My vicar said two things which drove me out of the Anglican church: “I will try to ensure you are not driven out of the church,” which seemed too negative; and “Do you want to look like that, all the time?”

I thought recently, Yes. I would of course rather pass perfectly and look beautiful, but when the choice was between looking a fairly ordinary bloke, and looking like an obvious tranny– beard stubble, no idea of dress sense, bad wig, ungainly and awkward- I would still choose transition. I don’t know that I could bear it, now, but though I have considered reverting the drive is as strong as ever.

I have not been in the ritual space for months, and that rug needs a good brush. I knelt on Saturday evening.

I feel sad– but this is not painful, as I am not resisting it. I don’t tell myself, Don’t cry– because that would make me cry harder, to get the message across. I permit it. I don’t cry.

Later, I feel angry. It isn’t, but I see how that can be energising– I admit it is reasonable, and it becomes heat to warm me, rather than to burn me.

I did not want to go to the Quaker meeting, but did anyway. Certainly I am in “low functioning me”- depressive, not really wanting to talk, though chatting away in the car with Peter. I went immediately into the meeting room.

And it felt like this LFM is- real me– or at least, part of real me which I need to accept and integrate. These are my authentic feelings.

This bit-

I know I want to hide away, but it seems to me I have worked that out, from what I have done; the way I chose my career, how I behave now. In the meeting room it seemed that I was feeling the desire, there and then, consciously-

for the first time?

These are my most powerful drives, affecting me so strongly.

The Quaker shared lunch was quite fun, as usual Ann doing most of the cooking, and rather than contributing anything I took sausage rolls away. Peter came back to my flat, where we chatted and grazed on left-over food from the shared lunch, until it was time for the concert.

All Saints Church is a great barn of a place, seating 400, from the mid 19th century. The local amateur group had an orchestra of forty, and a large choir; they started with the Bach Toccata and Fugue on the organ and ended with the Magnificat. The audience was uneducated, clapping between movements: “I don’t know when to clap,” said the man behind me, plaintively. Sitting between the Gothic arches, with the darkness outside, I was reminded of the beauty I loved in the Anglican church. The woman beside me was embarrassed by her angry husband, who was disdainful of some nervousness in the organist. But this is Swanston, not Edinburgh, or even Norwich. I opened myself to the beauty of the music, took less notice of infelicities, and the first movement of the Magnificat moved me to tears.

Blake, God blessing

7 thoughts on “Magnificat

  1. The Magnificat is one of my faves, really, and I’m glad I don’t listen to it in the car, or else I would crash it. Sublime.
    That Vicar? Why do you give it another moment’s thought? He is / was an unreconstructed chauvanist, who should have had more pastoral notions at the forefront of his thoughts. What annoys me is that persons in similar positions of authority are accorded respect, and instead of honouring that, they say the most ignorant hurtful rubbish.

    I’m glad you notice the negativity without buying into it. Anger makes me feel ill too, but i can use its energy. Similarly, I feel sadness which is no longer painful, because I do not resist it. We ebb and flow, just as does the whole of life.

    Bless you! xxxxx


    • It was not his opinions, but his question: given those options, that is still what I want. At that Quaker weekend, I was in a small group with Tom. We hit it off, and on the Sunday he said he had not realised I am trans until the Saturday afternoon. Well, he is an empathetic, observant man and I would still rather he had not realised. And I would still rather not revert.

      Resisting is the only problem with feeling. Bracketing is possible, I need not show it if I permit it, but I cannot suppress it.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Exactly. If you permit yourself to feel the way you do – which is harder than it sounds – you can just be with that feeling, and let it pass through. You don’t ever need to show it, though there are times when the feeling, or its strength will render us mute. That is okay.

        Suppression is resistance, and creates more problems. Suppression is only useful, occasionally, as a short term coping mechanism, until we learn how to allow our feelings fully, which we can then do, even in a busy board meeting. (It may look a bit odd, but we can allow anger in a business setting, and if that makes us momentarily silent, it’s not a big deal).

        Love you so much. xxxx 🙂


  2. You know, sometimes when we can feel God inside our hearts, it’s just too powerful a feeling not to cry. He’s there, you know. And in spite of what some “law abiding” Christians say, it’s not about laws and dogma and rituals. It’s about this relationship between Him and me, and you and Him. It’s about the arms He holds out to every one of His children, the unconditional love He offers as the Gift of Himself to anyone who takes His hand. We’re family, you and I, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

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