Fire and deathResentment might be a positive quality, but how might bitterness be?

Kneel. Now.
Oh, OK. I kneel in my ritual space, though the habit I have long wanted to inculcate is kneeling on getting up and before going to bed. The image that comes into my mind is a caricature, not a real person: someone else, not as she really is. The caricature is a sad, bitter tranny.

A message from my unconscious, which may be “God”- I am in an atheist mood atm. My conscious mind may accept or reject it. Accept is the better way: I have suppressed too much, and I have the space not to, now. I have no need to “soldier on”, and nothing to soldier on at. Who am I, now?

I am bitter. Of course I am. I feel hurt and rejected. Bitterness is part of the burden which makes life soldiering on rather than joyful living.


I wrote that on Saturday, and then stopped. Later, I hand-wrote some notes of how to go on, and then I left it for three days, no further writing.

Resentment sees hope, and bitterness sees none.

I am bitter. If I can’t be bitter then I am not perfect. Denial seems worse than consciousness.

People feel better if we think each day of things to be grateful for. Is gratitude a palliative? I object to gratitude as a way of erasing bitterness: but one may have both, together.

Why rush to change bitterness? It is. Let it be. Find its use.

It is painful. I scream against it.

How does it move me?


On Saturday, Terry phoned to say he was not going to Meeting on Sunday. I could ask Peter. I woke at 5, and could not get back to sleep, and stayed tired but unable to sleep until 8.30. Oh, I will just not go. Then Terry phoned to offer a lift. Do I want to go? I did not know.

I was silent, then said I would call back before nine if I wanted a lift. He phoned later, to check I was alright. And, I had frightened myself with this. Follow my heart, my instincts, but not wanting to go seemed utterly negative, desolate

-the desolations are not the sorrows’ kin

and I like being with people, I will have three good hugs if I go, it is pleasant as well as good for me- these were what my head said ought to be heart-reasons.

So I did not go.

That really frightened me. Follow your heart- either, now, I am remaking myself, following my heart, doing what I want as a prelude to doing what I want in the World, or I am retreating in greater and greater fear, until I do not want to spend time with friends. If my heart really is just bitter and resentful and miserable so that I turn my face to the wall, What next?

Now it is Tuesday, and I have found the equanimity to return to this post. I will post on why, tomorrow.

And- that right hand panel of Bosch. Earthly delights, indeed: there is no good there. The left panel is Eden, the middle the daylight happy world with people going about their business, and in the right panel ignorant armies clash by night. Or, is it a destruction which can only seem unbearable, before-


the same as the “Wait without hope” verse? Something I will recognise as better when I can allow myself to do so?

Like water

Best to be like water,
Which benefits the ten thousand things
And does not contend,
It pools where humans disdain to dwell,
Close to the Tao.

-Tao Te Ching, 8, trans. Addis and Lombardo.

When you do not-doing
nothing's out of order.

Tao Te Ching, 4, made verse by Ursula LeGuin, who comments that wei wu wei, Do not Do, act without acting, is the heart of the book; the whole book is an explanation and a demonstration of it.

Saifa and pictureThe kata Saifa has violent bunkai. It is one thing to hit a man and let his natural inertia make his body absorb the energy of the blow; it is another to hold a head so that it takes that energy. After Saturday, I am encouraged to get out my kata DVD at last and do some serious practice. I started in pyjamas, but putting on the gi felt fitting, as did tidying the room, already my ritual spiritual space, as my dojo. One hour yesterday, one hour today, I have practised Saifa and studied the video.

And I am tense. This is Fighting, so my muscles tense and I think about the force of my blow; and that takes away from the force. In the bathroom this morning, 7°C with snow outside, I first tense in the discomfort then relax. I do not want to be in this cold for long, but I can be here, just letting my body cope with the temperature. Practising kata without any tension at all is difficult- it is a blow, it must be tense- and making the move in a relaxed doing-notdoing way with the snap, the tension, only at the last moment is particularly difficult. And it means taking the ego-mind out of the equation, so that the body does what it must.

