Your Little Secret

From Melissa Ethridge's Your Little Secret:

I could, I won't, I can't, I don't,
You make it hard, talk down my guard,
My senses soaked, my ego's choked,
I will not lie, I will not lie.

Of course, Melissa's talking about cheating on your partner with another person. But when I heard myself screaming those words at my partner, my heart, my lover, my best friend last night as I cried so hard I couldn't see her, I knew we had a problem. Put that on the back burner.

Get a really big stew pot. This is big and bad. Heck, there's so many things wrong with what I have just said. My partner is trans. It should read "he" and increasingly does. Cameron's living this wretchedly double life caught between who he is and what he is, facing dysmorphia every time he looks in the mirror. But we were fighting about his parents, who see him by his very feminine first name. And who see me as the best friend because, on top of everything else he's not out to his parents.

Keep stirring. I'm invited to every wedding, every funeral, every family reunion. I receive the same gifts as Cameron every Christmas and birthday except I get the uber-fem version. Yes, that's a technical term. But as Cam pointed out, there's the side of the family that I have never met. Her dad's side of the family would not welcome me. I don't receive the invitations. And when her dad passes away, I would be seated not up front beside my partner, but somewhere alone in the back.

(Side note, when my oldest son got married, he broke his four year silence to invite me to the wedding. We were seated on the bride's side of the family behind her parents. The minister didn't know who I was and was shocked to learn I was the birth mother. Indeed, there was a lovely point of the ceremony where the mothers went up together and lit candles to join the two families. It was his step-mother lighting that candle. I wanted to crawl under the pew. Some wounds never heal. We weren't included in the wedding pictures. We finally got one, by request, at the reception, in a side hall. They didn't purchase it and I don't have a copy.)

Last summer at the family reunion Cam's cousin asked how long we had been together with her father standing just out of hearing range. He was just trying to be polite and strike up a conversation with the much older dyke because he's a nice person, likes us, and wanted me to feel welcome. Had her father heard, we'd have been out of the closet. Put the stew pot on the back burner. It may require more ingredients. I don't know yet.

Grab a sauce pan. Let's thicken this mess up a little. Looks like we're having stew. In the sauce pan goes the agreement we would not address our couplehood with her parents because they are in their 80's, her dad is insanely bigoted, and she fears rocking the boat. Cam and her/his father are close. They talk every night at 8 when the dog gets walked and I'm tucked into bed listening to my favorite blogtalk radio program before falling asleep for the night. We've agreed a hundred times in a thousand different ways it doesn't matter. So why does it matter now? Keep stirring and move to a low temperature. Let it thicken awhile.

Grab another pot and let's get ready to stir.

Facebook. That lovely social media. Mom got a touchpad, which Cam's brother-in-law is setting up for her. He set up her facebook, unfriended us on his own facebook so mom can't get to our walls, and I immediately show up as a friend suggestion. Mom and I still have other people in common.

When I show up as a friend suggestion, there's the picture of Cam and me taken as a couple taken for the church directory a couple of years ago. The same picture that hangs on the wall of the brother-in-law's house when he made himself a copy from mom and dad's original. Complicated much?

Somehow I think it looks different on facebook. Especially when I say I'm "married". Especially with my feminist/politically active/GLBT posts all over the place. Especially with my right to marry statements, pictures of flowers from my partner, etc. And not only do I stand to out Cameron as my "gay" partner, but I also stand to out him as "trans". This sucks. Yeah, I know I can block mom. But what reason, authentic and true to myself, can I give? She wants facebook so she can be closer to family. And I am family. Not sure of my role, but I'm family.

So yes, I'm madly changing security settings, etc. And I threatened to change our picture today. But for me the issue is even more complicated. It's ethical. It's identity. It's about who I am. I don't want to change the picture. I moved to SC so I would not have to hide. I've already lost my oldest son to the excuse that I'm gay and he doesn't approve. He's about to have my third grandchild. Yet another grandchild to grow up without me. I paid my fricking dues to be authentic. I pay everyday when I think about Beauty and see how much she looks like me at that age. I see those pictures on Facebook because my daughter-in-law allows it. My son has me blocked.

Let's add some more ingredients to a skillet and put this on the front burner. When I outed myself ten years ago, a very wise woman said to me, "Claiming to be lesbian is not about sexuality or orientation. It is a political statement. Think about what it means to you. And live it." I did.

For me it's a political statement. I "look" very "straight" until seen out in public with my "gay accessory." If I am to challenge and participate in change then it is my job to live authentically, to hold hands in public when appropriate, to talk about my partner the same way I would a husband, to honor our relationship. At work Cam's paintings hang on my wall and talk very openly about him as an artist. I must have two conversations a week with different people about being gay, trans, other.

