Child Sexual Abuse

by Keith Turner on July 28, 2017

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According to the National Sexual Violence Resource Center one in four girls and one in six boys will be sexually abused before turning 18.

As I try writing about this it brings up all the guilt and shame that I experienced as a child. Guild and shame that I have buried deep inside my soul hoping that it would dissipate into nothingness. Those feelings though do not disappear. They filter out into life and existence. Guilt and Shame have colored all of my life experiences, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. The darkness is where things fester and destroy life and so I am bringing my guilt and shame out into the light.

Memory is a weird thing sometime but it is my narrative and interpretation of those experiences. I was six and the neighbor was 12. I looked up to him. I thought it was cool he was my friend. It was a summer day, and most likely a Saturday. My father was outside mowing the lawn. I was sitting on a bed in my sister’s room and the neighbor was sitting on the bed next to me. He ask me if I wanted to play a game called “Truth or Dare”. I agreed. Without saying anything to my parents I was lead to a field behind the houses across the street. In the field was a ditch that had not been used in a number of years. There was a section along the ditch that had a thicket of Coyote Willows still growing. We sat down in this thicket of willows and began to play this game “Truth or Dare”.

I do not remember the whole series of events. In the end, we were both naked and there was touching and exploring of bodies. Upon hearing my mother calling my name I was told to quickly get dressed and that if my mother found out what we had done she would stop loving me. At that moment my innocence of this experience was shattered and in flooded the guild and shame. I had managed to put my shirt on backwards. My mother commented on it and I remember thinking that I hoped she would figure out what had happened. I could not explain to my mother what had happened. I did not have the vocabulary to describe it. We did not talk about bodies and sex in my home.

For the next six months the interactions continued. The pretext of playing a game was dropped. The neighbor’s personality changed from being kind to threatening. Almost daily he would threaten me with violence and revealing or “secret” to my mother if I did not do what he told me to do. I had six months of sexual encounters with a 12 year old where I was threatened with violence if I did not participate.

The very last time I saw this kid sticks out in my mind so clearly that even today it feels like it happened yesterday. He came over to my house with the usual threats. I followed him over to his house. We walked in the back door and were walking down the hallway to his bedroom when his mom walked into the house. I was sent home because her son was grounded and I remember being flooded with this feeling of relief as I was inadvertently rescued from my abuser. Within a few days the family moved and I never saw this kid again.

The hard part for me to process today as I sit here writing this is my actions after all this ended. For the next couple of years I also had interactions with other boys. Sometimes we played “Doctor” or “Truth or Dare”. Did I act out my abuse on others and become the victimizer? When I was eight one such encounter felt like that to the other person. Much later in life I wrote them a letter. What follows is part of that letter:

My son is currently in counseling for sexual abuse.  He was sexually abused about three or four years ago.  The first time he was in counseling he would not talk about it or deal with it.  During that time I was not being a responsible father or person and was not able to be there for him.  It was during this time that your father sent me an email and told me that you had told him I had sexually abused you. 

My recollection all these years has been of two boys experimenting.  But that really is irrelevant if you experienced it as abuse.  When I was five or six, I was sexually abused by my next door neighbor.  It was very traumatic for me and because I did not start dealing with it until I was an adult it has had a big effect upon my life. 

I am sorry for any ill affects my actions have caused you.  I was not seeking to harm you or cause you pain.  I am sorry that you have suffered because of my actions.  I wish that I could go back and undo them, but since life is not designed that way I must accept the reality of today and be responsible for myself.

Those six months when I was six have had such a profound effect upon my life in so many ways, anorexia, depression, outburst of anger, being sexually assaulted as an adult and the list goes on. I have hurt others. I have hurt myself. I have often suffered in silence.

Last year I wrote the poem Coyote Willow. It was the first time in years where I really tried to process through my own sexual abuse as a child. I shared the poem with my son and for the first time he felt he could trust me with his own experiences of sexual abuse. He had never been willing to talk to me about it before. I have since learned that I did not believe him when I should have and I over reacted when I should not have. Our relationship has improved and doors have opened for healing. This is why I choose to bring my guilt and shame into the light.