Tao te ching 5: Wise souls aren’t humane. To them the hundred families are straw dogs. LeGuin comments that this “inhumanity” is not cruelty, for cruelty and altruism alike come from the ego-mind. “Followers of the Way, like the forces of nature, act selflessly.” I seek to strip away my socialisation, which constrains me, and rely on the creativity and God-ness of that inhumanity to be sufficiently good. I imagine cracking a skull not because I want to do that, but because I want to do what is necessary.

And- U, falling in love with me, saw the warm humour of my left eye; and falling out, noticed my right eye, its cold watchfulness. These are visible in the picture. She said it out loud as she thought it, and I heard the sub-vocalisation, which hit me in the throat. It is a reason, to go along with all the causes, that I do not trust my unself-ed being.

Spiritual discipline

I get up in the morning and kneel for ten minutes in my ritual space.  I get aware of my breath, practise metta meditation, or channel Qi to my chakras. Some say ten minutes is pointlessly short, but it is what I like. Before going to bed, I have a similar ten minutes.

Except I don’t. I lie in bed until I have got to get up and no longer have time for it, and I waste time with facebook and blog comments and telly until it is too late, and I just go to bed.

I know it is good for me. I know it makes me think more clearly and creatively and perceive better, and I remember feeling better after, and I still put it off, often until I just decide not to. There is something in me which finds it uncomfortable and difficult, as well as something in me which finds it beautiful. It might be useful to have a dialogue of those two parts.

I think human beings are created Good, and Romans 7-8 is therefore a difficult passage for me. Romans 7: 15, 21-25:

15 I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do….21 So I find this law at work: Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. 22 For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; 23 but I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me. 24 What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death? 25 Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!

A dialogue.

Inner being: Before we start, can we think of a different name for me? Kind of judgmental, “sinful nature”, v.18, don’t you think? Paul’s word is “sarx”, “flesh”. Remember “The Word was made sarx, and dwelt amongst us”.

-mmm. I love my ritual space. Why do you not?

Sarx: “Sarx” will do me.
-It is uncomfortable. How often have we knelt there and just started crying? I hate crying. It is uncomfortable. It looks silly, and people deride and despise me for it. Feeling feelings is really painful. Suppressing them stops the pain.

Inner being: Suppressing them is really difficult. They come out in other ways, and the whole process is destructive.

Me: OK. It is beautiful and constructive and creative and healing and all of that- but it is also painful and difficult, and sometimes even the delight is too much. And sometimes, afterwards, I feel so open and vulnerable, and that is difficult, and so going out or applying for jobs or seeing people is just too much for me- though it is too much for me when I suppress, too.

So it takes discipline to go into the ritual space. I cannot just imagine ooh, it’s lovely, of course I will do it. It takes courage. I go where I have been badly hurt. It is worthwhile.

The Chicago Code

Is the risk worth taking?

The Chicago Code is a cop drama which made  thirteen episodes in 2010, now being shown on Pick TV, the Murdoch channel freely available in the UK. Misnamed Pick is filled with worthless, £1000 an hour “reality TV” but is worth checking occasionally, for things like “Spartacus” (Thud! Splat! Phwoar! Ew!) and the surpisingly watchable Stargate Universe, which made two full seasons in 2010.

The Chicago Code is Feelgood. The good guys win, always at the end of the episode, and repeatedly, but with the slight edge that the bad guys win sometimes too, for example the successful jury nobbling in episode 10. There is an ongoing story and some soapish elements around certain characters, but each episode has one or two stories which can be followed without previous knowledge of the show, and here the undercover cop is shown early, talking to bad guys and his handler, so that new viewers get the idea.

It goes dark. Darkest moment today, a man is shot in the head, and blood spatters undercover cop’s face.

