BTT#5 The quiet terror of unrequited hope.

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I have beautiful eyes and I like to observe, I have a gorgeous mouth and I love to talk and be the center of attention…
My ears are not my best feature, I usually cover them with some type of wispy hair.  This is not surprising since I get a lot of nice comments about my hair.  I can find it really difficult to listen, and I need to listen these days, but it is hard.  Most people are thinking of what they are going to say before they have really finished hearing what someone is saying, and I am not very different, though I am trying to do better.  My ears, therefore, may serve their most salient functions as bookends for the three pound universe that is located betwixt them rather than for anything they may actually hear.
That three pound universe gives me more trouble and joy than either my ears or my hair.  The first little twinkle in there is a memory of me standing in a crib or on a bed  and looking out a window into a dark night broken only by the gleaming shine of a large white building bathed in light .  My mother is whispering gently to me about how pretty the temple is, and saying that I am her sweet little boy and is she is asking if I like looking at the temple.  I am feeling safe and loved and her voice in that moment still murmurs softly around all the cloudy edges of my memory.  But the clearest vision of this particular memory is simply of the temple itself – standing like a sharp lovely knife in the darkness as if it were not only the largest thing out there on the hill, but rather as if it were the only thing existing outside that window resting suspended in a surrounding void of blackness.

There are other vague pictures of memories in between, but the next clear memory that contains any type of narrative thought that I remember is of me sitting at a mirror by myself in my older sister’s bedroom.  The furniture is white and decorated with little gold inlays and frills around the edges.  The bed has posts and even a flowered canopy and I am feeling like I am in such a wonderful and happy space.  I am clearly wishing that it were MY room.  I am looking at a face in the mirror, with large brown eyes and beautiful long lashes, My head is tilted unconcernedly to one side like I have seen my mother do and I am batting my eyelashes up and down.  I look so pretty and I know that I am a boy, but looking in the mirror I am amazed that I am seeing a pretty little girl, and I am so happy that I am looking so pretty.  I feel light and confident in the mirror, and I have the distinct feeling that if I can hold my head gently to that one side and keep batting those pretty lashes, that I will become that girl.  My hand twirls around the picture on my sister’s Snow White princess teacup set as I gaze on and on at Snow White looking out over the opening of her wishing well.

There were other memories and toys and friends.  I had my GI Joe, and I really liked it, I had my illustrated Bible storybook, I had the paper dolls from the church children’s magazine, in which I put the pretty dress and buckled shoes on the girl.  I don’t ever remember putting the tie or suit jacket on a boy.   It would be tedious and cliche to outline every early memory in great detail, which is why we usually have to pay rather good money to very nice people (therapists) to get anyone to listen to such stuff for very long, but bear with me for just a moment longer.  I had my friends in the Private Eye Club.  Four of us were in that club and we scrawled a large single bloodshot eye with magic markers on white tee-shirts which we would wear as we roamed large circles on swift bicycles and dared to put pennies on railroad tracks, AND THEN WAIT FOR THE TRAIN so we could recover the gleaming charm after it had been flattened by the pounding of a thousand clackity wheels.  I also spent a lot of time playing with my friend’s sister, we dressed Barbie, we cooked with an easy bake oven and I got really very good at the rhythm and clapping of the many chants of girlhood with my sister.

“Say say oh playmate,
(clap, clap,)
Come out and play with me,
(cross clap)
And bring your dollies three
(cross cross, slap thighs)
Climb up my apple tree
(clap clap)
Slide down my rain barrel
(cross clap)
Into my cellar door
(cross clap slap thighs)
And we’ll be jolly friends

(clap clap)
Forever More, (clap) more (cross), more more!”
(clap clap)

My therapist is a very nice and competent person.  She says that she finds transgender minds to have a certain unique beauty because they have thoughts and feelings about being female and have often also learned the roles and joys of being male.(or vice versa for ftm individuals).  My early memories certainly reflect both types of experiences.  Rather than outline all of my associated experiences in excruciating detail, I will simply state that I have gone through life appearing to society and to my wife and family to be a rather typcial, if not sterotypically masculine male.  I have married, had kids, participated actively in my church in the very typical male roles.  I have felt mostly shame and embarrasment at the thought of wanting to be a woman, and I have spent a good bit of my life actively trying to suppress or ignore those thoughts and just move on with my life.  My life has been wonderful, and I have many joys and great things to be thankful for (wife, family, kids, faith), but the pain at not being who I deeply and persistently feel I am is very real, it engages me now every day, and the incongruency is palpably painful.