“I am weary, my soul, my wandering has lasted too long, my search for myself outside of myself.” [C.G. Jung – The Red Book fol.ii(r)]

In the Service of the Inexplicable and the Paradoxical

by Keith Turner on July 20, 2017

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When I was 29, it was the year in my life when Bradley was conceived and born. It was also in the middle of my Saturn Return. This caused a lot of internal self-reflection. At some point in all this I was reading in the Book of Mormon in the book of Morni – “pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ; that ye may become the sons of God; that when he shall appear we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is; that we may have this hope; that we may be purified even as he is pure.”

I remember clearly thinking that I wanted to be filled with this love, so I got on my knees and in one of those moments of sincere pleading I asked for this charity, this love, this pure love. In the middle of praying after speaking my request my soul said to me “Are you sure this is what you want? This will destroy your family and your life!” I paused for a moment and then in a very confident manner stated “Yes! I am sure.”

I was willing to pay the price at that time. As with many things that involve the soul the price is often greater than imagined. From that moment on I began having experiences that would crack the thick exterior around my inner world. On the 19th of January 2003, a few months before I turned 31 all of the walls that kept my life together crashed around me. The morning started with my coming out to my Navy psychologist. By the time the day ended I had told my commanding officer, my religious leaders and my extended family. The world as I knew it ceased to exist that day.

“The spirit of the depth took my understanding and all my knowledge and placed them at the service of the inexplicable and the paradoxical.” [The Red Book – Liber Primus fol.i(v) Carl Jung]

But the supreme meaning is the path, the way and the bridge to what is to come. That is the God yet to come. It is not the coming of God himself, but his image which appears in the supreme meaning. God is an image, and those who worship him must worship him in the image of the supreme meaning.

The supreme meaning is not a meaning and not an absurdity, it is image and force in one, magnificent and force together.

The supreme meaning is the beginning and the end. It is the bridge of going across and fulfillment.

The other Gods died of their temporality, yet the supreme meaning never dies, it turns into meaning and then absurdity, and out of the fire and blood of their collision the supreme meaning rises up rejuvenated anew.

The image of God has a shadow. The supreme meaning is real and cast a shadow. For what can be actual and corporeal and have no shadow?

The shadow is nonsense. It lacks force and has no continued existence through itself. But nonsense is the inseparable and undying brother of the supreme meaning.

Like plants, so men also grow, some in the light, others in the shadows. There are many who need the shadows and not the light.

The image of God throws a shadow that is just as great as itself.

The supreme meaning is great and small, it is as wide as the space of the starry Heaven and as narrow as the cell of the living body.”

January 19th, the day all of my panic attacks stopped occurring regular three or four times a week, I found myself in the shadow of God. The meaning of my life turned into absurdity and I got swept up into the blood and fire of their collision.  Here I am 16 years later finding that the absurdity is beginning to turn into meaning again and the glimpse of the supreme meaning is beginning to appear.



Secrets that Destroy

by Keith Turner on July 18, 2017


One reason that I have often kept my secrets was to avoid disapproval. It is a common characteristic of families where abuse is present that we don’t speak about it.  To speak out loud about the abuse is taboo, it breaks the fundamental rules that perpetuate the abuse.

In the middle of the great depression my great-grandmother gave birth to fraternal twins a boy and a girl. She had very clear views about the nature of boys and girls. Boys were bad and and my grandfather was reminded of this all of his life. When he was an adolescent he was molested by one of his cousins, a secret kept for decades. Eventually my grandfather joined the U.S. Navy Construction Battalions known as Seabees. He was trained as a carpenter.

He was a damn good carpenter but his mother believed that he would only have value as a person if he was a farmer. He bought a farm outside of Rigby Idaho close to Lewisville and move his family. The reason given was to teach his son responsibility. Those years on the farm were violent and full of misery and sorrow. He was hear on a regular basis walking around his farm yelling at the top of his lungs “God Damn Farm”. Every member of that family was certainly living in hell during those years.

Towards the end of ’his life he confessed for the first time to his wife about being molested and how much guilt and shame he felt. Here was a man who was told by his mother all of her life he was not good enough. Inside he was being eaten alive by a haunting memory. What might his life have been like if he had been freed from the guilt and shame that was buried deep inside of him for decades?

Studies have shown that disclosing trauma and your feelings about those traumas have a positive immediate and long-term effect upon your health. It takes a lot of work to keep secrets. So much effort and energy can be tied up in keeping secrets that it can severely effect or health.

