Posts
I had meant to post these thoughts some time ago, but they've not congealed until today when I read today's column by Christopher Goffard in the Los Angeles Times.
About a year and a half ago I put up a post that was critical of Christine Daniels' having taken down her blog at the Los Angeles Times and, without comment or explanation, having resumed writing as Michael Penner. I was very rightly criticized and corrected for this posting. My intention had not been to criticize this very personal choice but the fact that the reportage of it had not been brought to closure. Last November, the person in whom both these identities dwelt committed suicide. The pettiness of my criticism stood before me in full relief.
It is hard enough for anyone to transition. The potential losses can be devastating, not to mention the fact that one stands open to ridicule and unmitigated hatred. No matter how many statutes are passed, the idiot mind of the mass is slow to change, and prejudice has a nuclear half-life. Friends and family turn away or become monstrous. Add to this mixture the fact that someone transitioning from male to female is now held to a brutally unfair standard of beauty. Transition is tough enough in an average setting - how much more difficult if one is already, to a greater or lesser degree, in the public eye. Some are gifted with chutzpah, bless them, and can use the notoriety as a bully-pulpit, but not everyone is made of such stern stuff.
I'm not saying that transitions aren't successful or that there are not thousands of now happy men and women who have solved a major life problem and are now more productive than ever. But it's not a panacea. Chronic depression, ADD, personality disorders, ad infinitum are still there for many and must still be dealt with.
We cannot - must not - judge. We must love. We must support. I regret that posting with all my heart. I had no right to criticize this person's choice on journalistic or any other grounds. I did, however, have a deep obligation to try to understand - as did all who came within the slightest contact of either Christine Daniels or Mike Penner. Stereotype or not, I have felt from the beginning that to be a woman is to be open to the Divine Feminine, which is the embodiment of compassion and nurture. I am ashamed that these qualities were not with me that day. And I am still saddened by the loss of an excellent writer and a good human being.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Brother and Sister
I haven't posted since December. It's enough to say that I've been overwhelmed with work and with a continuing lack of privacy and time to think of something worth saying. So I had decided to simply put up a humorous post saying I was still alive. I've done it before, about a year ago, with a picture of Madeline Usher from Roger Corman's House of Usher. I just spent a fruitless half hour looking for another picture of Madeline and didn't find one that suited my fancy. As I was looking, though, I began to wonder why I'm fixated upon this particular story. Hmmm...
An artsy but ineffectual male has a twin sister who is rendered ineffectual by her lapses into
catalepsy. She appears to succumb, and he puts her into a coffin which is placed deep within the bowels of their ancestral mansion (read consciousness). This coffined-up sister comes to, and with superhuman strength pushes off the coffin lid and forces open the huge oaken door of the dungeon to which she has been consigned.
"Oh whither shall I fly? Will she not be here anon? Is she not hurrying to upbraid me for my haste? Have I not heard her footstep on the stair? Do I not distinguish that heavy and horrible beating of her heart? Madman!” — here he sprang furiously to his feet, and shrieked out his syllables, as if in the effort he were giving up his soul — “Madman! I tell you that she now stands without the door!"
An artsy but ineffectual male has a twin sister who is rendered ineffectual by her lapses into
catalepsy. She appears to succumb, and he puts her into a coffin which is placed deep within the bowels of their ancestral mansion (read consciousness). This coffined-up sister comes to, and with superhuman strength pushes off the coffin lid and forces open the huge oaken door of the dungeon to which she has been consigned."Oh whither shall I fly? Will she not be here anon? Is she not hurrying to upbraid me for my haste? Have I not heard her footstep on the stair? Do I not distinguish that heavy and horrible beating of her heart? Madman!” — here he sprang furiously to his feet, and shrieked out his syllables, as if in the effort he were giving up his soul — “Madman! I tell you that she now stands without the door!"