One way to picture why this might be so painful is to picture if it were to happen to you.  Picture that you were to wake up and find that you have been attacked by a malicious genie who has put you into a body of opposite gender from the one you are now.  Imagine you are a woman, and you wake up to find that you are in a man’s body, or vice versa.  You can imagine that this would be a distressing and shocking turn of events.  You would want to do all in your power to try to get back to being who you really are, no matter what society, or anyone else might say about it.  You would feel desperate and urgent.  Now imagine that everyone around you from your family, to your friends, to your boss, to your church are telling you that you are wrong, you really are a man and not a woman.  Many treat you with revulsion, or confusion, or maybe even with outright hostility when you try to assert the truth you feel strongly inside.  You may start to react with shame from the way you are treated, you might start to feel that you yourself might be wrong, and in an effort to survive, you may just go along with it, hiding your real self from others, and you may even try intermittently to hide it from yourself, but you soon find the veil you have tried to weave over your own mind is insubstantial and frail. It cannot cover the gnawing truth you are trying to bury.  You likely often feel terrified, and may often want to scream, or other times you might just want to curl up in a tight ball and hide.  You might even eventually just want to die

For me and for many transgender persons, this is how it feels.  We have the added puzzle that we did not go to sleep one day as a certain gender and then “wake up” the next day as another gender, although it may seem that way to those we have been trying to protect from this truth throughout our lives.  Our perceptions are shaped and modified from an early age by our entire surrounding structure telling us that we are wrong.  I don’t blame society, or family particularly, I do not see them as nefarious, my family is very loving, and I am a fan of society in general.  It is, however, often hard for those around us to recognize what is going on and the general tilt of the version of society that I know and love is not particularly primed to recognize or acknowledge this struggle.

But we know we aren’t wrong.  The clear memory of looking at my “little girl” face and eyelashes in my sister’s room has always been a strong and enduring moment in my mind.  I “knew” then how I felt, even though I did not particularly know what I knew in terms of verbally defined categories.  I felt happy and free and light and pretty as that little girl gazing back from my sister’s mirror.  When I cast my mind back and compare how I feel on days when the gender dysphoria is particularly strong with how I felt on that clear day in the mirror, it can really feel like I have awakened abruptly into a nightmare, made all the worse because there are few to none around me who understand how I feel or to whom I can turn for comfort.

I have been blessed in recent years to be able to discuss this with some who are close to me.  My wife is aware now that I am a transgender person, and she remains loving and supportive of my efforts to work with her on this issue.  I believe we have differing viewpoints on what it means to be a transgender person, and it remains very painful for us both.  Although we have talked considerably about this, the fact remains that she is not a lesbian.  She does love me, but I don’t think it would be fair to ask her to stay with someone who had become a woman.  We have been through other troubled waters together, and have come out stronger.  We have lost an infant child together and found our love and faith was strengthened in our shared grief.  I would not want to lose my wife, and I continue to desire her.  As painful as it is to be in the nightmare of gender incongruity, it is certainly no nightmare to be with her- it is rather, a delight.  I find it would be a greater nightmare for me to lose her, so I am trying to choose love over congruity, but it is too painful for her to have to discuss this with me every time I feel that I really need to talk with someone.  I am glad at least that I can now be honest with her, but I cannot be comprehensive, it is too painful for her.

We both also agree it would be very traumatic for our adolescent children if I were to transition socially.  We have not told them at this time.  I think our daughter realizes that something difficult has been going on, but she remains close to us both, and she remains vibrant as she moves forward to grab the joys and terrors of her own adolescence.  There are many who have said that their parenting jpoys and relationship with their children were improved by transitioning and I have observed that this may often be the case.  I am joyful for those families.  I have prayerfully decided, however,  that it would be a tremendous trauma for my children if I were to transition, so I again am trying to choose love over congruity.  Perhaps I will tell my children someday, I long to share with them, but I will not do so only to meet my own needs to their detriment.