My grandfather grew up being told his whole life he was not good enough. He had a son,my father. My father grew up being told his whole life he was not good enough. My father had a son, Keith. I grew up being told I was not good enough. I have a son. My son has struggled his whole life with you are not good enough. My grandfather was molested as an adolescent by his cousin. I was molested as a child by a neighbor. My son was molested as a child by a neighbor.

Almost an entire century has passed since my grandfather came into the world. Years and decades of secrets have perpetuated violence, trauma, neglect and heartache. At the end of last year for the first time in my life I very publicly broke a fundamental rule. I wrote a blog post in November and a similar article was published in QSaltLake in January where I wrote about a specific event of domestic violence. Four generations of men who have been victims, and three of those generations have internalized this violence and perpetuated it against our own children. I broke the rules because we all deserve healing. Secrets have been the destroyer of our healing and health.

I loved my grandfather. He was often an ornery old man, yet he still found ways to show me he loved me. When I changed my last name at the age of 19 it caused a lot of hurt. Arlin was the first to publicly forgive me.

I love my father. He was one of the first people to stand by my side and offer support when I came out. For the first few years he called me every couple of days. When life looked bleak and I would think about ending my life I would know he would call me in a day or two and I could not do that to him. He is one of the reasons I survived the bleakest period of my life from about 30 to 35.

I love my son. He has the biggest heart I know. I am already forgiven before I ever apologize. Conversations with him about my own perpetuation of violence has helped me to see my own place is this perpetuation of abuse. I have hope that this will come to an end with my children.

The time has come when I am no longer willing to be the keeper of the secrets. Families and lives have been destroyed by these secrets. As the secrets see the light that energy used to keep them covered can now be directed to conversations and healing.

Devastation and Redemption – A Story of Community

by Keith Turner on July 16, 2017

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Pocatello Idaho sits at the north end of the Portneuf Valley as it spills into the Snake River plans. This area of Idaho was home to the Shoshone and Bannock Native American tribes for hundreds of years before Europeans started to intrude into the area. The first Europeans into this area were fur trappers. In 1834 the first permanent European settlement was established at Fort Hall, just north of present day Pocatello. Fort Hall started out as a fur trading post but in the next decade became an important stop along the Oregon trail.

Up until the 1860’s Fort Hall was just a pass-through point for many people. When gold was discovered Europeans began staying and settling in the area. Eventually some of the settlers stayed and began farming.

The city of Pocatello was originally part of the Fort Hall Indian Reservation. The original settlers in the city itself were squatters occupying land that did not belong to them. For the European settlers of this time they did not see the Native Americans as having any right. In 1889 the United States Government “purchased” land from the tribe to be used as a town site. It became an important railroad junction for the Union Pacific Railroad. In 1901 Idaho State University was established in the city.

In 2004 the city had a population of over 51,000 where 75 percent of the residents identified as Mormon. Located at 331 E Center Street, part of Old Town Pocatello, is Charley’s Club. In 2004, it was called Charley’s bar. In the early part of 2004 I found myself there on a Saturday night.

I had only been living in Utah for less than a year and having come out of the closet only a year previously I was still trying to navigate my way in the gay community. As a child growing up I was very smug about right and wrong having given myself almost no room for my emerging sexual orientation preferring to instead label it as a “same sex attraction” problem. As a problem, I suppressed everything about me that might break down that view. All that pressure finally exploded destroying the closet I was hiding in from the world and myself. I was naive about the world and knew almost nothing about what being gay would mean for me.

I had grown up only 55 miles north in a small town of Ammon Idaho right next to the City of Idaho Falls. Wanting to integrate my new identity as a gay man into my childhood I began to make friends with the gay community in Southeastern Idaho. That is how I found myself in the City of Pocatello at Charley’s Bar in the early part of 2004.

I would like to say that the gay community is a caring and supportive community but in my experience, it is not always the supportive community that people need and are looking for. The coming out process is often followed by trauma with family, friends and religious institutions. We find ourselves wounded seeking out this new community of gay men for support and friendship. This community of gay men often feels like being thrown into den of hungry lions.

