what we want, and letting go.

The woman in the grocery store was coincidentally parked right next to me and we approached our cars at the same time. I made myself let go of the need for the last word. When Ray and I exited the doctor’s office, we passed the rude cell phone user. Ray let go of his desire to say “jackass,” as we passed. I asked to be taken off the friend’s mailing list and forwarded the dangerous e-mail message about shooting President Obama to the FBI and then let go.

What might “yielding” mean to these three people? The woman in the grocery store might have responded, “You’re right. I’m not paying attention. Thanks for the reminder.” And then she might have said to the check-out person, “I apologize. It wasn’t your fault at all. It was mine. I’m going to go get another dozen eggs and I insist on paying for them.” The man in the doctor’s office might have responded, “I’m sorry. I’m not thinking. I’d be irritated if someone was talking on the phone too. I’ve got some business I need to do but I can do it where I’m not disturbing anyone.” And the friend of the friend who heard back from many people about how offensive his e-mail about shooting the President was might have written back to everyone, “I apologize, folks. I wasn’t thinking. I was trying to be funny, but I see clearly how unfunny it was.” The woman in the store, the man in the doctor’s office, and the irresponsible Republican partisan know what is true and one day may be able to put it into practice. One day they might.

May the spirit of the holidays fill all of our hearts with the clarion sound of wonder and gratitude for all of 2010, and may we be yielding disciples of life.

We are caretakers of our body, just as car owners are responsible for the condition of their automobiles. It’s our job to keep our vehicles clean, ensure that the parts function properly, and do everything necessary for a smooth ride for its full life expectancy.

That’s why we go to the doctor, dentist, ophthalmologist, and dermatologist for annual check-ups. As we get older, we regularly check for signs of prostate or breast and cervical cancer (depending upon our sex,) and on our levels of good and bad cholesterols. We know the body can’t run indefinitely, but we’d like to get as much mileage out of it as possible.

For some of us, it doesn’t end there. We watch what we eat because we don’t want to force our hearts, backs, and limbs to carry too much weight. We brush and floss our teeth because we want them to last. We put creams on our faces and avoid sunburns so that our bodies don’t age prematurely. We avoid situations in which we think we might unnecessarily injure our bodies beyond repair, such as not driving after drinking alcohol or while talking on a cell phone.

There are, or course, more layers of maintenance, some of them helpful such as massage and acupuncture, and some less so, such as cosmetic surgery. Changing the color of the car or having the dents removed won’t make it last longer. That has more to do with the ego of the driver than it does the health of the vehicle.

Sometimes it’s very hard to separate the car from the driver, and the soul from the body. For me, it is indeed my ego that creates the confusion. For instance, the other day I participated in a four-hour Tantric Breathing workshop in which I was strongly tempted to compare my body to those of 20 other gay men, mostly younger than me, but some my age. Though I was aware of my age because of my gray hair, my body was no less flexible or fit than theirs.

The challenge, I find, is in not overly emphasizing the importance of my appearance. Years ago, I was struck by the drawing of a woman admiring herself in the mirror, which if looked at differently, was also clearly a picture of a large human skull. Created by C. Allan Gilbert in 1892, the illustration is titled “All Is Vanity.” The impact of the drawing on me was profound. It didn’t stop me from obsessing nervously as a teenager about pimples, nor as a young gay man about the importance of youth and beauty, but it has served as a tether that prevents me from getting too far from the awareness of aging and death.

The reality of my own death became more personal to me in a recent visit to the dentist. In an office that felt like the bridge of the U.S.S. Enterprise in Star Trek, I looked at a three dimensional x-ray of my mouth and saw clearly what my skull will look like for eternity if I were not going to be cremated. It wasn’t a scary sight, but it was sobering. I became more aware that I’m not all that many years from being seen by other people as a skeleton rather than as the form I now possess.

I have long considered my body as my friend rather than my identity. Such thinking was nurtured by stories of St. Francis of Assisi referring to his human form as “Brother Ass.” It is in this frame of mind that I often lie in bed and thank my body, piece by piece, and part by part, for serving me so extraordinarily well. I begin with my feet and think of the many places they have reliably carried me, and then one by one I thank all of my bones, my blood, my organs, my brain, my senses, and my skin for enabling me to experience the human condition so completely. My body has never let me down. When I leave it, I will do so with enormous gratitude for its service to me.

