At the feet of the Goddess
Last week was one of my favorite Indian festivals;
Navaratri, The nine nights of the Goddess. I don’t have space to go into what
it all means, but the point you need to know is that it celebrates the Divine
Feminine, and as one of the newest girls on the team, I’m all in. Finally.
So, there are lotsa ways Mylove and I celebrate this sacred
time in our house, but one of the simplest is mere “remembrance,” a yogic
practice of holding someone or something sacred in your heart and mind and
allowing the blessings of the memories and thoughts to reverberate through your
entire being. You can do this in even the most mundane of your daily activities,
turning each one into a sacred ritual, rich with meaning and experience.
One morning, I was using my ab(dominal) wheel and truly
relishing each time I rolled out into a pranam (a reverential bow) and
realizing that I was actually doing it toward our MahaLaxmi Puja, the altar in
our bedroom devoted to the Goddess of abundance, wealth, and beauty, and
smiling inside that I am that Goddess. It hit me, I’m checking off all the
“never woulds, never coulds and never shoulds” almost every day since I came
out. There is now, nothing out of my
reach or forbidden to me – if I wanna cry at movies, call everyone “honey,”
wear an evening gown, go window shopping at Sephora, or be President of the
United States, now I can, because I’m a woman!
Now, those of you who’ve been with me here at “Raised By
Wolves” since the beginning, know that I wrestle with the sublime to the ridiculous
almost every day. And anyone who knows Alexandra Billings knows she’s set the
bar very high about what and where we place our attention. But you also know
that I’m going thru my second puberty and reveling in the simplest freedoms
like wearing lipstick and lace, and any of the other previously forbidden
fruits. I am the biggest cheerleader for “a
little extra sumpin’- sumpin” a touch more bling, a bit more sparkle… you
might not only live once, but this is the only version of you you’ll get this
go around and, as many have said, life’s too short for bad coffee, no lipstick,
or pulling back for any reason. We now return you to our regularly scheduled
blog…
I’m using the ab wheel, remember?
I was really feeling the deeeeeeep stretch of each pranam,
and wallowing in the glory of really feeling, not only comfortable in my skin,
but great in it. Here I was, 45 pounds lighter and yet waaaaay stronger and fit
and maybe, just maybe, able to wear a… bikini soon. It’s the first time I’ve
ever, ever dared allowed myself to even allow that thought to form…
As I looked up from one more amazing, deep stretch I saw my
long manicured nails (rocking a rather bold mother-of-pearl finish) and
giggling with glee that my hands looked so… so…
…and it hit me, or rather rumbled from deep inside of the
bottom of the deepest vein that runs to the depth of the physicality of my
being… an earthquake of joy and love and gratitude.
I am a woman… I…
made… it.
Deep wracking sobs kept rum-tumbling out, over and over and
over. I’m talking snot-bubbles, burning eyes, the whole shootin’ match… not even
trying to avoid the drool pooling on my yoga mat, I let go of the wheel and
curled into the fetal position.
I felt my subtle being rising above my fetal self.
“Look at me, I’m
crying that deep cry that I’ve waited for an entire lifetime!”
“Wait, what are we
doing out here? Don’t wanna miss this… get back in there and let go, girl!”
“Is this what they
would call deep soul cleansing? (And
where did phrase come from anyway? Some cheap novel?)”
“NO! It’s what they
say when… what are you doing?”
“Shut-up! You’re
missing this!”
“Right, good idea,
okay, I’m heading back in there…”
“Well, stop talking
and go!”
And then, I was able to really let go. And I swan dived
backward into a waterfall of tears… and it was… amazing. I have no idea how
long I was there, I can only mark time by the river of tears spilling from my
mat to the floor.
When I finished, I stood up and staggered upstairs and
looked at Marcy like I’d both stepped out of a torrential downpour and a
two-hour mediation…
What happened to you?
So I told her.
The physical changes of gender transition are sometimes the
only part that anyone seems to care about. I’ve had my theories about why this
is, for others, and for me. Those are the measuring sticks for the “one little
victories” that literally track the progress of all of the hard work, and I
mean hard (oh, honey, just one of the procedures would horrify the strongest of
the strong), that is now, part of my daily life. Yes, it’s painful. Yes, it’s
exhausting. Yes, it’s… worth it.
Once you begin to understand the mind-body-heart connection
as deeply as we do, you’ll understand why this is one path of the journey that
many of us have to take. It’s the
only way to remove the thorn that’s festered in our psyche for most of our
lives.