I have spoken with a faith leader (member of our stake presidency) about this, and feel better at being able to be honest with who I am with this good person.  He has been understanding and kind, but is not really positioned to be there with me all the time about this.  Despite the kindness of this man, the reality  is that the general policy and acceptance toward transgender transitioning in our church makes it very difficult for transgender people who undergo some degree of social transitioning.  There has been much written about this particular situation, but I will simply say that I love and believe deeply in the mission, world-view, and truth that I find in my faith and in my particular religion, and I do not want to endanger my standing there.  This is also a deeply personal decision that many may find difficult to understand, but it also involves trying to choose love over congruence, even though it sometimes makes me want to scream.  I do not really have anyone at church with whom I can deeply discuss how my difficulties effect me.

I have a therapist, she is great, I pay her.  She is worth it, she is so kind and competent and I can’t even begin to describe the good she has been for me, but she is not family.

I have had some wonderful conversations recently with God.  Although it is nice to be able to talk to someone who doesn’t already know what you are going to say before you say it, I do have to say that God has given me the most comforting and comprehensive comfort as opposed to any of the others listed above.  His word has told me that Christ knows and has felt and has suffered not only for my sins, but also for my afflictions, including those heart rendings that arise from my gender dysphoria.  Consider the following passage from the Book of Mormon:
Alma 7:10-12

10 And behold, he shall be born of Mary, at Jerusalem which is the land of our forefathers, she being a virgin, a precious and chosen vessel, who shall be overshadowed and conceive by the power of the Holy Ghost, and bring forth a son, yea, even the Son of God.

11 And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people.

12 And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.

In talking with God I have felt a distinct presence that knows and accepts me.  As I have increased my honesty with those around me (wife, church, self), I think that God has in kind given me more answers and comfort than I received before.  Specifically, he has told me that I no longer need to be ashamed of who I am.  I may still choose love over transitioning for the reasons I have listed above (to be clear- I make no assertion that the decision not to transition is the right choice for all transgender folks, this is VERY personal), but God has been clear with me that I can pitch the shame.  I am not going to go back there, I am not going to be ashamed of who I am.  I can now accept myself for the transgender woman I am, that I am a good girl, and a fine woman trying to act like a good man, and a daughter of God trying to be worthy to be one of his sons if that is what He would have me do –  even though he has placed me in a setting where I have a little bit of a beard and lead a local male service group at church (High Priest Group Leader for those Latter-day Saints who might be wondering),  I know that he knows who I am, and continues to love me, and I have faith that he will help it to work out.  I don’t feel I need to be cured, I need to be made congruent, and I am trying to be humble enough to place it in his smarter-than-mine hands to figure out what form that will take, and whether it will occur in this life or in the eternities I don’t really know.

I have Faith in God, I have hope that he will make everything right someday, I have little hope it will happen while I am alive here on Earth.  So my hope is imperfect, and God knows that my faith has its moments when it is shaken.  At those times, I will tell him that I believe, and simultaneously ask him to help my unbelief, and I will strive to keep going.  But I know he loves me, and it may just be possible that the importance of learning faith and hope, may pale in comparison to the importance of learning how to love.  As good ole Paul taught, of faith, hope and love:  the greatest of the three is love…   More on that at a later date, but love may turn out to  be more terrifying and wonderful in its scope than anything else we might consider, but I still believe it will be worth the effort.
If you have made it all the way to the end of this gargantuan tome, I TRULY LOVE you for that.  thank you.  If so inclined, say a prayer for me.  Love,  Lona.

All rights reserved:  Lona Gynt October 2015

BTT #4. How the Artist Considered the Tulip.

Here is another poem for y’all.  The last one I gave was one of my oldest.  This is my newest poem.  In terms of explanation I will say only that it is inspired by a beautiful pastel by an artist in North Alabama.  The picture moved me a great deal.  You can see more of her work through the link below the poem.  Hope you like the poem!

How the Artist considered the Tulip
It seems strange,
She did not paint
The voluptuous velvet shell,
Nor did she trace
The fimbriated lines
Of delicate leaves
Weaving in suspended air.

She dared to pierce
With her brush
Into the very center
Of the beautiful creature,
Where muddy loam
Mixed with sunlight laden rain
To sculpt a fiery heart
Thrusting a blinding
Flash of color back to the
Cold blue sky of
Failing winter, crying out
In desperate measure:

Here I am, Pick me!
Oh, here I am,
Pick me.

