The Things We Do.
There is this YouTube animated video that has been around for awhile now, of a little kiwi who nails these trees to the side of a mountain. After he has all the trees where he needs them, he jumps over the edge of the cliff and pretends to fly. You see the look of joy and pleasure or being able to “fly” on his face as he stretches out his wings before fading into the mist. The ending is left vaguely open but you do hear a soft thud, which I have always understood as the poor kiwi’s death.
This video has always made me cry, it is so raw and brings up so many feelings in me. It makes me feel so real and understood. I feel like that kiwi a bird given wings two small to support my own weight and take to the air. Knowing fully well that I’m not the only one out there but that never really helps the the cause at hand. I also understand no matter how many time people bawlk and ghawf that sometimes you need to do what you need to do.
In my live there have been several of those need to do things in my life. the biggest and most shocking has probably been transition. This is my jumping off the cliff with trees nailed to it event in my life. People don’t seem to understand why I would do something so drastic. Why do you make yourself an outcast and leper to society when you could have gone on living how you were before. Living… that’s something I didn’t start doing until that July morning when I said “as of today I am going to live as female” and I did. See like the little kiwi I had to take that chance that I might die, lose my friend, lose my family, getting beaten up, or hurt all for even a days worth of feeling “right”.
I can clearly imagine the exhilaration of knowing this is how those seagulls and sparrows feel. Knowing that even for within this moment thins are as they should be. You see I didn’t transition because I chose to, because I wanted to. I Transition despite not wanting to and because I HAD to. My choices were very limited death(if not by my own hand the just of my soul and spirit) or transition. I chose life. To be honest I don’t regret my choice at all. It isn’t always the easiest life, but it is an interesting and adventurous life. It has taken me to place and introduced me to people I would have never known otherwise. Is it the life I would have chosen? No, but someone’s got to do it, and it might as well be me. I’m happy and to me that’s what counts.
On this night!
On this night a year ago I was on a plane over the dark night waters of the pacific ocean. When I got off that plane I was met by a wonderful man who I was madly in love with. I still love him with all my heart and soul! This last year in New Zealand has been awesome and amazing in so many wonderfule ways!
So here is to new beginings!
New lives!
New friends!
New family!
Here’s to the next year, and the one after that!
Two Day’s In A Row.
I have been meaning to write about this for a bit now, but it was just too early for me to talk about and write about.
There a few people who come into your life that really leave an impact on you that last forever. Del Martin was one of those people as was Phyllis Lyon. While I was still living in San Francisco I got the great honor to meet and get to know these amazing women.
They are what I consider to be the front runners for the lesbian advocacy the work they did was amazing and brave. In the mid 50’s they started The Daughters of Blitis the first lesbian advocacy group. Together these two who have been together for 50 years campaigned endlessly for Gay Rights, and especially their right to marry. In their work they also created the Lyon Martin clinic One of the first health clinics specifically for women, that was open minded and acceptining of lesbian women.
I cried as I read of their marriage on June 16th, thinking finally they got what they were fighting for. Those would not to be the last tears shed for Del, I got a call from a mutal friend August27th(tech it was the 28th here). The voice on the other end was choked up and soaked with tears “Brooklynne, Del died today.” I was stunned I couldn’t believe it I mean yes she was 87 years old but for some reason I thought she would live on forever, I mean she was Del lesbian superhero. As I hung up I was struck with grief over the loss of her and with concern for Phyl, I couldn’t imagine losing a partner after 50 years together. I realized how lucky I was to meet these wonderful women and have them in my life. I am so thankful for the times we shared together the dinners we had the stories they shared with me of being a lesbian in the 50’s and the stories I shared.
The Potawatomi believe that when a person dies they pass onto a greater place, a place where they join nature and can be heard in the rustle of the leaves and felt in the whisper of the wind.
Del I can feel your hugs in the wind and hear your laugh in the trees, thank you for enriching my life and sharing a piece of yours with me.
Is Glamor Gone?
I feel rather lost at times and like the world around me has lost all it’s luster and has become dull and dirty like gems of a well worn necklace. I look at things of the past when glamor was everywhere and and women put effort into their appearance. I’m not slagging women on this matter, but more society. Maybe it’s that with the computers and technology of the world we as humans have become cold and fatalistic. People no longer feel that dressing up, and putting an effort out there is important, why bother, what’s the point? So instead people just throw on baggy jeans a t-shirt and sneakers. Women throw their hair into ponytails grab a messenger bag.
I almost feel like the art of putting together a flawless outfit is dying out, women no longer care if their belt matches their shoes and purse. Wearing a stylish hat means a baseball cap with the latest sports teams logo on it.I know that many women I have talked to feel that this is because now that we are liberated women we don’t have to dress up for men. we no longer have to wear fancy heels and stalkings or do our hair to be appealing to men anymore. Furthermore that women who do dress up, or wear heels all the time, making sure to put an effort out there at all times are degrading themselves. That the make up and nails and heels are just to flaunt their bodies at men. What ever happened to the idea of dressing up and looking nice for yourself? I know that everyday that I go out wearing heels and make up, my hair is done, my purse shoes and belt co-ordinate, not because it pleases men(I couldn’t give a sparrows fart about what men think) but because it pleases me.
I do it because I like the way the make up evens out my skin, covers blemishes, and provides protection from the sun. I like the way the colors on my eyes and lips emphasize their beauty and curves, the colors complementing my own natural colors. I wear the heels because I love the way they make my calves and legs look muscular(and because I actually have naturally short tendons in my heels and have always needed atleats a 1 inch heel on my shoes or I’m in pain.) I like the coordination because it make the over all look that much more phenomenal, and also because I am a Virgo and I care about such things. I do my hair so that it’s the most pleasing to my face it make me look all the more better. I do it all because of the way it makes me feel. I won’t lie it is also pleasing when i see a man reacts in a positive many to my overall appearance, but this is even because I know I didn’t do it for him.
It’s kind of like Eve Enslers Monologue “My Short Skirt” from The Vagina Monologues. My appearance is all for me as is everything underneath it!
My Short Skirt by Eve Ensler, The Vagina Monologues
It is not an invitation
a provocation
an indication
that I want it
or give it
or that I hook.
My short skirt
is not begging for it
it does not want you
to rip it off me
or pull it down.
My short skirt
is not a legal reason
for raping me
although it has been before
it will not hold up
in the new court.
My short skirt, believe it or not
has nothing to do with you.
My short skirt
is about discovering
the power of my lower calves
about cool autumn air traveling
up my inner thighs
about allowing everything I see
or pass or feel to live inside.
My short skirt is not proof
that I am stupid
or undecided
or a malleable little girl.
My short skirt is my defiance
I will not let you make me afraid
My short skirt is not showing off
this is who I am
before you made me cover it
or tone it down.
Get used to it.
My short skirt is happiness
I can feel myself on the ground.
I am here. I am hot.
My short skirt is a liberation
flag in the women’s army
I declare these streets, any streets
my vagina’s country.
My short skirt
is turquoise water
with swimming colored fish
a summer festival
in the starry dark
a bird calling
a train arriving in a foreign town
my short skirt is a wild spin
a full breath
a tango dip
my short skirt is
initiation
appreciation
excitation.
But mainly my short skirt
and everything under it
is Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
