Beloved friends,
Last year a friend posted a photo of her child on her social media and referred to the child as "he". This child was AMAB (assigned male at birth) and we'd called the child by he/him pronouns as a toddler. Then my friend moved away and I saw on her socials that her child was using they/them pronouns for a few years. In the most recent post, the child returned to using he/him. The comment that I made on that photo got tucked into the little file I keep of things to use as inspiration for this newsletter:
As I noticed the pronoun shift here, my body let out a happy, relaxed sigh. Not of relief that (child) is using "he", but of the fact that he has been able to declare himself and be known by those who care for him as he knows himself over time, in his naturally changing self.
I deeply hope that the grace gen alpha are exploring around gender identity can support them in nonbinary thinking more widely, which would so clearly be medicine for the world.
As you might guess from that hopefulness, this was a post from early last year, before the US presidential election. Today I came across it just after reading about the closure of Los Angeles Children's Hospital's Transyouth clinic after 30 years of care and Stanford's cessation of all surgical treatments for people under the age of 19. Hearing these losses in California chilled my heart. Knowing that these losses happened because the federal government threatened the ability of these institutions to give care to all people if they did not cease to give this kind of care to these children is so ugly.
There was a time when I vehemently rejected "girl" as my gender. I did not have any models for this; I only knew that everything about girlhood rubbed me wrong; my whole being said NO. THAT IS NOT ME. I learned the word "tomboy" and found grace and relief there. It helped me make sense of myself to myself and gave me a way to say myself to others: "I'm not a girl, I'm a tomboy."
I hold my memories of gender dysphoria as a precious touchstone: the queasy distress and horror of being perceived in a way which felt fundamentally wrong, not just incorrect-wrong but unjust-wrong; I felt wronged by the intimate, public assumption that anyone knew things about me based on an idea about my body. How freeing it was to find a word that changed my sense of belonging and representation! It was an important season in the becoming of me. I resonate with the child of my friend who took his time and chose with care his way into becoming himself as he grew.
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For lots of people gender dysphoria is not a season. I have many loved ones, children and adults, who are trans. My heart aches for them and all trans people in this terrifying season of the world. I yearn for the glimpse Tim Walz offered us of another way to be with his simple Midwestern, "Mind your own damn business!" Why should anyone have an opinion about how other people are living their lives? How could anyone want to quash someone else's blossom? Trans joy is a glorious thing. People glow with a new light, life, and joy after transitioning at every age. Have you seen this, too? The luminosity of living in truth and freedom?
I began writing this with an aching heart, unsure where I was going. Having reflected upon the radiance of beloved face after beloved face after they began to live their truth, I find myself now both aching and filled with hope. Because transness isn't going anywhere, but seasons of excessive social control come and go. This terrible wave of fascism cannot endure forever, and people will continue to be as wonderfully unique as people are for as long as there are people.
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A couple years ago I wrote something on social media supportive of trans people. Someone I had not met in person responded. They lived in the town I was going to move to, the one I live in now. I'd appreciated their presence in our town's social media group and friended them on socials. They commented on my post – which, like this one, expressed general concern – and requested specific action. Demanded it, boldly. I remember them saying something like, "Support us as individuals: Hire us! Give us gifts! Take us out for dinner."
I listened. After I'd moved, when I needed to practice bodywork before resuming my work, I needed to sit down and work from my textbooks again to refresh my knowing after the pandemic not-touching, I reached out. I asked the person if they'd like to receive some free work while I poured over my notes. Our time together was sweet, and I've enjoyed knowing them since. After writing the first draft of this yesterday, I ran into them at a concert last night, because often the universe is really not very subtle at all. I took the hint and offered more bodywork to them and their partner, naming it as a tangible gesture of loving support in this time. I hope it lifted all our hearts a little; I know we shared warm smiles.
It's so easy, dear one: Who can you support? How can your concern for the world benefit a specific person? With care – it's important, when we are trying to turn our concern into action, that we don't burden the people we connect with. People need to feel like people, know they are cared for in and as themselves, not as a means to an end to the easing of your heart. Your pain gets the ball rolling, but then: love the person before you, truly. Could you take a friend's kid out for a bit so they can have space to fall down, cry, nap, take a bath? Could you bring groceries to a neighbor? Invite someone over for food, out for a walk? Simple gestures can be profound. There are so many ways to help. And action begets more hope.
May we all know peace and wholeness, freedom and belonging.
May it be so. May it be so. May it be so.
Resources
To Follow Through
It's harder to make healthy decisions when we are under great stress. I love that this article emphasizes many things that I've found over the years and that you've heard in my teaching if you've studied with me. "Remember, attaining better self-control is not an all-or-nothing pursuit. If you slip up from time to time or allow yourself a cheat day, you can still make progress toward your goal. The key is to keep going." and my favorite lines:
“Moderation might actually be the more sustainable and more realistic approach,” Dr. Fujita said. “You know you are going to fail. The question is: How are you going to respond?”
Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya
Mandy Patinkin (who played Inigo Montoya in The Princess Bride) and Kathryn Grody's son Gideon began to film and post his parents online during the pandemic, as you likely know. They've been on a roll ever since and are currently preparing several projects. The NY Times has a charming and meaningful interview with them. Kathryn:
"We’re purposeful messes. I embrace being messy more than I ever have as a reaction against the whole A.I., chatbot, algorithm world. I want to be messy. I want to be human. I want to make mistakes. I want to apologize. I want to be tactile."
I was also grateful for their willingness to speak as Jewish people naming and denouncing the genocide afoot in Gaza, whose people are being starved to death. I am going to refrain from quoting because I don't like the idea of lessening the context of these remarks. If you'd like to read for yourself, here's a gift link. Thanks to Kirsten
The Greatest Change: Our New Ancestor
Andrea Gibson, beloved poet, shining light, nonbinary being, has set their body down, by which I mean to say: their body has died. May we carry their spirit ever in our hearts; may their words bless many generations. I encourage you to listen to Andrea read this poem to their wife Meg. Bring tissues.
LOVE LETTER FROM THE AFTERLIFE
My love, I was so wrong. Dying is the opposite of leaving. When I left my body, I did not go away. That portal of light was not a portal to elsewhere, but a portal to here. I am more here than I ever was before. I am more with you than I ever could have imagined. So close you look past me when wondering where I am. It’s Ok. I know that to be human is to be farsighted. But feel me now, walking the chambers of your heart, pressing my palms to the soft walls of your living. Why did no one tell us that to die is to be reincarnated in those we love while they are still alive? Ask me the altitude of heaven, and I will answer, “How tall are you?” In my back pocket is a love note with every word you wish you’d said. At night I sit ecstatic at the loom weaving forgiveness into our worldly regrets. All day I listen to the radio of your memories. Yes, I know every secret you thought too dark to tell me, and love you more for everything you feared might make me love you less. When you cry I guide your tears toward the garden of kisses I once planted on your cheek, so you know they are all perennials. Forgive me, for not being able to weep with you. One day you will understand. One day you will know why I read the poetry of your grief to those waiting to be born, and they are all the more excited. There is nothing I want for now that we are so close I open the curtain of your eyelids with my own smile every morning. I wish you could see the beauty your spirit is right now making of your pain, your deep seated fears playing musical chairs, laughing about how real they are not. My love, I want to sing it through the rafters of your bones, Dying is the opposite of leaving. I want to echo it through the corridor of your temples, I am more with you than I ever was before. Do you understand? It was me who beckoned the stranger who caught you in her arms when you forgot not to order for two at the coffee shop. It was me who was up all night gathering sunflowers into your chest the last day you feared you would never again wake up feeling lighthearted. I know it’s hard to believe, but I promise it’s the truth. I promise one day you will say it too– I can’t believe I ever thought I could lose you.
Resistance
Leaving MAGA
is a group who aims to support people in doing that based on their own experience of having done so. Their website is full of testimonials and they offer a free e-book about the process, available to people in MAGA who are wavering or folks who want to reach out to loved ones to try to help them get out. May change come for MAGA.
¡CHINGA LA MIGRA!
I met Shannon Kidd, the artist behind this gorgeous poster, at a music festival in Quilcene. She was simply asking donations for this flyer, and when I took one and slipped her some cash, she told me to take a couple. So there's one hanging on a friend's farmstand and one in my temple amongst other holy things, because this? This to me is a sacred sentiment: resistance of evil is a sacred duty. ¡Chinga la migra! = FUCK ICE in Spanish. Want one? Shannon is willing to mail you one, just because. Of course, we artists need to eat, though, so when you message to ask her for one, (she's using Instagram; drop her a DM!) ask for her Venmo and buy her a cup of coffee or dinner, please, if you can.
Today's opening image is my lavender harvest for this year. Below is the zoomed-out view of drying on the floor in the temple, which there is room for because I won't be teaching for a smidge. I'm off to a different forest a for a bit. My house sitter isn't writing newsletters, so I'll see you here in a couple of weeks!
This Is Part of My Job
And if it's bringing you benefit, I'd be grateful for your support to keep doing it. You can become a paying subscriber to this newsletter for less than a cup of coffee a month, or make a one-time donation. Shopping in my Bookshop sends a 10% commission my way. Sharing my newsletter with a friend to spread my work is a wonderful gift, too. Deepest of thanks for your time and attention, which are precious gifts as well.