I was vulnerable, lost and was really struggling to find my place in this new world. The reality of life was more complicated then I was prepared to handle. Making friends was so important to me when I was often feeling I might drown in feelings of loneliness.

That winter night I was hanging out with a group of people I thought were my friends. My experience with alcohol was very limited at that point, having only started drinking a few months previous. The bar tender that night wanted to have sex with me and I was not interested. Unbeknownst to me, my “friends” decided that I would going to be the brunt of a cruel joke and conspired with the bar tender to make it happen.

Drink after drink was bought for me. It was the most alcohol I had consumed at any one given day up to that point. Right before the bar closed while I was in the restroom, all my “friends” snuck out leaving me. I was stupidly drunk and now alone. The bar tender informed me all my “friends” had left. He was very clear about his offer to spend the night at his house in exchange for sex.

I was not very clear headed, but I turned down the offer. Stumbling across the street I found my car in the parking lot covered in a couple of feet of snow. Climbing into my car I knew I could not drive and I was not sure I would survive the night sleeping in my car in the middle of a snow storm. I stumbled back to the bar and accepted the bar tenders offer. The next morning hung over and sober I was devastated.

That ended my desire to connect with the gay community in Idaho and for a few years made it difficult for me to feel safe in the gay community in Utah. It has only been in the last few years that I have made good friends with any gay men.

There I was a number of years later on July 14, 2017 walking into Charley’s Club for the first time since that night. The name of the place has changed from bar to club. Gone are the booths replaced by tables and chairs. This time the bar tender was a lesbian. I ordered a beer. I walked out to the outside and asked if I could join a couple of gay men sitting at a table.

I met “Shelly”, a younger gay man who grew up in Pocatello and is currently a student at Idaho State University. We soon established a common connection to Sweden. He lived in Sweden as a child. When I walked into the bar he was a complete stranger. Four hours later when I walked out I had made a new friend.

All of the devastation I had felt years early was left on the table that night. The hours of conversation with Shelly became my transformation of healing. I arrived in Ammon at my father’s house shortly after one where I spent the night alone and sober.

I do not know if as a community, gay men will figure out how to be a community, but I have hope. If the community has more “Shelly’s then we will figure out what it means to be a community. I see small act of kindness. I see healing. I am experiencing my own healing. I remain hopeful.




United States Navy – Veteran

by Keith Turner on November 11, 2016

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6e9513974d8623ddfad9f20668a8577aMay 9, 1995 I was visiting my paternal grandfather, Arlin Fell. He served in World War II in the U.S. Navy as a Seabee. For the first time in my life he talked to me about his experience in the Navy. He pulled out his photo album. There was a letter to his mother where he described being attacked by Japanese Kamikaze pilots. It was the first time we had a real conversation as adults. The last thing he said to me before I left was “NEVER JOIN THE NAVY!” Two weeks later on May 24 he passed away.

It should not surprise anyone that knows me, not only did I not listen to him but I did exactly the opposite of what he told me not to do. On February 6th 1996 I raised my right hand and said”

I Keith Allen Turner, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear truth faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.”   

At that moment I was officially enlisted in the U.S. Navy and become Seaman Turner. I got on a plane and spent the next year and a half just outside of Chicago, nine weeks in boot camp and the rest of the time in training.

Boot Camp was nine weeks of hell. I found ways to survive and adjust to difficult circumstances successfully. That experience has played a big part in my life, giving me confidence I would not have had otherwise. After I graduated from boot camp my grandmother told me my grandfather would have been real proud of me. I am sure that she was right.

I went on to serve on both the U.S.S. Harry W. Hill and the U.S.S. Kinkaid. [Both ships were sunk on July 14, 2004 in the Pacific as part of military exercise.]

January 21, 2003 after a long series of events I broke the “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” rule and told my commanding officer I was gay. In hind sight I was very lucky. My command at the time S.I.M.A San Diego made sure I was discharged in the best possible way. They called the military JAG office and made sure that my discharge was processed as an honorable discharge. During that time in the military there was a lot of dishonorable discharges for breaking the “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” Rule.

On March 7, 2003 I received an honorable discharge – reason for discharge: Homosexual Admission.

My seven years as a sailor was a pivotal time in my life. It was the beginning of a long exploration of me being me and discoveries about myself which has continued to this very day.