But that’s not what any of this is really about for any of us. It’s an odd lot. Our maturity gets
kicked into hyper drive as our bodies step into a wormhole of our second
puberty. Yes, it’s like Syfy. And
there’s nothing that can prepare you for what that feels like. But it is what
we signed up for. And learning to dance with biology while trying to be who
we’re supposed to be: both true to ourselves, as we are true to the society that hates us, doesn’t understand us,
objectifies us, reviles us, AND loves us, supports us, is intrigued by us, learns
from us, is inspired by us… makes daily life a non-stop adventure.
And the who
we are is, as Alexandra reminds us, the most important and interesting to talk
about.
This is the number one topic around our house, lately. And
Marcy and I are continually looking at all the things that have changed in the
last two years. Now, before we proceed, many people refer to this as “Scottie’s
transition,” which is inaccurate for a number of reasons – chief of all, as a
married woman of close to 30 years, it’s our transition if anything. But
we all like to have something to mark time with, so just between us girls, we
call it “since vitamin E” (for estrogen). This doesn’t connote when I came out
because the chaos and false starts that all crashed into one another at that
time have blurred the start of it all, except, of course, the ending of that
chapter of our life and the beginning of now.
“Since vitamin E” marks, instead, the beginning of feeling
good, feeling right, feeling like me. Truly me. The me without an asterisk. The
me without apologies, compromises or masks.
We always joke that, after almost 3 decades together (29
years, last April 29th, for the mathemagicians out there), it’s about time some
of those little annoyances that plague every couple, were gone by now. But
something (stubbornness?) in both of us, keeps many of them alive.
Not so, however, on Vitamin E.
The other day, Marcy came out of the bathroom with tears in
her eyes, “Oh my God!” I asked, “Mylove,
what’s wrong?” She shook her head and stammered, “Not only did you replace the
toilet paper, but you put it on so the sheet comes over the top!”
Vitamin E.
And before you ask, the toilet seat is always down in our
house (but it has been since my childhood, a mom and three sisters in the
house, I wasn’t stupid back then either).
I put out the trash cans the other night, and when I came
back in, Marcy was thunderstruck. “Oh, my god! You were quiet!” I was a bit
bewildered, apparently, the “dude” that used to live with her (some arrogant
schmuck named Scott) thought it didn’t matter if you made a ruckus late at
night in the neighborhood. How inconsiderate…
Vitamin E.
I’m kidding, sorta. In a marriage or long time, committed
relationship, theses seemingly inconsequential events are the shorthand for
decades-long debates and decisions.
And as funny as those things are, the real changes since
Vitamin E to our relationship are subtler, yet incredibly powerful. As a woman,
I feel every change of the winds well before we get around a bend. And tho’ I’d
love to think I was always attuned to Mylove’s frequencies, Vitamin E has cranked
up the volume, and I can sense her shifting moods from three area codes away. But
importantly, I know why her moods
shifted in the first place, why it’s a big deal, what the ramifications could
be, and most importantly, I know what is necessary for me to do with all of
this. (Hey boys, take note here, sometimes it’s nothing).
Now, am I saying that Vitamin E is like sapho juice, giving
us increased superpowers? Thufir Hawat would say heightened potential (Dune
anyone? Anyone?). But for me, who’s first and only natural dose came in utero,
the reintroduction into my life of “E” has shut down the panic-stricken
screaming that I had to strive for decades to become deaf to, the pleading and,
eventually, faint gnawing whisper that came from being imprisoned in someone
else’s life. It vanished almost the moment estrogen returned to my veins. And
with it, the entire security apparatus built to contain the prisoner’s mere
existence was also gone – freeing up about 70 percent of available energy
resources.
So, call it operating (finally) at full capacity.
But, even more than that, I have a clear view and no pebbles
in the fertile soil that is my consciousness. My petals are fully opened to the
sun’s rays, and now I have so much more to give to the one I love. And so much
more to receive. And that’s the biggest change in our relationship. We both are
so much more there for each other. We, who were already a model of a loving
marriage, no longer are pretending we don’t, or can’t, understand each other.
We have always been speaking not only the same language, but the same exact
dialect. But, I could never admit that before, and Marcy could never pretend to
understand.
So, if we suddenly stop making sense to each other, we each
know it’s because we won’t understand
each other.
And that’s a horse of a different color altogether.
Luckily, neither of us has, especially since vitamin E, had
the patience, desire or tolerance to waste whatever precious time we have in
each other’s arms and hearts, especially if it’s because of any self-inflicted
stupidity.
And I guess, I’d like to think I’ve always been that kinda
girl. But then again…
… I did use to put the toilet paper on backward… just for
fun.
I said, used to.
Comments
Post a Comment