Fortune moves like the wind, and we see the pretty cop chasing the bad guy. But he is staying ahead, and the shot changes: from a shot in sunlight to one in shade. Will he turn on her? Whoosh, in comes a car with more cops. Snap, snap, snap, new shot, new idea.

Is the risk worth taking? Handler’s brother was an undercover cop, shot by the bad guys. Now, undercover cop is close to the head of the mob. Should he be pulled out? Is the handler’s opinion affected by the death of his brother, years ago? Undercover cop is to be searched, in case he has a “wire”. He has. In this programme, he could not actually die but that is not always obvious.

They take the risk, and it pays off, very well. The story is not over: it is time to move in on the big fish. The episode is over, though. How do I feel now? I have had a strong vicarious emotional workout- elation, amusement, dread, shock flickering around my limbic system rapidly in succession. Back to real life. My retreat to my living room is stressful: my thigh muscle has started to twitch, near the knee. This is better than the facial tics I have had in the past. Ah. I am stressed. Notice that. And now, at the end of the episode, I feel- a downer. I want another.

I believe my retreat is useful, that I am gaining self-acceptance and self-awareness, and recovering from internalised self-hatred and past hurts. I pass the time, not just with Contemplation. I know my addiction to Solitaire is harmful: 1300 “games” since August, and I do not go to bed, just “playing” again, and I have twice got wired on it, hyper, reacting quickly and not necessarily well, and it makes me sleep poorly. So I have removed the shortcuts to it. I could find it again, but that would take digging, I am not quite sure how.

I am passing the time, as well as healing and contemplating. This telly is addictive, an escape from reality. I need to retreat: that job interview in Bedford last week really upset me, and I did not get the job. I can retreat, I have a little more money to disperse. I think the telly is probably OK: have an experience, react to it, see the reaction, learn- and also pass some time.

Rather than watching another recording, I kneel in my ritual space, and contemplate for a bit. Then I start thinking of blogging it.


I want to withdraw.

I read the Holstee Life-manifesto, and think, yeah, right. It ranges from what I see as good advice- “open your mind arms and heart to new things and people,” say- to the “You can do anything you want” stuff which I have heard is the kind of vicious lie we have to try to believe, but is very far from my experience. Though when I whined something similar on her site, Lynne made a gracious reply.

I want to withdraw. But that is completely nutty. I have twice seen an NHS CBT worker about “behavioural activation” which is getting me to do stuff, there is lots of stuff I need to do to advance my interests, and Withdrawal- sitting doing nothing- is not doing that. Then again: “Do what you love, and do it often”. “Live your dream and share your passion.” Mmm. Well, here am I doing nothing, and telling you about it.

I want to withdraw, and that is indeed strange and wrong- arguably- though looking at some other wants:

I want not to have to think
I want to be looked after
I want to be told what to do

-even though if ever someone tells me what to do and that is not what I want to do in that moment I have a resistance, and do not do it. Vide Behavioural Activation. Oops, that is not a proper sentence. Looking at my other wants, life is too much for me, all I have imagined I needed to do does not fit my desires, and I can’t think it through- “Stop over-analysing” says Holstee- so withdrawing makes sense.

I do not always resist. “Go and see what the next dance is” said S, and I went off to look at the list stuck to the wall, surprising F who thought me over biddable. Arguably. Gosh, that’s er, must be 25 years ago. Just wafts into my mind then.

I withdrew as far as I can- after breakfast I went back to bed- and the grinding tool or drill screamed into my consciousness and I am not in control, even here. Tears. After reading for a while I went to shower, and- getting into the bath, that routine movement, the planned thing I must do- more tears. Presence. Consciousness. The feel of the water, the heat.

I could do X and dress for that, or wear jeans to slob around the house, and I really want to wear that skirt. So I do. That “per una” skirt- it is years old, I have worn it twice this Autumn and been told how beautiful it is each time. And it is. And this blouse.