-Lona Gynt
November 2015
All rights reserved, Lona Gynt, November 2015
See some of the art at the link below:

BTT #3. IT’S WILD! IT’S SWEET! IT’S ORANGE! And there is no going back…

Blog-type-thingy #3
Hello Everybody!  This is not going to be a discussion of the latest trend, in that we are going to talk today about an incredible album and song that was released way back in 2008 (yes I know, Robinson Jeffers was already a good 70 years before that, so my timing certainly should take no one by surprise).  I guess the things that grab me have a timeless and somewhat intransigent grip, which is the case with a wonderful album by Wild Sweet Orange, led back in the day by lyricist and front man Preston Lovinggood from Homewood, AL.  They are no longer active in the WSO iteration, which is a shame because I think their signature Album “We Have Cause to be Uneasy” is an essential piece of work to have in your collection (run, fly, teleport, google, unleash your inner amazon, go download, beg, pray – do anything that does not leave a sour taste in your mouth to go out and get this little gem – you must have it –  watch my little watch thingy as I hypnotize you, or do my jedi mind trick WHATEVER it takes, but you have to go get this album, you will be so glad ya did).  Full disclosure – this comes purely from a place of passion on my part, I don’t know Preston Lovinggod from Adam, nor from Taylor Hollingsworth for that matter, and I have no connection to him, but ya JUST GOTTA GO GET THIS). Alright, enough of that.

HarveyCat: slaps my hand with his paw and slides me a look of lassitudinous dissaproval as if to say – you are boring them with commands, just tell them why the album is so important and by the way, have you even seen my litter box lately?
Lona: ignores Harvey.

Ok Here goes..  The cover art alone might be enough reason to get the album (check it out at the top).
A huge whale is stuffed into its suburban home casting a baleful gaze out at the wider world, overflowing the constraints of the porch and living room with desperate intensity.  The art prefigures the themes in the album of a person trying to escape the prison of living in a place where they do not belong and are suffocated by the very drywall pressing down a spirit which is both out of place and too expansive for its home.  Ok, ok, don’t start yawning!  (Stop it, I saw that!)  I know you think that this might just be another album about a kid that thinks his parents just don’t understand him and is trying to whine about the angst that seems freshly urgent to every  pubescnt and merely adorable to those with  (ahem- should we say…) a more seasoned view.  Having discovered this album from my teenage son, I first minimized this work to a category somewhere in that realm.  Joyful attention to the lyrics of this album will show, however, that Lovinggood has given us a more universal work than the typical “place your feet squarely on your parents chest and jump” maneuver that occurs as young people launch into the world.  We all have a need to escape those things that hold us back and a longing to grab hold of a larger part of the universe than our own front door.  In a sense all of us, who are still living on the inside, are eternal adolescents, fidgeting not only about what comes next, but about what it might mean.

Second.  (Holds up two fingers)  The lyrics are piercingly lush and beautiful.  The album would be worth the cost in my little old humble opinion simply for the last lines of the first song (Ten Dead Dogs – don’t worry no animals were harmed in the making of this song), in which our deeply troubled  insomniac hero realizes that he is in great need:

“I watched the sky turn from blue,
To black to red and yellow too,
Before the purple dawn
Was filling up my room.
And for a brief moment,
I heard the whole earth groaning,
As if there’s something
That it needed me to do…”

We are then launched into a journey taking us from the depths of desperate loss (Tilt), through an old and a new birth (Seeing and Believing), the terrifying and joyful engagement with the overwhelming divine (Either /Or – very Kierkegaardian, indeed), passionate dismantling of inner demons (House of Regret), a quiet painful realization of the cost (Night Terrors), and plaintive landing in a place not so much of resolution but of resolve.  (Land of No Returning).  You may gather this album is largely about a journey of faith from a Christian viewpoint woven in to the fabric of some really great indie rock, but it is not a proselytizing gimmick- it is an intensely personal view.  No one will feel that they are being condemned for not agreeing -or whatever.  In fact, the most judgemental barbs (other than those directed specifically  at his father or at himself) are aimed at those proponents of organized religion or formulaic child-rearing who rely more on external forms and societal expectations than on fostering an inner conviction.  Consider the following from the track “Sour Milk”

“Oh and the steeple people
Oh they’re so happy not knowing you (God).”