Of course, if Cam's straight and male, we aren't a gay couple at all. Let that twist my identity awhile...and Goddess know what his parents would say to that. It is neat solution to being gay, isn't it? And that also seems to fall short of the truth.

And if we are going to be political, let me rant a moment. My partner can barely walk, needs surgery, and is in school so he can pull his financial weight in this relationship. But for the last eight years it's been me to hold a steady job and have money for food, gas, and trailer payment. I used to be able to claim him as a dependent. Until the IRS changed the tax law this year and I can't claim anyone older than me unless they draw disability. So I got $2000 less back on my refund this year. Two cannot live as cheaply as one. That was the money that was supposed to repair the sagging, soft floor in the bathroom. Maybe put cheap flooring in the kitchen. We've lived on subfloors for the last five years. They are not meant to be swept and mopped, but what cha' gonna do? Of course, I live in a state that will NEVER allow gay marriage.

Stir in the fact that when Cameron got the first hip replacement it was with my insurance, my sleeping at the hospital and my care. "Loophole in the policy" my ass. Anyone with two brain cells knows the only "loophole" for insurance is partner's benefits. Which I lost when the company laid us off and closed the doors.

I reread this mess and I'm not even sure what the point is. I'm angry, I'm hurt, I'm frustrated. I don't want to be the cause of Cam loosing his parents. I don't want him to choose. I don't think a choice should be necessary. My partner is agony, and I'm truthfully not a lot of help. But this bitter recipe aside, I love him. He is my heart. And I will be here no matter what. Nevertheless, I just want to grab all those pots and throw it out. It is bitter recipe and has no good answer.

The Summerlands Receives Lord Athanor

Several years ago when I began this blog, I told the story of finding my way to the Grove of the Unicorns in Atlanta, GA. While the motherhouse did not have space for me, I was taken in by a hived of coven, Grove of the Winged Scarabs.

We often celebrated rituals with the Grove of the Unicorn and other hived covens. In those days, Lady Galadriel was Queen witch with her husband Lord Athanor. When my world and my coven fell apart, they offered me space with the motherhouse. Too much water had passed and I was moving north and following my heart to Cameron. But their kindness touched my life profoundly. Their wisdom has shaped my life in ways I cannot even express.

In those days, I was known as Weaver and my Sister of the Heart (here called Fiber Geek) was Spinner. A few moments ago, Fiber Geek sent me word that Lord Athanor has crossed into the Summerlands to join the love of his wife, who crossed several years ago.

Lord A loved to brew mead. Check out his page and let's have a brew on his behalf.

His power of personality, joy of mead and wisdom shall be missed by many. Blessed be, Lord A. Thank you for touching my life.

Ga-Filk 2012

Fourteen years ago I met Cameron at the first Georgia filk convention known as GaFilk. We gather the first weekend following the holidays for a relax-a-con to enjoy good company and good music. Filk, a misnomer in a program some fifty years ago, has become its own genre focusing on, but not limited to, parody, science fiction and fantasy.

Fiber Geek and Cat

We always open with champagne and signing. Party favors wait on every chair. Some even dress up!

This was the first time I could take off work both the Friday before and the Sunday after the filking weekend in order to not rush home, which created the opportunity to participate in the dead dog party. This year a number of professional bands hung around, allowing the synergy to become absolutely remarkable.

Elise Matthesen

Elise Mattheson was a delight. She not only is an amazing author, blogger, and poet, she also creates amazing jewelry. She gifted me with an original creation on the spot. I reciprocated with a pendant I had brought along and am interested in seeing what sort of creative inspiration it inspires.

Dragons are not unknown, either, as old friends come together...

New friends are made.

Auctioneer and performer,
Bill Sutton 

As a way to raise money for interfilk, which is how we bring performers from all over the world to filk, we have an auction which gets...interesting.

Filk Wench

Pictured is one of the "wenches" who was wearing a flashing mohawk and matching flashing gloves...which got real interesting which she "hypnotized" herself into bidding against herself! LOL

Anythings goes during the auction, including bribery, back rubs and impossible promises! It's all in good fun!

Cat Faber, formerly of Echo's Children

Elise

Brenda Sutton of Three Wyrde Sisters

Pug and Shaya from Switzerland

Cat's elephants in attendance.

When I realized that Cat's elephants and joined us for the ecumenical filk Sunday morning, I of course and to bring mine as well. My elephants travel almost everywhere with us.

Elephants Gabe and Bronte.

Well, that was fun!

Phone rings. I'm making food for our trip this weekend as the budget means eating in our room at the hotel. So against my better judgement, I answer, expecting Cameron to have called me back.

Debt Collector: "May I speak to [uber feminine name]?"

I'm sorry, she's not home right now.

Debt Collector: "Well, may I speak to her husband."

