A Brief Respite

It was a very hot day today, though not as hot as it has been in British Columbia, Canada, where I saw they have gotten as hot as 121 degrees F. That’s unheard of so far North. Even Alaska is hot, as hot as it is here, where I saw that glaciers are breaking apart, causing small earthquakes to be felt.

This morning I thought about me in the 1990s, when I was a very outspoken environmentalist type person. Even then I saw the world very different from most people, though I didn’t understand it then. I would tell people all the time that they needed to change their ways, only to be laughed at and argued with. For some reason, none of that ever changed me.

Yes, there was periods of my life where I simply gave in for a while. But I would always go back to living as I most liked to live, riding my bike and walking to get around.

Later I learned that there was nothing I could do. That even my part wouldn’t make it any better. I began living as I do more because it’s simply the way I prefer to live, not to make any difference in life. I’m not going to go out of my way to recycle plastics and such because, where I live, they don’t put much effort toward it.

There was a time when I could find places to put recyclable materials into large containers placed in the parking lots of grocery stores. But these too disappeared after a time. Even the clothes bins that were once around to give clothes to charity disappeared.

All the while things continued to worsen while people seemed to deny it happening even more. Now we can see something happening that is very clear to see.

For some reason there have been many structural fires happening here. About 10 in the last month. In some places in the state they are placing water restrictions on their residents. The people are complaining about it when they receive warnings to reduce their water consumption. They still want to water their lawns. They still want to live as they always have, even if it means having no water to drink.

They are warning people about the use of fireworks for the holiday. They have banned them in certain places, but some of the bans are being challenged. The State can’t ban them outright. Well, each night I hear fireworks going off around. They simply can’t stop. They want everything to remain the same.

I remember all that happened during the virus. All the people complaining about the restrictions. The political fight about wearing masks. No matter what happens, the people want things to remain the same, even if it means their own lives or their own health.

My previous post took a lot out of me. In a way, it summarized all that I have been experiencing and seeing the past month or so, also combining it with all I’ve seen and learned throughout this journey. Many of my writings seem to come from another place. As if I’m simply the vessel that is forming the words on the screen. Yesterday was an experience like no other. I felt possessed as the words just kept coming out as if from somewhere else, yet it all related to what I’ve been seeing and learning along the way in this journey as a whole. As if summarizing it all in one burst of passion.

I thought about going back and reading it myself but I’m always disappointed when I do so. The writings never seem to express exactly what I was experiencing at the time. They seem far less than what I was seeing and feeling while writing. Yet, I think within it the expression comes out and for those who read it but not experience the writing itself, maybe it holds something powerful within it.

This morning I felt myself pull back. I described it as metaphorically pulling out my hammock, tying it between two trees, getting in and just resting for a while. Not going back nor going forward. Just staying where I am and enjoying it for a while.

This has happened before. In fact, it happens at the seeming end of every part of the journey. I come to this great climax where it all the individual images I had been describing along the way form into a grander image and I’m able to describe this image, at least the best that I can.

Today I painted my fingernails red. I just wanted to try that color. I enjoy a metallic purple color most of the time. I’m off work tomorrow so I decided to try this color. It comes off easily in the shower since it’s water soluble.

Today I thought of how, throughout my life, I’ve looked out at the world and I also look back at myself from the world, seeing myself based on the standards of the society around me. In some ways, this is what has nearly driven me insane. It is what caused me to feel suicidal at times. I look out at the world around me, observing it. Then I look back at myself from the standards of the society and see nothing more than a freak. This has caused me so much pain in my life.

This view back at myself has reduced since the journey began, but it’s still there at times. My heart tries to tell me that I am not as I look in the physical but I am the being within the physical body. I have a man’s body but within me I’m very much a female.

I think of how the world around me would think if I were to go out into the world dressed in how I am most comfortable. Right now I am dressed in a sports bra with false breasts in them, a tight tank top and women’s athletic shorts. I have make up on my face and red painted fingernails.

I’m not trying to look like a woman. What I’m doing is allowing myself to express the feminine self within me. In the morning when I’m getting ready for work, I dread taking off the bra with the false breasts. I wait until the last minute. As I pull it off I sigh painfully.