As if in the superhuman energy of his utterance there had been found the potency of a spell — the huge antique panels to which the speaker pointed, threw slowly back, upon the instant, their ponderous and ebony jaws. It was the work of the rushing gust — but then without those doors there did stand the lofty and enshrouded figure of the lady Madeline of Usher. There was blood upon her white robes, and the evidence of some bitter struggle upon every portion of her emaciated frame. For a moment she remained trembling and reeling to and fro upon the threshold — then, with a low moaning cry, fell heavily inward upon the person of her brother, and in her violent and now final death-agonies, bore him to the floor a corpse, and a victim to the terrors he had anticipated.
I keep coming back to this story -- have done so since I first read it decades ago.
I wonder why.
I wonder if my alter-ego, who is so protective of me and of whom I am so fond, has anything to worry about.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get out of this bloody nightgown and take a shower.
I wonder why.
I wonder if my alter-ego, who is so protective of me and of whom I am so fond, has anything to worry about.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get out of this bloody nightgown and take a shower.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Angels in Training
I’m wondering, given my slightly addictive and obsessive personality, i
f signing on to FaceBook was a good idea. I used to spend an inordinate amount of time posting to this blog, checking to see if anyone was reading it, commenting on other blogs, etc. Now I’m spending an inordinate amount of time posting to FB, checking to see if anyone is reading it, commenting on other postings, etc. (I think I’m seeing a pattern here.) My FB friends run about 70/30: transwomen/feminist spirituality, with a couple of cisgendered males to even things out. (This isn’t counting three Middle Eastern males who sent friend requests out of nowhere that I’ve kept in FB Limbo.) I want to concentrate on transwomen right now.
I’ve always felt that connecting to my womanhood was connecting to my higher and more nurturing self. I see this in spades in my sisters. One couple comes to mind whose names I’ll not include out of respect for their privacy: transwomen who are married to each other, one is a lawyer and one is retired from construction, I believe. Part of their Christmas holiday was spent taking underprivileged children on an outing (and this was only one of several altruistic acts). One comment read: “You are Angels!” I have to concur. But I see this kind of giving behavior all the time, and I do not count it an act of egotism when it is posted on FB; it is a sharing of love.
I had a friend, a fellow storyteller, a cisgendered woman who was tragically
taken from us nine years ago this coming May. Lora had this kind of giving quality. In one of her personal stories she referred to herself as an “Angel in Training.” I miss her even now. But I see her in so many of my sisters.
I’ve been looking at angels quite a bit over the past weeks. They are beautiful creatures, close to the creator, who transcend the boundaries of male and female. They can be fierce, like St. Michael fighting the Devil, but they also embody the female qualities of compassion and nurture.
We are not perfect, physically or morally. Many of us have understandably rejected religion. We’re not angels, but I see all about me Angels in Training.
f signing on to FaceBook was a good idea. I used to spend an inordinate amount of time posting to this blog, checking to see if anyone was reading it, commenting on other blogs, etc. Now I’m spending an inordinate amount of time posting to FB, checking to see if anyone is reading it, commenting on other postings, etc. (I think I’m seeing a pattern here.) My FB friends run about 70/30: transwomen/feminist spirituality, with a couple of cisgendered males to even things out. (This isn’t counting three Middle Eastern males who sent friend requests out of nowhere that I’ve kept in FB Limbo.) I want to concentrate on transwomen right now.I’m seeing a broad swath of this sisterhood. I’ve been friended by artists, lawyers, homemakers, educators, activists, doctors, women who work with their hands and girls who just wanna have fun. What impresses me beyond the eclectic makeup of this group is the almost universal sense of altruism. When I called this a sisterhood, I wasn’t kidding. If anyone states that she is feeling upset, if anyone is in trouble, if anyone is hurt, friends come flocking, some with words of comfort and encouragement, others with physical help.
I’ve always felt that connecting to my womanhood was connecting to my higher and more nurturing self. I see this in spades in my sisters. One couple comes to mind whose names I’ll not include out of respect for their privacy: transwomen who are married to each other, one is a lawyer and one is retired from construction, I believe. Part of their Christmas holiday was spent taking underprivileged children on an outing (and this was only one of several altruistic acts). One comment read: “You are Angels!” I have to concur. But I see this kind of giving behavior all the time, and I do not count it an act of egotism when it is posted on FB; it is a sharing of love.
