I scare people.  I know that.  I’ve always known that.

And the idea that being more obvious about my transnature will make me even more scary, well, that’s maybe the most terrifying idea I know.  I don’t want to be both more vulnerable and more terrifying.

I know it’s a tradeoff.  You can make the case that right now, I’m just fending off bullies, and that also pushes away possible friends.  If my expression was more authentic, more bullies might be afraid, but more people might be able to connect.  It’s a case, just not one that really feels true.  I think I believe in the bullies more, believe in thirdhand fear.

One of the reasons I’m so scary is that I appear smart, appear to see & know things that others don’t see or know.  Heck, that’s probably the main reason, eh?  I cast light into darkness, and that’s scary, because what we don’t want revealed must be hidden for a reason.

It’s odd how this plays out in “real life.”  I made a comment about some little technical thing — using a SIM card copier to move a phone book between phones — and people who I had challenged for trying to rip off the system immediately assumed I was ripping off the system. 

They may have had no idea if cloning could or could not be done, would or would not be valuable — it’s not easy anymore, and not really valuable — but they knew I had secret knowledge they didn’t have, and so they assumed that if I could do magic, I would use it the way they would use magic, to rip off the system.  They believed that would manipulate if they had magical powers, so I must be doing the same thing.

Problem is that I knew it wasn’t magic, knew the limits, and besides, knowledge always comes with responsibility.  Only ignorance, blissful or constructed, comes with no limits.

This isn’t the first time.  A tranny group wanted to sue my ass because I had some things they didn’t like on a website that got thrown back in my lap after one of them abandoned it.  I placed a copy of the mail on the list, and they assumed I had somehow purloined it remotely, even after I told them that they simply misaddressed it to an ally of mine.  But it couldn’t be their mistake that was the cause, because that is their responsibility, rather it must have been my secret magic, my responsibility.

I know this game all too well.  I spent years telling people things they didn’t think I could know, and they would beg me to tell them how I knew.  It was always just a case of adding 3 and 2 together to get 5, but that answer rarely satisfied them — they wanted magic.

Sometimes, I would give them magic.  I used to sniff PC cards and tell people what they were.  It was all misdirection, of course — I needed to bring the card close to read it, but a few deep breaths and some pauses, and it seemed like magic to them, because to them, even being able to read the card and know what it was was almost magical.

I get the fact that I am one scary fucking mirror, and the more polished I am, the more scary I seem.  Why the hell do you think I have honed looking ramshackle and decrepit?  Show some weakness, and the strengths seem less terrifying.  Play small, as Marianne Williamson understands.

My intensity, my energy, my passion, my pain, my insight, my vision, my being, well, I’m used to any or all of these things being scary, and I am sure that the list doesn’t stop there.

The gift of gracious receiving
is one of the greatest gifts
we can give anyone.
 Mister Fred Rogers

I’ve been thinking about what the hell my Christmas note should be.  I’ve already written so much, and I’m not like most pastors, who have a congregation that feels comfort hearing the same thing over and over again.

But Christmas, well, and fear, and well, darkness, and well. . .

Christmas is when people seek comfort, and few believe the power to see and know what lies in darkness will bring them comfort.  They imagine that a fire and tradtions will keep out the scary on these long nights.

Christmas magic, Christmas magic, Christmas magic.

Who wants to be told you already have the gifts you need, you just have to get past the fact that they scare others, over the fact that the terror of others scares you?

Everyone wants to go to heaven, but no one wants to die, because the idea of being reborn past fear brings up our fear of separation.

And on a cold, long, dark night, we won’t last long alone.


To Be A Freak

“I know what you told her. 

You and I are freaks, and we both know you have to be strong to be a freak. 

But just how strong do you want your daughter to have to be?”

House, to a dwarf mother who has just discovered her daughter can benefit from growth hormone.

Practicing Alcoholic

When my parents go away in January, I think I’m going to try to learn to be an alcoholic.

It’s not something that I am very good at.  I drink, I get pedantic, then I get sleepy.  I never really get that classic stupid that lets you do the same thing over and over again, abandoning caution to the release of others.

I am good at recovery, though, which seems pointless.

Yeah, I want to learn how to be drunk and stupid, to satisfy Terry Murphy who noted that I might talk like a drunk but didn’t act like one, but that’s not the point.

I want to be an alcoholic because then I have a comprehensible path to health, a community of people like me who want to help me get better.   People understand a drunk, they know what to do with an addict.   I would instantly be in the mainstream rather than be beyond help, as we people touched with the guru gift always seem to be.

So many people say that the the moment when they discover their sickness is a moment of release, because in that moment is both the affirmation of brokenness and the promise of being normal again, healing in the context of social expectations.

If I can just figure out how to be sick in a way that people understand, maybe then I can figure out how to be healthy in a way they understand.

That’s why I want to learn how to be an alcoholic, how to do it right.  I know that I am approaching alcoholism very late in life, in my fifth decade as I am, and that many would say that if I haven’t learned to be a drunk by now, well, I’ve missed the boat.

But, oh, to find community, first in a bar and then in AA, to find healing.  A joke from my youth: “Oh, you only have a cold.   That’s too bad.  I mean, if you had pneumonia, well, there’s a cure for that!” 

Yes, I need to get onto Google and find what I need to learn to be an alcoholic.  Practice, practice, practice, that’s the way to Carnegie Hall.

If I can just be the right kind of sick, maybe I can find the right kind of normalcy.

Or maybe not.