Awright,, I’m done with the effusive introduction, now I want to talk about what is really important to me about this album today.  I am intrigued by the destination Lovinggood arrives at in his journey of faith.  It is described with haunting beauty in the final track “Land of No Returning.”  He sings first in this song of all that we miss (sunrises and sunsets for starters) when we remain simply locked into the routine of daily actions without any regard for our purpose.

“So when you go, tell me where are you going.
‘Cause there’s no place you can run to,
Forget all your longing.
So forget where you’re going”

Our hero has started a commute, perhaps on Homewood’s crowded Hwy 231, which for much of the stretch is lined with the Alabama suburban forest green mix of untended Mimosa, kudzu, hickory and other hardwoods that are really a gorgeous background for our little Alabama Lives down here.  The woods and the sun cry out to him as God’s creations and remind him that he has really landed in a destination of faith.  Because it is based on a faith which has called him in a compelling way by a higher power, he cannot return from it or back out of it based on his own deductions or capabilities.  The peaceful guitar builds to a subdued phrenitics (yes a subdued phreniticism is possible in Lovinggood’s singing, you have to trust me on this one), which outlines perfectly a tension between the fact that faith has called him to trust, but that it has not released (not yet at least) the world from suffering:

“Is it true, is it true what they say?
In these woods there’s something real strange, you can walk for what seems like days.
Is this the land of no returning?
Is it true, is it true what they say?
In these woods there’s something real strange.
You can walk for what seems like days and the trees all start to take face,
Hold you as you’re running in place,
And then they all start to scream,
“This is the land of no returning!”

Soren Kierkegaard outlined that we first engage the world from a viewpoint of aesthetics (just what seems right or beautiful), but that a higher order of action involves ethics (what our reason dictates as being right), but that the highest order of action for Kierkegaard (if I understand him) is based on faith, or a striving for a direct submission to and eventually perhaps a direct engagement with the divine.  The following quote from Kierkegaard strongly reminds me of this land of faith that Preston is talking about where we can walk for days, forever really, and still be humbled by what we can learn, and by what we don’t know compared to what God knows.

“Without risk there is no faith.  Faith is precisely the contradiction between the infinite passion of the individual’s inwardness and the objective uncertainty.  If I am capable of grasping God objectively, I do not believe, but precisely because I cannot do this I must believe.  If I wish to preserve myself in faith I must constantly be intent upon holding fast the objective uncertainty, so as to remain out upon the deep, over seventy fathoms of water, still preserving my faith”  (From ‘Concluding Unscientific Postscript,’  by Soren Kierkegaard.  I found this in an anthology “Readings in the Philosophy of Religion,’ John A. Mourant, ed., Published by Thomas Cromwell Co., New York, 1959, p 308).

For me, one of the prickly questions as to whether we can base action on faith is that this might then be turned with terrible consequences to harm others.  So much bickering and even killing goes on in the name of faith.  I personally feel that much violence that comes in the name of faith,  is orchestrated by those with selfish political rather than truly religious motives, but the danger is still there.  If I am in a land of no returning, and I can’t be talked out of it because it is based on faith rather than reason, what is to stop me from being a fanatic who would condemn and harm others?   It is scary to think of a plane being hijacked, it is even scarier to know that an entire religion might get hijacked by a polemical and cruel point of view.

As scary as this question is (and it is scary- one of Kierkegaard’s books is called Fear and Trembling for good reason),  it may be even more terrifying and salient to recognize that none of us (I mean, none, zilch, nada, nichts!) of us can escape basing our actions on SOME type of faith or belief, even if we don’t recognize that it binds us.  Every point of reason starts with a certain premise, a foundation that we take as “self-evident,” an article of faith, if you will, on which we strive to base conclusions.  Thomas Kuhn’s groundbreaking meditation on paradigm shifts (The Structure of Scientific Revolutions – 1962), argues that even the most rigorous empiricist can interpret data only through the lens of the basic thought structures that rule his or her perceptions.  So if both Radical Jihadists and pure-reason Vulcans start from a point of faith, then there is no safety in saying that we should denounce faith.  Such a denouncement might even be impossible.  Kierkegaard argued there is more power in an engagement with God – faith in a higher knowledge, rather than trusting merely in ourselves to understand him.  I believe such trust must be infused with the humble realization that God does not (at this point) tell us all that He knows.  Thus,  we still constantly need to just try to get to know him.  Check this out from the Great Dane:

“The realm of faith is thus not a class for numskulls in the sphere of the intellectual, or an asylum for the feeble-minded.  Faith constitutes a sphere all by itself, and every misunderstanding of Christianity may at once be recognized by its transforming it into a doctrine, transforming it to the sphere of the intellectual.  The maximum of attainment within the sphere of the intellectual, namely, to realize an entire indifference as to the reality of the teacher (God), is in the sphere of faith at the opposite end of the scale.  The maximum of attainment within the sphere of faith is to become infinitely interested in the reality of the teacher (God).”  ibid: p. 313.

I think we may do better to try and base our actions of faith in God, although he does not want us to turn off our brains or start punching each other about it.   I derive a lot of guidance from the fact that Paul taught that we don’t rely just on faith, but that we rely on faith, hope and charity.  If we have hope: (hope in the humanity of others, hope in the long view of God, hope that people can change), we may be less likely to turn to the nihilistic actions that have harmed so many by “faith-based” fanatics of every stripe.  What brand of nihilist tries to bring on the apocalypse on his or her own terms?  And if we have charity: true love and concern for others as well as for ourselves we would treat others as we would like to be treated, and wouldn’t hurt them.  I derive great hope from the idea that we are all God’s children, and that we may just one day learn to get along.  I certainly have met many people in this second life world and in real life who have bolstered that hope in  me (THANKS Y’ALL!!!)  Anyway, hope and charity are likely topics for other days, but it does bear mentioning that charity (love) is listed as the greatest of the three.  Think on that a bit y’all.  Sheesh I sure pushed the steam out of the hot air-bag with this blog-like thingy today, but I Hope you enjoyed this.
Hugs!       Lona.

copyright Jan 2016, All rights reserved.  Lona Gynt.  but I guess I have to believe it is right.  😉

BTT #2. Desert Crossroads at Dusk


Desert Crossroads at Dusk.

If we had thought
At this interim,
Where he plants
His graveled head
Lifts his back
And carves the sifted plain
To greet our tread,
That surety were
Merely the lengthened
Shadow of our sweetest dreams.
Then had each herself
Her own heart reprieved.
Whether her path into the darkness
Or the sinking fire led.

Lona Gynt, 1989.
All rights reserved, Lona Gynt October 2015

Blog-type-thingy (BTT) #1. Secret Rainbows and Deep Seashells.

Hello.  My name is Lona Gynt.  Welcome to my sparkly dark little world.  I am a resident of Second Life where I have been distributing a blog-type-thingy to some of my friends that I have met there.  Now I am distributing it to any of my 7 billion other friends who might be interested.   My ramblings include thoughts on poetry, art, music,  bacon, and other cultural touchstones.  I will share some of my own poetry from time to time, but I will never share any of my own bacon.  In about half of the early posts I share some of my contemplations and eviscerations on what it is like to be a transgender person who is and also remains a devout Latter-day Saint (Mormon), but my point is not to bore you with that all the time.  Lona Gynt is a pseudopseudonym, I am keeping my real life identity opaque, but I am not too worried about keeping it secret.  I am sick of secrets, I am ok with who I am, and I am sticking to all the other things (Church, family, covenants) that are still also important to me.  Okey… enough about me, now lets talk about me…

This first entry was written in October 2015.  I will post about every 2-3 weeks until the life-blog lag is gone.  If you have been receiving my blog-type-thingy on SL already, (first of all- thanks! hugs! luvs! and all those wonderful wonderfuls), I will let you know when web-blog catches up with my SL paper route.  To everyone else… Welcome!

Enjoy the blog!

For Blog Number One, a Real treat!  Y’all get to read my currently favorite poem.  Alright, Dig in, and then we’ll talk about it a bit.  (Lona clears her throat delicately in a sophisticated manner and strikes a pose as if she is reading rather serious stuff…)   no no no! just kidding, just relax with this poem, it is not High Falootin at all, it is just simply gorgeous and true!  Ok, here goes.