That is why I try to take care of my body, to make it feel strong, healthy, comfortable, and pain-free. I feel I owe my face an occasion facial, my fingers an occasional manicure, and my whole body a frequent massage. It’s my way of saying “thank you.”

Taking my body to the Tantric Breathing workshop, or to any other similar experience, isn’t about hoping to get Best in Show as much as it is to allow it to run with the big dogs and go home feeling satisfied and stimulated. When I start to identify with my body and the reaction it gets, I try to remember the woman in the mirror and me in the x-ray.

This month, my body will be over 62-years-old if you count the time it developed in my mother’s body. I’m aware that the warranty is closer to running out than it was last year but I suspect it has a few more miles on it. Who knows what exciting and challenging places it will take me? To make sure I can continue to make the journey, I’m committed to keeping it happy.

Happy birthday month, body.

As we finished watching the last installment of Jane Austen’s Emma on the PBS’s Masterpiece Theater, Ray and I clapped with lighthearted delight, feeling good about life, as Emma and Mr. Knightley finally each gave voice to their love for the other. Moments later, we recoiled in dread, feeling horror for inhuman behavior, as we watched Glenn Close’s ruthless character, Patty Hewes, on the FX hit Damages, cruelly crush anyone who got in her personal or professional way. Do we ever wonder why we watch what we watch and what effect it has upon us?

Those of us over forty (or sixty) who know not to deliberately make ourselves sick by going on the most physically-destabilizing ride at the amusement park, and not to eat foods that keep us tossing and turning with heartburn all night, nevertheless often participate in creating depression and angst for our psyches by filling our minds with poisonous thoughts. The source of those demeaning and debilitating thoughts can be anything from the Bible to the Saw film series. Why do we expose ourselves to such mind-numbing junk?

Sometimes it’s because we feel the pain is worth it. Glenn Close is such an extraordinary actor that we decide that watching her engage in behaviors we find abhorrent is what must be endured to see her perform brilliantly, not unlike eating that highly spiced Thai food that tastes so good we’re willing to endure the aftereffects, or going on the dizzying rollercoaster because we want to please our nine-year-old nephew or niece who wants company. Ray and I watch Spartacus: Blood and Sand on Starz for the awesome beefcake despite the scenes of frequent flying severed limbs, and of raucous crowds shaming themselves and us with their insatiable thirst for blood. And don’t we also watch all of these programs simply to fill the time gap between 5 and 9 p.m., seeking distractions from our lives like those in the Roman Coliseum? So, maybe we know why we compromise, but I still wonder if we’re as aware of the emotional damage we do to our souls with harmful brain food as we are the physical damage we do to our bodies with bad eating habits.

I’ve got three books next to my bed that I’m spending time with each night. A review of my first book, Thich Nhat Hanh’s Transformation and Healing says, “If you were to possess only one book on how to fare through this human existence with joy and self-knowledge, it should be this text.” I want to be the Vietnamese Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh, but I’m only able to read two or three pages of his Sutra on the Four Establishments of Mindfulness at a time. I know it’s going to be rich, nourishing food for my soul, but it hasn’t yet engaged me like the stories and lessons of Jane Austen.

The fictional thriller that I’m reading on my Kindle is Killer Instinct by Joseph Finder, an irritating tale, set in Boston, of a weak man who encourages someone to do his dirty work and then hates him for doing it. I’m so disgusted with the main character’s ineptness and lack of fortitude that I want to finish the book quickly just so I can start reading some other novel. “This guy is driving me crazy,” I say to Ray who kindly stops reading his book to acknowledge my frustration. “Quit reading it and start something else,” he replies with sympathy. But I can’t, any more than I can not complete watching an episode of Damages. I belong to the “clean plate club” even when I feel full.

Perry Brass wrote the third book I’m reading, which is also a self-help guide but this one is on how to seduce other people. The Manly Art of Seduction: How to Meet, Talk to, and Become Intimate with Anyone, according to the back cover, “is for men who seek greater intimacy – of the physical or emotional sort.” That’s me. Though I have both forms of intimacy with my wonderful spouse, Ray, I find that in many of my relationships with friends I am hungry for more emotional intimacy. Plus, I want to better understand what in my life stops me from being more emotionally intimate with myself.

