“They say he was something in those formative years…”
– Tori Amos –

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I just got back from a function with the Leathercorps tonight and I’ve got a lot on my mind. After reading some writings from a fellow Leatherman, I had to put fingers to keys and get some things out of my system.

To be frank, this week has been a tough one.

After getting back from an intense and enjoyable retreat with fellow LGBTQ+ Veterans in the wilds of Utah, the past few days have served as a period of readjustment to life back here on the homestead, among the world. There have been times when I wished I could be back among my Veteran siblings, sharing and joking and carrying on about military minutae. There have been times when the small pain of separation has creeped in. It’s a familiar pain that I have literally not felt in years.

Realizing how much we need one another and how much we have in common based on our life experiences is something, I have found, we need. It’s hard to be able to relate your life to someone who has not experienced what you have. The disconnect can be drastically draining and, at times, deadly.

Life in recovery has taught me many things and has exposed strengths I didn’t know I had.

Such as the ability to weather physical storms of pain and exhaustion. Stressful situations can be dealt with in rational manners and acceptance of non-control is getting easier. I can no more control the weather than I can control the flow of post-workday traffic. And that’s okay.

It has also exposed weaknesses within me.

Cutting down to the core of my psyche and breaking down the fears and anxieties I’ve harbored while I tried to keep them at bay with addiction, my shortcomings, and the like are brought to light. Abandonment and willful self-ignorance are brought forth from the sifting of my spirit like bones in an archaeological dig.

These discoveries have brought with them mists of gratefulness and shame. The arrival to complete self-awareness is a long way away. I know this.

Carrying out Veteran outreach has been a jarring experience. Coming to know that there are spirits out there that need release through cathartic sharing is apparent. I know my Veterans need to talk about what is going on, from daily frustrations to painful life scars, they need to speak and be heard. I know this because I, too, need it and need to be understood. Carrying out my first peer-to-peer task has weighed heavily on my heart.

The lack of sincerity in caring for battle-scarred servicemembers is appalling and I’ve heard it. And I’ve felt it more intensely this past week.

Tonight, I took the time to wrap myself in the embrace of my Leatherfolx. Zipping up my boots, donning my wristbands and wearing my Muir cap, I reluctantly stepped back into the Community. Reluctant because of all that weighed on my heart and my mind. My shoulders tightened by the stress and my head heavy with pains, I stood there taking in my surroundings.

There was a camaraderie among these Folx that I haven’t experienced before. As wood was piled upon the patio pyre, it wasn’t left to just one to keep the crowd warm but the effort of one kept the masses happy, warm. Chaps, harnesses, caps and vests shone in the firelight as I gazed across the fire: my Tribe. In those moments, we crowded around the fire, talking, laughing, flogging.

“What stories do we carry within the creases of our Leathers?,” I wondered. Sensuality, experience and respect surrounded us. Our skins holding scenes of submission and Dominance, of respect and care. Consensuality coursed in nearly every caress, blow, and embrace around that fire. Sirs/Daddies and their boys, Masters and their slaves, the solitary Leathermen, and the curious all mingled in a handsome mass of flesh, breath, heat, and Leather. I took it all in.

This is where I belong, I realized, in this time when my soul felt heavy, it was this moment in this place that I finally felt a sense of calm, of release.

Talking and feeling the warmth of the fire and brushing skins with others, the contact was a salve to my bruised psyche.

Departing the circle was difficult but I hadn’t felt this complete since those days in the Utah wilderness. So precious was that feeling that I took with me on the drive home. All the while, I told myself:

I’m glad to be a Leatherman.

Originally composed on March 7, 2009