I had a friend, a fellow storyteller, a cisgendered woman who was tragically
taken from us nine years ago this coming May. Lora had this kind of giving quality. In one of her personal stories she referred to herself as an “Angel in Training.” I miss her even now. But I see her in so many of my sisters. I’ve been looking at angels quite a bit over the past weeks. They are beautiful creatures, close to the creator, who transcend the boundaries of male and female. They can be fierce, like St. Michael fighting the Devil, but they also embody the female qualities of compassion and nurture.
We are not perfect, physically or morally. Many of us have understandably rejected religion. We’re not angels, but I see all about me Angels in Training.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Telling Tales This Sunday
My dear friends Jayne and Anniitra have asked me to tell and discuss stories of descent on their blogspot raidio show 11 am pst this Sunday. I am very excited and flattered. If you'd like to tune in and/or call in, here's a link: Creatrix Media Live.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
The Inner Circle
I’m the first to admit that I probably spend way too much time being absolutely gobsmacked at the acceptance I’ve gained from my friends who are genetic women. I am especially impressed by this acceptance in light of the fact that I am not transitioned. And with this admission I further admit that I am perpetuating a ludicrous trans pecking order which does none of us any good. And all of this has more to do with my own self-esteem issues than the subject upon which I had intended to comment, which is…
Menstruation.
I don’t. And, if you’re part of my regular readership (the breadth of w
hich completely escapes me) you most likely don’t either. But my daughters do, my business partner does, most of my colleagues do (teaching being a female-dominated profession), and most of my friends do (though many are post menopausal and therefore used to). Forget all the rest of the accoutrement (well, yeah there’s childbirth and multiple orgasms – though usually not in that order), if there is one thing that makes me acutely aware of my status amongst my cis-sisters it's the lack of that monthly visit from Aunt Flo. I’m not saying that I envy it, but I am in awe of it.
On the lowest level, I am in awe that women can go through this every month and still maintain, still function personally and professionally. But I’d rather bring this up to a higher plane. It’s been noted that women in groups tend to menstruate at the same time, hence the red tent in Anita Diamant’s novel of the same name, in which the women of Jacob’s family live during their time of the month – all together, if I recall. Connect this monthly cycle to the monthly cycle of the moon, and you have something very powerful, something that connected the women of a tribe with the earth and the heavens, a magical synergy which linked women with the cosmos in a way that was denied to men.
In this light, I have no problem envisioning a time when the power of the tribe’s or city’s (an early city being the size of a small town in which everyone knew everybody else) women was recognized and when women’s wisdom was respected and revered. This would have been a time of matriarchy. It would not have been a time in which power was seized by the most violent within the community, but, as I said, a time in which spirit, wisdom, and connectedness were recognized and listened to.
If I say “queen,” I envision a female version of some medieval lunkhead hacking and hewing his way to the throne (or at least sitting on a throne to which his grandfather hacked and hewed his way). I don’t see that here. I see someone more akin to Mother Judith, the priestess (she’d probably blanche at the word) at my parents' Episcopalian church: a mature woman who has known responsibility, parenthood, pain and connection with the spirit. A woman who can give damn good advice and to whom people listen -- if they have half a brain. An Earth Mother.
Such an individual possesses the experience needed to deal with the “real” world along with the intuition required to evoke the Spirit. Such individuals, I believe, will eventually be the salvation of humanity.
So where does that leave transwomen? Where does this leave me? I started this post after having read Kate Bornstein’s rebuttal to a transphobic essay by Germaine Greer. In so many words, Ms. Greer calls transwomen “ghastly parodies.” Ms. Bornstein counters it well, but the epithet hit home. I have felt the import of those words and I feel it as I write this. “But you’re not a woman.” I’ve heard it more than once from more than one person, and though it does not contain the bitterness Ms. Greer’s pronouncement, it means the same thing. I have no hard and pat answer to it other than this:
Today I called into the Creatrix Media Live! podcast hosted by my friends Jayne and Aniitra. The host was Dr. Miriam Robbins Dexter, an archeomythologist, linguist and instructor at UCLA Women's Studies Program, and the talk was on matriarchy and patriarchy in ancient Europe. My question was typically self-serving: what was the position of transwomen in ancient cultures? Dr. Dexter’s answer was one which I had expected and one which brings me back to a sense of balance and peace. We were the shamans, and a tradition of transgendered priestesses is recorded as early as the early Mesopotamian cities and most likely existed far earlier.
