Last night, after arriving back to Izzy’s place in Paris, I had a wonderful Skype conversation with a dear friend in California. At one point the topic turned to love, surrender, and letting go of the illusion of control. Reminded me of one of my favorite love poems, by Iranian Sufi poet Hafez.
The Sun Never Says
Even
After
All this time
The Sun never says to the Earth,
“You owe me.”
Look
What happens
With a love like that,
It lights the whole sky.
With metta and prayers for the people of Iran today.
Yesterday I stumbled upon this latest entry by renowned hip-hop video blogger Jay Smooth. I won’t go on about it too much — I think it speaks for itself — but I just wanted to share how thankful I am for his work on IllDoctrine.com (which I had all but forgotten since my Great Escape from the Internet). I don’t agree with evvverything he says in his vlogs, but most of it gets a big Sadhu (well said) from here. And this video’s insight about media and culture resonates particularly. As Jay puts it, we need to ensure that the coming generations can differentiate between media attention and genuine affection. Real love, vital love, does not commodify us. It is not measured in applause, sales, or hit counts.
Hey, friends. Today I’m going to do something a little unusual.
Over a year ago, on another blog, I wrote a piece about my transforming body. A number of people responded to it in heartwarming and wonderful ways, for which I’m still very grateful. In the many months since then, far more than I’ve thought about my particular physical change, I’ve often thought about the way I immediately accepted its arrival.
At the time, I recognized this acceptance as so extraordinary, so unexpected, and so profoundly bad-ass that it could not have come from just “me.” I, alone, was not strong enough to understand such an event so deeply and so quickly. My insight, as I said, owed itself to many teachers and inspirations in trans and feminist communities.
Now, though, there’s a new angle. Looking back on what I wrote, in addition to transfeminism I recognize another perspective: a budding consciousness of dhamma — the teaching of the Buddha. Nothing is permanent. Everything changes. So it’s best to accept the change, and learn to let go of the appearance of things. Learn directly.
This is probably one of the most powerful examples, in my own life experience, of the practical benefits of dhammic wisdom. In Pali, bhavanamayapanya — the wisdom gained by one’s own direct experience. Not because I heard it; not because I puzzled it out; but because, at the level of the body, I felt it. And it helped me.
So here, re-posted, is the piece I wrote. Offered in hopes that it might continue to help! And offered with thanks to more teachers, probably, than I even remember.
* * * * *
Trans Feminism And My Vagina: A Love Story
Today at 1pm, the hearing for HB1722, “An Act Relative to Gender-Based Discrimination and Hate Crimes,” is going down at the State House. As always, Quench is on top of it. The following is a highly untheoretical, personal expression of tremendous, joyous gratitude to everyone who struggles against transphobia. Oversharing for a greater purpose, you might call it.
Reclining, legs stiffly spread, during my routine Pap test a couple of months previous, the nurse had neared the end of her business, and I’d asked, with as much nonchalance as one can muster in such a position, whether she’d happened to notice that thing in there…kind of like a swelling?
Trundling out of UHS into another icy December afternoon, I couldn’t remember the medical term she used. Just that it sounded a lot like “cyst.”
And now here I was, back at my laptop, staring at the blank white Google Search box. What did she call it? I knew “cyst” was off — it wasn’t going to help my search. Instead, hesitantly, I typed in a few related words: “bulging bladder vagina.”
No, not birthday — Bastille Day! In honor of which, here’s some bikes, breakfast, babies, beads, and boats. French ones. And that’s about as deep as I plan to get about that. :)
The recent exchange with Oh Please, here on the Twitter thread, reminded me of a wonderful story that I’ve been wanting to share with y’all for a long time. Paraphrased from my meditation teacher, S. N. Goenka, who heard or read it somewhere else, it’s been the single most helpful lesson I’ve learned from him so far, when it comes to dealing with everyday situations. I hope you might find it useful, too!
Here goes.
At the time of the historical Buddha, Siddhartha Gotama, not far from his ashram there lived an old brahmin and his family.
Phew! Okay folks, here’s the last of the Cap-Ferret photos. It is a wonderful place to be. Even better than it looks. My French could use some work, but at least I’ve still got the accent — and a good accent opens doors and hearts, let me tell you. Say “Hello, good morning” with the right cadence and people take you for a native.
But mostly, words have been unnecessary. The ocean and I are old friends. And you know what Khalil Gibran says about friends:
For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed.
Enjoy the photos, enjoy the weekend, and take care, everyone!
There’s something about beach towns. Even opulent beach towns. So much beauty in the weathering. Unlike giant cement cities, which seem so solid and indestructible, a little town by the ocean carries a sense of organic impermanence. Like a sand castle. Enjoy it while it’s here, because even now it is slowly, slowly washing away.
My camera isn’t super-fancy (not that I would know how to use a super-fancy camera if I had one! ha), so there’s a lot about the light and texture that I can’t get, but still, something of the color and gorgeous aging in this place comes through.
Les Galippettes: home of our friends the Chamaillards
Some of you might know this about me: I really like circles and curves. Roundness: happy and abundant. So even here in Cap Ferret, land of nautical stripes, I found myself a few spherical moments.
Yo, isn’t it a fabulous feeling when one day you discover that a friend of yours has been…discovered? :D
Nyle Emerson and I met in the sweltering summer of 2006 while we were both volunteering for the Common Ground Collective in Post-Katrina New Orleans. There was an open mic night for the CG folks, and when Nyle got up to do his thing, he asked for a “beautiful, willing female from the audience,” or something like that, to come up and kind of adorn his performance. Ha! So when no one else volunteered, guess who stood up?
Kloncke 