“The Excesses of God”
(by Robinson Jeffers)

Is it not by his high superfluousness we know
Our God? For to be equal a need
Is natural, animal, mineral: but to fling
Rainbows over the rain
And beauty above the moon, and secret rainbows
On the domes of deep sea-shells,
And make the necessary embrace of breeding
Beautiful also as fire,
Not even the weeds to multiply without blossom
Nor the birds without music:
There is the great humaneness at the heart of things,
The extravagant kindness, the fountain
Humanity can understand, and would flow likewise
If power and desire were perch-mates.

Now here is the great thing about this poem…   It is awesome.  God has done a lot of cool things, as great as second life is, not much of it has quite measured up to the gorgeous little playground God has made for us on terra firma.  There are a lot of things we could talk about in regards to God, but this poem shows how over the top, even showy, he is in how he envelops us. (Do you like how I use that word, “envelop,” feels like a crisp, but snuggly little hug, doesn’t it?)  Hmmm… what if we allowed, through our choices, for power and desire to be perch-mates? (Do I really understand that? – I think I do, I think that if our true desires for beauty and caring for one another were aligned with the powers that were granted to us, the beauties that God gave us would be amplified by our actions rather than smudged or royally messed up by them).  If what we really wanted in our most basic nature were aligned with our consistent actions, then we would be like God.  BUT we mess up, and sometimes we are just plain nasty, (seriously at a Beach dance party the other day, some bozo with an cutesy fake name like Corrupted Early and a basic first day avatar won the themed costume contest by eight votes!- he probably crashed the board with hidden alts and made off with about 300 L$, anyway it seemed fishy and the hostess said he had cheated, but what could ya do, just sit back and feel smug at your moral superiority that’s what! Sheesh!   I looked so awesome that I would have won if he had not cheated.  Now wasn’t that nasty of him?  And y’know that other thingy – war?  Now don’t EVEN get me started about how nasty war is!)

So, anyway, we come back to needing God in order to get our mojo and our gojo to be perch-mates.  But the whole thing about needing God might not even be greatest thing about this poem.  What I love is how Mr. Jeffers effusively gushes about how gorgeous God is.  The poet paints both the broad scope and the minute detail of God’s creation, and that God loves beauty sooo much He even weaves it into hidden corners and basic functions of survival.  You can’t uncover any little rock in this world without being surprised by something wonderful.  For me the fact that God puts “secret rainbows on the domes of deep seashells” is especially poignant.  I am a transgender woman, who will likely never transition my real life avatar from male to female because of the imperatives of my particular faith, the desire to keep my wonderful marriage intact, and the desire to be a fully present parent for my children.  Nevertheless, the three pound universe between my ears has been decidedly and secretly female really my whole life.  I had taken steps in the past to take hormone therapy and start the switch and it felt wonderful, and I have more than a little holy envy for those transgender people who have walked down that road, even though I know that road also has it’s own deep challenges.  I had spent a good bit of my life thinking I was a sick little weirdo or a sinner for having these thoughts, but I have since realized that even though I have important loves in my life which outweigh my desire to transition, I am just another fact of biology, and of God’s creation.  I believe I have heard  that male to female transgender occurs at a rate between one in ten-thousand to thirty-seven thousand, so we are not all that common, but we seem to exist in higher proportion in Second Life than in the non-pixelated spheres.  This does not surprise me, I am sure that there are many others who have had the same liberating experience of being able to be beautiful in Linden land when we would not be able to express who we really are in quite the same way “up there” in the so-called real world.  Here I have also found the first people who are like me at the Transgender Resource Center.  The community there has been open and kind and generous in acceptance of all types of transgender people.  For the first time I have been able to converse with people who have at least a slight inkling what I feel like.

The residents of Second Life have built a sweet little wonderland, and I am very grateful for it, but it is really just a small little corner of the earth.  It might even be considered a “dome of a deep seashell…”  But it is full of wonderful, kind, and generous secret rainbows.  So…   let me raise a glass of whatever it is that I am drinking these days (strictly in line with my little Mormon idiosyncracies – so no fermentation is involved) to the residents of Second Life who are building from their hearts.  Thank you!  Have fun, keep up the good work, and don’t fall too far off your perches!   Love, Lona.