Loud snort from me, follow with, "You are talking to a gay couple. You should read the notes. You don't get paid this way!" Click.

That was fun...bet he pays more attention next time. I used to be a debt collector. He didn't read the comment line giving the partner, a woman, permission to speak to the person on the other end of the phone wanting money. Snort. Another  target down. My work here is done.

Emptiness

"[E]mptiness can never be eliminated, although the experience of it can be transformed." 

Going to Pieces without Falling Apart: A Buddhist Perspective on Wholeness by Mary Epstein, M.D.

One of the core beliefs of Buddhism is the the belief that, to understand one's true nature, one must become empty. But from the Western perspective emptiness takes on a very different meaning. We equate emptiness, rather than space for renewal, refilling, or being, as a space that is damaged, distressed, pathological. We perceive emptiness as not real, not fulfilled, not enough. Inadequate.

Put that thought on the back burner.

So what happens if we stop trying to fill our emptiness. Rather than seeking, every moment of every day, we stop the television, the distraction, the drive for fulfillment? What if, for a moment, a breath, this instant, we stop pathologizing emptiness?

Put that thought on the other back burner.

I'm a therapist. Well, an intern, but I do therapy. By nature, substance abuse counseling brings a lot of Borderline Personality Disorders to my office. My clients have made a career of avoiding emptiness. Many have taken pills so that can be "high" or in a place of not feeling, of avoiding emptiness, of ignoring it. Of numbing it out. They fear it.

Epstein responds this way: "Emptiness appears first as the dark side of our attempts to create a separate and self-sufficient self. Any therapy that tries to explain it away, or cure it with a corrective emotional experience, is destined to produce frustration and disappointment. Only when we stop fighting with our personal emptiness can we begin to appreciate the transformation that is possible" (16).

Wow.

Let's put a personal pot on.

"When we grasp the emptiness of our false selves, we are touching a little bit of truth. If we can relax into that truth, we can discover ourselves in a new way" (20).

My life is about to change. Radically. Don't exactly know when, but I do know how. When change comes, it will change everything. Where I work, where I live, how I spend my days. I'll still be a therapist, but I'll be in a different environment. I'll also be preparing the home Cameron and I dream of, 3,000 miles away, while he most likely works on his internship here. While we will spend every moment we can together, there will be a great deal of opportunity for alone time as well.

Let combine and stir the pot.

I've not had a lot of alone time in the last ten years or so. My time has been filled with school, work, financial stress. Now I want to look ahead, to that alone time, and approach it with reverence, awareness, and respect. I want to step into that emptiness and let it become my next place of healing.

One last quote from today's reading, because I identify with it: "As the Buddhist traditions always insist, if we look outside of ourselves for relief from our own predicament, we are sure to come up short. Only by learning how to touch the ground of our own emptiness can we feel whole again" (27).

Visions of Body Dysmorphia

I have come to believe that Body Dysmorphic Disorder plagues most of us. I'm too heavy/thin, short/tall, young/old. Polarized and not fitting the person staring back at in the mirror, we either don't want to look, or spend hours changing the physical self. Dysmorphia is fed by Seventh Avenue ads of beauty and impossibility. Indeed, Photoshop has created the impossibly perfect and now we expect reality to conform...just take a look at Youtube. Think about it, how many people actually feel comfortable in their own skins? Even those of us who recognize we are not defined by skins find it easier to like our spiritual selves than our physical selves.

I lost 55 pounds this year. But when I look in the mirror I see a still overweight, size 22 middle aged woman with the beginnings of smile creases and eye crinkles. I see a body marked by a difficult journey, limited by too many hours in an office job, grad school and doing therapy. And most of my friends echo my challenges with body image. Gender challenges, weight challenges, the wear and tear of arthritis, diabetes, fill in the blank.

Put that thought on on the back burner.

This is a quote from one of what is quickly becoming a favorite author, Susan Howatch. She explores spirituality in the Episcopal Church of England in a series of six books. I've read them out of order, having begun the with the last first. I'm currently reading GLAMOROUS POWERS. It's the story of a monk with a vision that leads him to leave his current calling for something undefined but promised by his psychic powers during a vision. About half way through the book, he attempts to explain what it is like to have a vision:

      "All I know for certain is that I step out of time as we understand it where the past is always behind us and future is still to come."
      "Miss Fielding said suddenly: "It must be like escaping a prison. Isn't it strange how unaware people are of being locked up in time?"
      "You find an unconscious awareness of this in the widespread longing to be immortal. Yet isn't it equally strange, when one remembers that we're also locked up in space, that no one seems to long to be ubiquitous?"

As our character Father Darrow reminds us, we normally perceive ourselves as walking a time line from birth to death, moving inexorably in the direction of death from the moment life begins. Most "mogals" or "mundanes" see this as the inevitability of life.

