Writing My Thoughts

Serenity

Today isn’t like any other day. The possibility of Covid-19 looms, so I’m seeking my calm place.

Notice the picture I’ve uploaded for this. That’s one of my favorite benches in the Gardens I visit. There are 4 equally appealing benches I may share. Imagine the tranquility of closing one’s eyes, then listening while sitting on a garden bench.

These gardens are in a metropolitan area, the noises one can expect are going to happen, it’s the state of tranquility that surmounts those distractions. Seeing the sounds takes place, I am intimate with these gardens.

I return at every opportunity to restore and ground myself. The breezes playing myriad branches, stems, leaves and flowers. The site up into canopies seem wild, welcoming my imagination. I drift to trails, streams, lakes and forests. Long hikes testing stamina and awareness. The memories flow while I listen and glance up into a magnificent canopy.

Time for reflection.

I hope this short piece brings your memories.

Sad Poem

The hot height
swirls smoky mists
near, never return ridge
seeing severed rock
crags created, fissures
thrust, broken, tangled
the light reflects on tiny micca
quartz or shiney surface
on walls defended by sheer
strength of impassable sharpness
falling away from the edge,
the ridge. never. return. ridge.
Stand to face, the sun
in the misty swirls
of hot heights
and there, there is no comfort
never comfort, only the constant!
The brain that never settles,
the brain that fights,
and fights for what?
To have some time alone,
to wish, not to be alone!
And know, even if out; There!
Then what… then who… what to do?
What to say, on. that. day, evening, night?
Will I say hi with a faint smile,
embarrassed of my style, the sad eyes,
the wistful pain, trying so hard to hide?
Who will listen, who will want to, why?
Why care, if I dare. to. try?
I might burst into tears, I might cry.
Like I do every time I think about this.
Every single time…
The sad, tired thoughts stop me
stop it all, and…
nothing.

Thinking out loud 2…

There are many people who inspire me. @thefawz for standing up for a kid being bullied in a restaurant (staged), @contrapoints for her honest channel, wit, intellect and live stream, rserven because she mentored me toward my narrative voice (not knowing it), and others. It’s obvious my life is now being on the edge of a community of Trans People, and perhaps LGB issues, I have been following Trans issues. Does reading, advocating, and watching their considerations encourage me to be myself? I also have a very strong connection to an online community of survivors (now grown to 2), where the first community validated me.

 

What started my narrative online is validation. I have a nagging doubt that men who are unexposed to nuanced humanity will evolve their rigid biases over time. To me, that’s why we have Trump (arggghhh, enough of him!) That group of online men has kept me stable in validation, and that vital role in being connected like that, is everything!

 

Jumping back to Trans Women, I saw the movie “A Fantastic Woman” yesterday, it came to a nearby venue. The movie is an emotional rollercoaster, a drama where Marina and Orlando open the film with their love, and Marina carries on to the end. Her resilience reminds me of how each of us move through our own drama, and seek help or solace in our way. The character Marina played by Daniela Vega draws us into her most intimate experiences:

 

I went to the movie alone, I do too many things alone. My interests are humanity, and evolving self determination, and I ponder a great many things. I’ve stated I have a bad memory, and having such a busy mind, I write this note of that being contradictory. I may reconcile what that means in time, perhaps dissociations have devolved my memory? How, odd, I can write for days about my life, and experiences, I can give more detail, I recall so much, but, to recall someone’s name, or any name of something when I need to, often fails me. I could never remember equations either, nor code, nor some rules of grammar and spelling. Sigh…. Ok, boring you!!

 

When I started reading rserven is when I could see more about being myself. I have suffered body dysmorphic disorder (BDD), it’s untreated, and undiagnosed, even to this day. I don’t want to talk about. Then why am I writing about it? It’s what I do, I write. There’s no specific connection to being Transgender and BDD, because Gender Dysphoria (GD) isn’t a mental illness, BDD is. There are mental health issues that can manifest for someone with GD, and they’re no different than many other people. Depression, anxiety, ADD, OCD, and other. Anyone can find something to be concerned about their mental health at some point in their life. Whether they’re in tune with themselves to know it, that’s always in question.

 

I’ve been fortunate to have online access since around 1997, and I’ve learned a great deal. I’ve also remained sober since March 20, 2000. When I consider the humanity I embrace it’s evolved with learning and sobriety,  but I see some conflict moving forward. I have very few friends I talk to, and no acquaintances whom I visit unless they’re at some friends dinner party. I’ve not been to one of those for many years now. I’m not seeking connections (though think about it all the time), so to remain isolated doesn’t seem conducive to moving forward toward whatever that means.

Ok, maybe next time I’ll ponder what “moving forward” means?

Thinking out loud…

Should I describe myself, on this International Women’s Day, 2018? A cis, white male, with so much to say, and writing the outlet? I write that and it feels right, the words are truth, but I ponder the necessity of “cis” and “white male”? They’re part of a lexicon I’ve found in posts, and blogs, other’s writing, where pronouns and description are nuanced in our spectrum of humanity. That’s a humanity I desire deeply, having inclusion, where being we is normal, any way we are. I am someone more than the perceptions or norms of society, but to be and be known for these words, and not first sight, or even an awkward moment first meeting.

 

Meeting? I must work hard to manage my state of being, in order to be more outgoing, to meet friends, family, someone new. I don’t really do very much with others, and when out alone, I notice being alone. I wonder if others ponder their alone time like that? I wonder how many feel alone most of the time? Then that seems an irony to me, in that I do go out a bit, and I do see people and know a lot of people. What I mean, is that it seems none really know me, and I really don’t know them. I have learned about impermanence, and that’s such a long story, I’ll bore you with it another day.

 

I know I’m writing without purpose, I’ve declared nothing and am supporting nothing, in essence, I’m just talking a bit, it’s boring, and I’ll end with a poem.

Did you mean it?:

When we meet,

and greet

with casual

‘how are you?’

be ready to walk

and talk.