Both Perry Brass and Thich Nhat Hanh strongly suggest that to achieve intimacy and self-knowledge, we need to turn off the television and quit distracting ourselves with such emotional junk food. Ironically, what we think we’ll find in the variety of emotionally charged things we read, watch, or listen to is life-expanding experiences and better understandings of ourselves. Like the passenger who refuses to sleep on the airplane afraid of missing a meal, we hunger for anything that might fill up or distract us from the emptiness we feel. Even though we know we’re going to get shaken up negatively by watching a particular film or television program, or by reading an irritating book, we decide that the disturbing feelings are the price we have to pay to be stimulated or sedated.

I do fear though that what we watch is what we become, and with the character Patty Hewes and others like her, I often feel damaged.

Loving unions are about two unique manifestations of the divine spark choosing to be together so that their journeys of awareness are enhanced by a reliable friendship. Such unions ought not to have as their goal making two (or more) unique individuals into a composite of its members. When Ray and I came together, we weren’t looking for the mirror image of ourselves. Consciously, we sought a compatible companion, an attractive sex partner, and hopefully a soul mate. We unconsciously sought complementarity. Ray completes me, but we are separate people with distinct personalities. We are not, and don’t seek to be, the same. We are Brian and Ray, not Brianandray.

For that reason, if Ray is even in the same color shirt as me, I change clothes. Two T-shirts or two short sleeve pullovers look enough alike that during warm weather one of us will wear a T-shirt and the other will wear the short sleeve pullover. It’s bad enough being repeatedly asked if we’re brothers, but when they wonder if we’re twins, we know we need to do something to distinguish ourselves from each other.

After 34 years, Ray and I are well trained to check with the other in the morning to see what’s being worn that day. “I’m in blue,” he’ll holler to me while I’m in the shower. “Okay, thanks,” I reply gratefully. “What pants are you wearing to the fundraiser?” he’ll ask, “khakis or dress pants?” I always want other people to know that Ray and I are together but not by thinking that we buy matching pairs of every clothing item.

The importance of this individuality in our lives is essential background for understanding the irony of us giving each other the same Hallmark Valentine’s Day card this year. It featured a picture of a young boy in a coat and tie, with a rose between his teeth, and called to mind how sexy I find Ray when he’s wearing a suit and tie. (With the exception of weddings and funerals, he hasn’t done so in many years.) The printed message on the card was “After all of this time, I’ve still got the biggest crush on you.” I wrote in part, “And maybe you could put on a suit more often. It weakens my knees.” Ray wrote in part, “I know the suit was a ‘turn on,’ so I’m still trying.”

Ray and I both laughed with delightful surprise, and accepted the identical cards as a nice representation of our shared love of equal size. We put the cards on the mantel where they sat for the remainder of the day, reminders of our mutual crush.

My focus on the symbolism of different clothing in a relationship has been sharpened by watching two dear young men in our lives become a loving couple. On one of their first social outings into the community, they wore the same distinctively-styled shirt in different colors. I was tempted to offer them counsel, but it wasn’t requested, and I realized that my doing so would interfere with a natural mating ritual.

Displaying one’s feathers is an important aspect of courtship among birds. How they strut their stuff communicates the type of mate they will be and seek. What we humans wear also communicates whose attention we seek, be it leather, tattoos, boas, muscle shirts, dresses, make-up, or suits and ties. Once we’ve attracted the desired attention, it’s probable that both (or more) members of the group will continue to wear similar feathering for a while to communicate that they indeed should be together, and should stay together. Sonny and Cher, for instance, both continued to wear bellbottom pants and peace signs for the first several years of their marriage. “I’ve got you, babe.”

At some point though, members of romantic couplings need to discover their own unique identities, and learn to express that individuality to themselves and to their loved ones. In their classic study, The Male Couple – How Relations Develop, my good friends David McWhirter and Drew Mattison called the stage of sameness, Merging, and the stage of individuation, Establishing Independence.

It’s completely up to all of us how we want to express ourselves and the nature of our relationships. Some of us may want to cover our bodies with the same tattoos as our mates. We may also choose to wear matching paisley shirts. But if we do so, we shouldn’t get confused or upset when other people ask us if we’re twins.

You can be quite independent from your spouse and still both pick out the same Valentine’s Day card. At least, I think you can. Perhaps next year, though, I should ask Ray, “Honey, before I buy your card, tell me what card you got for me.”