Fun

“What do you do for fun?” asked Tina. Dunno, really. Usually some joy might be found in any situation, but I rarely do anything simply for the fun of it. I am either seeking self-improvement in some way, or vegging out.

What do I gain from my comments on the Guardian website? Up votes, and the pleasure of expressing myself. Same, here: likes, page views and the pleasure of writing. I am analysing. I value that.

I wanted to recite my Summer Fruit poem, and Cupid and Psyche, before that group. I want to shine, and be admired, and that was my best way.

I want to be seen and valued. Jenna heard my two souls poem and valued it. Communication, seeing and being seen, is too-

majestic

to be called mere fun. Possibly I don’t do anything to get out of myself, let my hair down, giggle, but rather want to be myself, without a mask. Or possibly Britain is indeed divided into Cavaliers, who enjoy life, and Roundheads, too serious for fun, and I am a Roundhead.

That was a misunderstanding. No, I do not want a biscuit. Really. Not even one of those expensive ones, larger and more airy, with chocolate chips. “I am a Roundhead,” I said, and you took it as a judgment on you that you were a cavalier, or wrong in some way to have one. I thought after it was my unwonted scoffing of ten ginger biscuits last night that stopped me wanting one now, and certainly consulting my own desires rather than choosing “virtue” or even “self-control”. Can anyone enjoy something no-one else likes?

I very much wanted to do something just now, which you might not understand. “Why would you want to spend time with these people?” asked Tina. They have made it so clear that they want me elsewhere. “Because I want to be readmitted, and then to leave them,” I said, but that’s not it. I want them to see my beauty. I will continue expressing myself, and when they realise what they are missing they will welcome me back. The only ministry was that in lively conversation in the car one group had missed the satnav’s instructions, and gone the wrong way. They should listen to wisdom. I take this as suggesting that excluding me was a human decision, and Spirit may find a better way. Possibly that is not what is meant.

I was glad — was not there, I thought, my own internalised transphobia is more than enough for me to deal with, then thought of Audre Lorde noticing that she was harshest and most divided from other Black women. We should be allies, and it is tragic that we are not.

There were incidental beauties in sitting still for an hour. The smirl under thick cloud diffusing the high sun, on the millions of different greens of the trees and meadow, reminded me of Argyll. I watched teenagers try abseiling. They were creeping nervously backwards, possibly it was too much to ask in the rain, then one gave a joyous leap away from the tower, slipping down the rope, and I saw she had discovered the wonder of it: trusting the ropes and herself she gave herself to it fully. That spontaneous acceptance of the beneficence of the world may let her live more fully in it.

The wind whistled loudly over a tube like a pan-pipe, and children called excitedly- “Does anyone need the toilet?” asked a sensible adult. Some thought the meeting gathered.

Do I want this to go on? They place me on the spot, so I give a Plain Speech answer. Do not do this out of a perceived generosity to me, I have places I may worship and be welcomed not tolerated. Do this if you want to, if you want to see me.

As for me, possibly oversensitive to the possibility of condescension, I valued seeing these people and the conundrum we have created together. Might we reconcile? Sitting with the unknowing may get us a good outcome, and even is valuable for its own sake. So I desire it, however far it is from “fun”.

Talk to me.

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