Transwomen may not menstruate, but that does not exclude us from a larger sisterhood marked by such qualities as intuition, compassion, empathy, and nurture. I was once reminded, early on my road to acceptance, that not all genetic women menstruate. The boundary is not so clear as it may seem to Ms. Greer.
And yet…
When I hear two of my friends complaining about their hot flashes, I’m mixed. I’m glad I don’t have to put up with hot flashes of my own, and I’m saddened not to be part of the inner circle.
Menstruation.
I don’t. And, if you’re part of my regular readership (the breadth of w
hich completely escapes me) you most likely don’t either. But my daughters do, my business partner does, most of my colleagues do (teaching being a female-dominated profession), and most of my friends do (though many are post menopausal and therefore used to). Forget all the rest of the accoutrement (well, yeah there’s childbirth and multiple orgasms – though usually not in that order), if there is one thing that makes me acutely aware of my status amongst my cis-sisters it's the lack of that monthly visit from Aunt Flo. I’m not saying that I envy it, but I am in awe of it.On the lowest level, I am in awe that women can go through this every month and still maintain, still function personally and professionally. But I’d rather bring this up to a higher plane. It’s been noted that women in groups tend to menstruate at the same time, hence the red tent in Anita Diamant’s novel of the same name, in which the women of Jacob’s family live during their time of the month – all together, if I recall. Connect this monthly cycle to the monthly cycle of the moon, and you have something very powerful, something that connected the women of a tribe with the earth and the heavens, a magical synergy which linked women with the cosmos in a way that was denied to men.
In this light, I have no problem envisioning a time when the power of the tribe’s or city’s (an early city being the size of a small town in which everyone knew everybody else) women was recognized and when women’s wisdom was respected and revered. This would have been a time of matriarchy. It would not have been a time in which power was seized by the most violent within the community, but, as I said, a time in which spirit, wisdom, and connectedness were recognized and listened to.
If I say “queen,” I envision a female version of some medieval lunkhead hacking and hewing his way to the throne (or at least sitting on a throne to which his grandfather hacked and hewed his way). I don’t see that here. I see someone more akin to Mother Judith, the priestess (she’d probably blanche at the word) at my parents' Episcopalian church: a mature woman who has known responsibility, parenthood, pain and connection with the spirit. A woman who can give damn good advice and to whom people listen -- if they have half a brain. An Earth Mother.
Such an individual possesses the experience needed to deal with the “real” world along with the intuition required to evoke the Spirit. Such individuals, I believe, will eventually be the salvation of humanity.
So where does that leave transwomen? Where does this leave me? I started this post after having read Kate Bornstein’s rebuttal to a transphobic essay by Germaine Greer. In so many words, Ms. Greer calls transwomen “ghastly parodies.” Ms. Bornstein counters it well, but the epithet hit home. I have felt the import of those words and I feel it as I write this. “But you’re not a woman.” I’ve heard it more than once from more than one person, and though it does not contain the bitterness Ms. Greer’s pronouncement, it means the same thing. I have no hard and pat answer to it other than this:
Today I called into the Creatrix Media Live! podcast hosted by my friends Jayne and Aniitra. The host was Dr. Miriam Robbins Dexter, an archeomythologist, linguist and instructor at UCLA Women's Studies Program, and the talk was on matriarchy and patriarchy in ancient Europe. My question was typically self-serving: what was the position of transwomen in ancient cultures? Dr. Dexter’s answer was one which I had expected and one which brings me back to a sense of balance and peace. We were the shamans, and a tradition of transgendered priestesses is recorded as early as the early Mesopotamian cities and most likely existed far earlier.
Transwomen may not menstruate, but that does not exclude us from a larger sisterhood marked by such qualities as intuition, compassion, empathy, and nurture. I was once reminded, early on my road to acceptance, that not all genetic women menstruate. The boundary is not so clear as it may seem to Ms. Greer.