Sometimes at work I feel sort of phantom breasts on me, quickly looking down to see if I forgot to take off the bra. Then I think of how I wish I could just wear them all the time as if it wasn’t strange at all. To be able to wear more jewelry and things. Color my hair more feminine colors. But I can’t. I can’t bear the ridicule. It would distract me too much. I wouldn’t truly enjoy it. I would be constantly self conscious.

So I just do it subtly. I put on a little make up that isn’t necessarily noticeable. The other day when I was talking with a woman at the grocery store, she was very close to me and looking directly into my eyes. I then realized that I had eye make up and quickly looked down away from her eyes. Afterward I felt sort of ashamed for doing so. In a way, I was expressing shame for my feminine self. I should be proud to be expressing who I truly am inside.

Sometimes all of this confuses me. Causes my head to spin. With my Asperger’s, where I have some difficulty reading situations and people, I can see why I feel some anxiety as to what will happen to me in the future. No one is going to defend me. Because of my Asperger’s, I am alone in the world. All the while, the most important thing to me is my dedication and devotion to the feminine. My feminine heart. The feminine in the universe. So I continue to allow the feminine to rise within me even though it makes me feel somewhat uncomfortable at times.

Even though I turn my head down at times when talking with someone while wearing make up, I still put on the make up the next time. I still paint one fingernail when I go out into the world, except for work. I wish I could go out with all my fingernails painted. At first it looked strange but now I enjoy it, even though my fingernails don’t look all that good. I work at trying to make them look better by filing them which, for me, is again another feminine ritual based on the expression of the feminine in this current period of time.

All of what I’m doing is simply using the tools of this current period of time which expresses the feminine.

When I go out onto my deck outside I still put on a bulky button up shirt over what I’m wearing in case someone sees me. I don’t want them to see how I really feel about myself. I don’t want the ridicule that also causes me to look back at myself from the world, rather than simply looking out at the world as I truly am.

I have suffered so much in my lifetime and I suffer so much less now. Now that I am able to enjoy my true expression, if only for myself. Still, a times I wish I could share my expression openly with others. To be free to walk around as I truly am. To express myself as I truly am through my actions and personality. Even this I control and contain so as to not show too much.

As I’ve written before, it is the secrets that I hold from the world that causes me the most stress in life. Each time I’m able to express a secret to the world I feel so much lighter and free. Yet I can’t see the secret of who I truly am ever being able to be fully expressed. Not as long as I keep viewing myself from the world, rather than simply looking out at the world as I truly am.

Of course this all stems from how I was accepted, or not accepted by my own family, mainly my mother. Later in life coming to find out all the behind the scenes talk she had done about me to others. Each time I was caught wearing women’s clothes and she found out, all the discussions of what confused person I am. How my oldest sister was terrified of me when she found women’s clothes in my bedroom while I was staying with her. So much so that the next day they told me to leave without any explanation. It wasn’t until months later and intense prying with my other sister that she told me the reason.

I was this dark secret in my own family. Because of this, I continue to see myself through their eyes, their standards. Standards that are the same in the eyes of other people. The look my mother always gave me about who I am, even when I wasn’t expressing it through the wearing of clothes. Even when I would express myself to her poetically she would think of me as being a freak.

There were times when I would come to visit her and I would talk with her while she was cooking or cleaning the kitchen. I would just openly talk as she listened, with elaborate metaphors forming grand images. She would look at me as if I was some strange being. But I would just keep talking because it felt so good.

I’ve been thinking of just how good of a poet I am, even though I don’t write in poetic form. I am truly a prose poet. I was always disappointed with my formal poetry as it never said what I truly wanted it to say. It wasn’t until I finally learned how to write fiction that I saw a style that I truly enjoyed. I called it, “prose poetry.”

Still I continued writing free verse poetry still not seeing my prose as true poetry. To be honest, I didn’t see my prose as true poetry until recently. Now that I write prose everyday and within this prose I express myself as I truly am, a poet. A philosopher. A visionary. All things that I had been striving to be all of my life, yet was these things all the time. You can’t strive to be these things. They are something that one is born with being. It all comes from my feminine heart.

Everything I am comes from my feminine heart. All the beauty that I can express and all the deep expressions come from her. This is why it sometimes feels like what I write is coming from some other place. Even my first real short story felt as if it came from beyond. I remember writing it.