But what if we really are light beings trapped in a temporary, corporeal existence for the purpose of growth.  What if the only way for a light being to experience the rumble of cat's purr, the sensuality of their fur on fingertips, the devotion in their eyes is to come to Earth, the learner planet, clad in skins of water and bone.

Mayhaps our longing for immortality is the spirit's awareness of the flesh's impermanence and reminder that this stage, many times repeated, is still only temporary. And perhaps, just maybe, this powerful sense of dysmorphia is more than Seventh Avenue's lure. Maybe it is our soul deep awareness that we are something more than the flesh. And that no matter how physically perfect the body becomes, the matching of the corporeal to the spirits is, in the end, impossible.

Let's grab another burner.

That stated, do I believe we should struggle any less with these bodily "temples" to seek a more perfect union of flesh and spirit? My answer is that it depends.

Certainly our physical manifestations on this planet determine identity, how we are perceived, and how we define ourselves. Male. Female. Transgender. Androgynous. Each word comes with a judgement, a cultural value, and definition of self and other.

Moreover, I would never suggest my beloved partner, who is transgendered, should not seek to more clearly align the outer expression of self with the inner sense of identity. It determines which bathroom he/she uses. How others see our coupleness. Whether or not we or he is safe.

So bringing the pots together, the front burner and the back.

I don't believe that everyone has dysmorphia to the extent of a needful diagnosis and treatment. I do think the current focus created by media on the physical distracts light beings from our purpose on this planet. We are here to experience the purr, the fur, the doubt, the fear and the joy of living. We are here to engage our challenges and grow. Sometimes necessary changes leads to the loss of 55 pounds or the transition of gender. Sometimes the physical drives us so profoundly that until that pain is addressed, we cannot get on with our purpose.

Let's stir the pot.

Middle age has come as a rude awakening for me. Despite the roundness of my curves, I've always gotten by on a great complexion, an ability to flirt, an innate sexuality that made the men notice. I changed it all in the last ten years. A substantial weight gain, a shift in pheromones, a iron control over my sexuality has completely shifted how I relate to the world. Menopause has made the shift easier, light on the night sweats and bringing relief to no longer have 10-12 day periods.

Then my complexion shifted. I suddenly started breaking out. Badly. My skin wasn't just splotchy. I had those teenage zits that make people notice. I work in a substance abuse treatment center where such acne is associated with opiate abuse. People kept asking if I was okay. The morning a middle aged gentleman asked, out of deep and caring concern, what was wrong with my face, I realized my appearance was getting in the way of being able to do therapy. No matter the inner work of my journey and my struggle to be comfortable in the flesh, my physical appearance was interrupting the therapeutic process, leading to personal inquires in place of the professional. I find that to be unacceptable.

I turned to the internet. I viewed a teenage model's videos on makeup application. I spent $40 I didn't have at WalMart. For an hour I searched the aisles for the secrets of success. I finally had to admit I have middle age skin in need of real coverage, not that light kid stuff. And I need primer (am I painting a house?). I settled for Drew Barrymore meets Elen Degeneres in the Cover Girl aisle. To my disgust, it worked perfectly. Every single day, I do mean every day, I have had compliments on my appearance ranging from the polite "you look radiant/pretty/really good" to the crass "your makeup is flawless."

Grrrrr.... Just like when I lost 55 pounds and my hips no longer met both sides of my chair (yes, clients have admitted to noticing), I'm judged by appearance. And no matter how pretty the make up, I still don't see the physical matching what's in my head.

Leaving the pot to simmer.

In an ideal world, I suppose the answer is balance. But balance still doesn't allow my partner to go to the male bathroom or erase the pimples from my cheeks. Sigh.

This is where I remind myself it truly is the learning planet.

Sunday Casserole

It's very strange for me to plan to serve a casserole for my in-laws every Sunday. It dominates the day to drive all the way to their home and serve a meal, and some part of me does so grudgingly because so many things wait at home to be done. My Mondays and Tuesdays are very long, leaving me exhausted the start of every week, so lining up another exhausting day can be overwhelming. And yet I find myself planning the meals with great delight. Funny how sharing food brings people together.

A favorite gay boy recently said to me, "Aging is not for the faint of heart." As I count my increasing gray hairs (few enough I can still count) and watch my knees wear with each passing year, I can't help but concur. Makes me incredibly aware of how fragile our parents grow. End of life issues creep in, one year at a time, and I know we have little time left.

So this week it's going to be Johnnie Marzetti and NILLA Tiramisu Cookie Balls. I actually wanted to make the tiramisu last week, but didn't have all the ingredients. So I made Oreo Balls instead, which are deadly sweet.