Today on Veterans Day I am taking a moment to remember the importance my military service has been to my life and how it has helped shape me into the person I am today. Those seven years were the best of times and the worst of times. I fell in love with the sea and ultimately it lead me on a journey where I fell in love with myself.

In the end it was the one thing that finally created a connection between me and my grandfather Arlin.

Police Officers

by Keith Turner on November 4, 2016

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The unexpected side benefit of attending the Unified Police Department’s Citizen’s Police Academy is that it has opened a place for healing from old childhood wounds. I have not been able to write anything about the police academy since the active shooter scenario. My mind started processing, bringing down walls to an otherwise inaccessible part of my past, an emotional part of that past I had tried to put behind inaccessible walls. These hidden emotions did find ways to escape, though it was mostly through unconscious means.

I am 11 or 12 perhaps younger / older I do not know. My father has come home for lunch. He has parked his motorcycle directly behind my mother’s car. Having a dentist appointment, my mother and I get into the car. She either forgets or does not know that the motorcycle is parked directly behind her car. Backing into it she knocking over the motorcycle. Momentarily we both look at each other in horror as we realize what had just happened and knowing what is about to happen.

 My father running out of the house quickly makes his way the driver’s side door of the car. A scuffle ensues as my father tries to force the door open as my mother is trying to re-shut lock the car door.  Being stronger he soon forces the car door open and begins to drag her out of the car while hitting her. Amongst all the screaming I hear her yell ‘lock the doors and stay in the car’.

 Soon my father drags her around the car and onto the lawn. My mother curls up on the lawn with her hands wrapped around her head as my father continues hitting her and yelling.

I found myself sitting in a locked car watching helplessly as my mother was being beaten by my father. My mother eventually escapes, running off to a neighbor’s house. My father tied to get into the car but I am too scared and refused to unlock the doors. I was terrified.

Eventually my father picked up his motorcycle and drives off.

Within minutes a county sheriff  officer arrives, walks up to the car, knocks on the window and ask me if I am ok. 

He was a tall man as seen from the eyes of a child. I still see him clearly in my mind, all but the details of his face. Even that is probably stored somewhere in my memories.

Most if not all of my memories of police officers as a child involved them arriving to my house just after a moment of extreme violence. Their arrival was the indication that all was now momentarily safe. The violence had ended for the day.

For the last ten weeks I have spent every Wednesday night and one Saturday morning surrounded and interacting with police officers. At the end of each of these classes I have climbed into my car and started crying as I have drove myself home. I told Detective Bennett, one of the COP officers, a few weeks ago that my interaction with police officers as a child was as a result of them responding to domestic violence at my childhood home. This last Wednesday night, which also happened to be the last Citizen’s Police Academy class, one of the scenarios we did was responding to a domestic violence call. I  found myself acting in the role of a police officer responding to a domestic violence call. The actual scenario was non-violent just a lot of yelling, though it was enough to destroy any and all remaining walls I had encased around those childhood emotions. After running the scenario I mentioned to Detective Malm, who is in charge of the Citizen’s Police Academy, a similar thing that previously most of my interaction with police officers was through responding to domestic violence calls as a child.

Wednesday night I might have slept on and off for three hours and by Thursday morning the barriers to all those emotions were finally gone. I am now finally in a place with my life where little Keith feels safe enough to unlock the car doors and come out. I have a better understanding that some of the emotional, psychological and physiological reactions I experience when interacting with a police officer has been rooted in an emotional past that until now I had been unwilling to fully acknowledge and deal with.

What started out as an intent to better understand the life of a police officer has turned into a better understanding and integration of myself.


[note: My father is a good person with his own issues like everyone else. As adults we do have a good relationship. I am sure that I will have more to say on this in a later post.]

You Be You

by Keith Turner on October 2, 2016


Miller Lite I had the  most interesting weekend all due to a Miller Lite sign I had posted on Face for sale. Not long after I had posted it on Facebook I received a message from my sister “Your selling this sign? Matt is interested in it and obviously we’d pay for shipping.” Up to this point my Sister and I had almost no contact for over 13 years. Matt has been her husband for over 11 years and we had never met.