It started as simply an entry in my journal, talking about something me and some women from my job talked about earlier that day. We were out for a walk, which even this was mocked by the men, me going out with the women for a walk each day, enjoying their company.

Some of the women were investing in the lottery. The amount was very large at the time. They talked about what they would do if they won. Then they asked me what I would do. I said that I would buy some land along with two horses. That was pretty much it. Build a homestead there with my two horses.

Well, from this came my first formal short story. I had been trying for years to write fiction but failing terribly. I read and read the advice of others, trying to write stories but they were terrible. On this day, a Friday with the weekend off, I started writing when I got home from work and didn’t stop until later the next day. I felt as if I was in another world as the story came to life as if on it’s own. I sat in front of the computer never turning on any lights but, at times, I would look beyond into my apartment it it seemed as if their was some sort of light illuminating. A sort of light of inspiration from beyond. In a way, it seemed like a light beaming into my apartment from outside, illuminating the apartment, yet not coming through the window but simply through the ceiling and walls.

I did stop once to sleep. It was about 4am. I went to bed and fell asleep, only to wake up a little later as if startled, the story still forming and living within me. I quickly got up and went back to the computer and continued from where I left off.

When I came to the end of the story, I just knew it was the end. I literally laid my head down on my arms and took a deep breath. I knew I had written something amazing. I immediately wrote an email to a pen pal I had then. She was very much like a friend as we wrote to each other everyday. I told her about the story and sent her a copy of it. Later she wrote back praising the story, even though it hadn’t been edited. She said she didn’t notice any mistakes in grammar or spelling simply because she became lost in the story itself. As if not seeing the words but living the story through the words.

I then began showing it to more people. I took it to work and let the ladies there read it. They all gave it great praise. One woman came to me seemingly angry as she slammed the story on my desk saying, “Your story made me cry. I never cry.”

Some of the others I nearly had to fight with them to give it back to me. They wanted to keep the copy. Over time I quit being so possessive and simply let them keep a copy. I then began just giving the story to other people.

This story stimulated even more short stories. Over a period of about a month I wrote many more short stories, all seemingly inspired and energized by the first. I put together makeshift books, binding the stories together and gave this away to some people. I only gave the story to women because only women would enjoy it. They were feminine type stories, even though in them the main character was a man. Even though I gave the characters different names, all the characters were different aspect of me.

In my first story, I used my name and it was me all the way through. Not depicted as a feminine person but yet it was there. I high respect for women, as I held the characters of my wife and daughters as being angels who guided me as I struggled to be the man of the house even though I wasn’t able to be a man of the house. They were actually the ones who guided me through everything, even the foolish things I did trying to be the man of the house.

The truth is, that story depicted a very balanced view of the masculine and feminine while depicting my own struggles to be more masculine, even though I was rather feminine. Honoring the feminine through the female characters. Making the masculine character as being less than the feminine characters, while the feminine characters always sought to raise up the masculine character, not in the masculine, as in making him dominate, but trying to show him that he is equal to the feminine, not less than the feminine.

It is this that I’ve felt all of my life, less than the feminine. Cursed to be in a man’s body though feminine within. Because I was in a man’s body, of which I saw men as less than the feminine, at least in their current state, I too was less than the feminine. I was willing to subject myself to be less than the feminine and to serve the feminine, which is express through the physical form of women.

Well, women never took to this in me. Even this they saw as strange. Mostly they viewed me as a man and thus what I was doing was so I could get something from them. It was also strange to them to have a man desire to serve them so freely. To honor them as higher beings. To see them, in a way, as goddesses. To this day I still call them goddesses in my mind. I revere women very highly in my mind but I control how I act. I don’t try to serve them as I would like to do. Still, I can’t help but show them a great respect. A respect that they see as being strange because they see themselves as less than the masculine and thus it is strange for a man to view them as being greater. It goes against the very grain of this society.

Well, I think I’ve rambled on enough about this. I am simply recovering from yet another leg of this journey. I never see just how deeply I am within each leg of the journey until it comes to a climax and releases much like a volcano. Then I sit back, my body trembling a little and realize just how deep and how powerful the experience really was and just how deeply I was seeing into the heart of existence, only to back away and take a deep breath while setting up my hammock for a brief respite and let it all sink in.