And yet…
When I hear two of my friends complaining about their hot flashes, I’m mixed. I’m glad I don’t have to put up with hot flashes of my own, and I’m saddened not to be part of the inner circle.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Saving the World's Women
My friend Shaktima Brien posted this New York Times article on Facebook, and I want to give it to you.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
If You Would Write, Write
I'm back, for a number of reasons, to a lack of time and privacy.
So I've got a little time, here in the classroom, before attacking a pile of essays, to write. I've got the desire, the urge, and a little time. All I lack is something to say.
Here are a couple of notes:
I watched the ABC presentation on Chloe Prince online a day after just about everyone else and was moved. Many questions were answered and the "bee sting" question raised (which she has answered in her blog). As one would expect, ABC left things out and muddled the story here and there. (I remember Mark Twain complaining about a news story about himself: "You could go over it with a fine-toothed comb and never find yourself.") My biggest gripe actually lies in the production and is one I've seen over and over again across the spectrum of news documentaries: with all that footage taken, why are the same shots repeated? I don't know Chloe as well as I'd like to, but I wish her and her family all joy and hope that this exposure brings nothing but positive outcomes.
Totally unrelated:
About a week ago, my younger daughter told me about an animated film that she had come across called Sita Sings the Blues. It's an interpretation of the Hindu epic Ramayana with modern interpolations and musical numbers by 20's singer Annette Hanshaw
. I was enchanted by it and remain so despite the fact that many Hindus were offended by what they saw as an irreverent depiction of one of their sacred stories and that many non-Hindu academics felt that, since animator Nina Paley is not Hindu herself, she has no right to work with The Ramayana. I honor the first criticism more than I honor the latter. I believe all faiths should be honored, but I also believe that one of the best ways to honor a belief or a culture is to share it through story. I am pleased to find that a good many Hindu viewers share my feelings. Here is a link to the film's website where you can watch the entire hour-and-a-half film:
http://www.sitasingstheblues.com/
I love what Ms. Paley is doing regarding the rights here. I plan to make a donation and buy stuff as soon as I'm back in the chips. Go thou and do the same.
Admittedly, there is little here to do with trans issues, but that doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you.
Now I've got to get back to those essays...
So I've got a little time, here in the classroom, before attacking a pile of essays, to write. I've got the desire, the urge, and a little time. All I lack is something to say.
Here are a couple of notes:
I watched the ABC presentation on Chloe Prince online a day after just about everyone else and was moved. Many questions were answered and the "bee sting" question raised (which she has answered in her blog). As one would expect, ABC left things out and muddled the story here and there. (I remember Mark Twain complaining about a news story about himself: "You could go over it with a fine-toothed comb and never find yourself.") My biggest gripe actually lies in the production and is one I've seen over and over again across the spectrum of news documentaries: with all that footage taken, why are the same shots repeated? I don't know Chloe as well as I'd like to, but I wish her and her family all joy and hope that this exposure brings nothing but positive outcomes.
Totally unrelated:
About a week ago, my younger daughter told me about an animated film that she had come across called Sita Sings the Blues. It's an interpretation of the Hindu epic Ramayana with modern interpolations and musical numbers by 20's singer Annette Hanshaw
. I was enchanted by it and remain so despite the fact that many Hindus were offended by what they saw as an irreverent depiction of one of their sacred stories and that many non-Hindu academics felt that, since animator Nina Paley is not Hindu herself, she has no right to work with The Ramayana. I honor the first criticism more than I honor the latter. I believe all faiths should be honored, but I also believe that one of the best ways to honor a belief or a culture is to share it through story. I am pleased to find that a good many Hindu viewers share my feelings. Here is a link to the film's website where you can watch the entire hour-and-a-half film: http://www.sitasingstheblues.com/
I love what Ms. Paley is doing regarding the rights here. I plan to make a donation and buy stuff as soon as I'm back in the chips. Go thou and do the same.
Admittedly, there is little here to do with trans issues, but that doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you.
Now I've got to get back to those essays...
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