Coming out of the closet and telling my family I was gay caused a big family rift. For basically the last 13 years I have pretended that my five siblings do not exist and they have pretended I do not exist. After receiving the message from my sister I felt like maybe it was time to reconnect with her.  I decided to drive to Boise and deliver the sign in person.

The last time that Robbie and I really interacted was in 1994 when I took her to see The Lion King. I was a judgmental asshole. I made it clear that I thought she was living a sinful life and needed to repent. I was coming at this from a place of thinking I was being loving. At that time I had no real idea what it meant to love someone.  Robbie who is my younger sister understood life and love much better then I did at that time.

I have stopped being anything other than me as defined by me for the last year. It has opened up a whole new world of wonderful discoveries about me. I love me more then I ever have. I love my life tremendously. I am no longer fitting into others perceptions or judgement of how I should be or act. It is from this place that I have been able to release my judgement of other people things and places and be open to receive all that is in the world.

It was from this place that I met my sister Robbie for the first time in Boise. All other times we had interacted I was in a place of judgement. This prevented me from being able to really see her. Matt and Robbie are wonderful people. It took me a long time to open myself up and release any judgement I had and be able to see them as they are.

Robbie is Robbie and did not hide any of herself from me. Matt is Matt and did not hide any of himself from me. I am Me and I did not hid any of myself from them. It was a magical weekend of personal discovery and the beginning of a beautiful relationship between us.

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Metro Gang Unit

by Keith Turner on September 28, 2016

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The Metro Gang Unit is made up of a number of Federal and State agencies that work together to identify, reduce and prevent criminal gang activity. During the presentation we learned about gang culture and current gang activity in Salt Lake County.

It was really helpful to go over gang culture. There was a lot of information that I was not aware of. One thing I learned is that gang tags are full of information that can assist the police. In the future if my property is ever tagged I will take a picture of it first before painting over it.

Narcotics Unit

by Keith Turner on September 28, 2016

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There are two different narcotics units in the U.P.D. There is the Neighborhoods Narcotics Unit. They deal with local level drug dealers and supplies. There is also the Narcotic Diversion Unit. We had officers from the U.P.D. Narcotics Diversion Unit come talk to us. They spoke to us a little bit about what they do and then gave us a presentation on the common illegal drugs on the streets right now.

From the U.P.D. Website:

The Unified Police Department Narcotics Diversion Unit is a specialty group of very unique detectives. This unit is the law enforcement arm of the Salt Lake County Felony Drug Courts. …The detectives of the Narcotics Diversion Unit are on the front lines of the newest drug abuse trends and are instrumental in identifying the dangers posed by the ever changing illegal street drug market. These detectives communicate directly with the judges and legislators to assist in passing effective controlled substance laws that make our community a safer place to live and work.

The biggest issue in Utah right now is opiods and synthetic opiods. This is followed by methamphetamine and marijuana. [I will not  jump into the marijuana debate in this post.] This is a change from a decade ago where methamphetamine was the biggest drug issue in Utah. Currently synthetic opiods are causing a big problem. They are easy to order though the mail or obtain on the streets. With any opiods you may be getting a different type then you think you are purchasing. Overdoes is a problem. Opiods are also highly addictive.

Drugs and drug use is a extremely complicated social issue. I was not aware how big the problem opiods currently are until the Narcotic Diversion Unit’s presentation. These are complicated issues within a complicated multi-cultural society.

Narcotics Diversion Unit Detectives may be contacted regarding questions about drug abuse and the prevention of dangerous street drugs in your neighborhood. If you have a family member, friend or loved one who is struggling with drug abuse help is available. Narcotics Diversion Office Number: 385.468.9800.

Desert Journey

by Keith Turner on September 26, 2016

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In the desert the landscape
is stark. Vastness swallows
my soul into great nothingness.

Did I make the right decision?
Another voice pleads,
“Please do not give up on me yet!”

I feel the wind rush around me. It chills
me, whispering of frailty
and life. Or death. My soul
enveloped in dark.

I desire to lie down in the sagebrush
and die in the pungent scent.

I hear the mantra: I am fearless
in the face of any
and all challenges.

It floats into the fog. My brain grasps the words
as the cloak begins
to fall. as if for the first time,
I see the start beauty.

My soul begins to sing
the song of courage.

[originally published in Peculiar a queer literary journal
volume two issue two]