-Tranny crap. Fantasist, worrying about clothes for fuck sake, not real life-

Maxine did not like the word “blouse”, which seems less in use, preferring “shirt”. I love the softness of the fabric, the subtle floral design, the fussiness of the shape…

My living room is tidy, after S visited. I light a candle. Beautiful. I read a bit.

I kneel in my ritual space, and am overwhelmed by sensation: the wig I never wear, real hair, moves on my cheek if I move my head, the silk slip, the soft opaque tights- and I come to an end, just as the timer does. Then I play the piano, starting Giorni Dispari but moving quickly to free improvisation, the spontaneous interaction of rhythm and harmony.

I am being spontaneous, doing what I want to do, against the Rules inculcated, against the Common Sense which consciously runs through my mind. This is unaccustomed. I am so, so guarded, that spontaneity with another person seems too much, too difficult, this sitting doing almost nothing is all the spontaneity I can manage-

That beautiful, sensitive man- seen as Mentally Ill, looked after (managed) by his younger brother, last time I saw him he was SUPPRESSED by anti-psychotics

Just sitting here, with that candle, its flame so steady, so beautiful- just sitting here feels so dangerous-

If you have read this far, please leave a comment. A reaction would be good, but a comma in the comment box is a good enough “I was here” for me-

I do not trust myself, and I want to be heard. Then again, I grow, just a little, in trust of myself. Withdrawing is definitely good for me today.

Written 20 November.

Green aventurine

Notice it.

I touch it to my lips. There are more nerve endings there even than the fingertips. The surfaces of these 25 nuggets of green aventurine are so smooth. Wikipedia tells me it is a Quartz- what isn’t?- and that an overabundance of fuchsite may render it opaque. I would not call it translucent, exactly, but the nuggets seem to have a dark core, as light going through the heart of each stone is finally thwarted.

Wash it.

I have been wary of crystal superstitions. Why should washing it have any effect? It cleanses it of stuck energies- but that is to give it power for harm, I have thought. No- the more respect I show it, the more power it has for my good. I take it to my running tap- not having a mountain spring from volcanic rocks easily to hand- and run each nugget in the flowing water.

Hallow it.

I put it on when it came through the post, but only for a moment. I take pleasure in it as jewellery, always nice to treat myself, but these stones have a specific purpose, and creating a ritual to create it as a spiritual being, strong for my good, is important. I have no ideas for my ritual, particularly. I will kneel in my ritual space with it. I set the timer, as usual, for ten minutes. Perhaps that is too short a time, but it prevents me getting bored and stopping even earlier. Actually, ten minutes feels right, the voice saying- if you were really spiritual, you would be doing this for far longer, being genuine and deep, it can’t be real like you do it, I know of old.

I kneel and hold it. I have two words for focussing: Emptiness. Release. First I hold it, cupped in my hands, but then in my right hand, the left above it, channelling Qi. Then I hold it to my third eye chakra. (I am thinking of blogging it, throughout- this is an important part, owning and celebrating my own ritual, making this as so much of my life public.) Then to my throat chakra, my creativity chakra by my navel, and my base chakra. Finally I hold it above my head, in my Soul Star chakra, an energy portal just above my head. I exclaim,

Power protection strength beauty beauty beauty loveliness sweetness delight

The only possible words in that moment. And the timer bleeps. Strange, how often it bleeps just as my ritual finishes.


I am a spiritual healer and intuitive, tightly bound with magic iron, wrought in a curse. And the iron speaks, and tells me that all this has no basis in rationality, and rationality is the only thing which matters, and I must be sensible, and the way to get on is to be a professional in a suit, and amass knowledge, and use that; and this is a good way to be. My bonds are loosening.

I have been so cursed to believe what is so almost valuable and almost true, that I cannot know any different. And I do not know what I want, I cannot know what I want, only what I ought to want, being this rational man.

The bonds have been breaking for a LONG time.

And none of it is true. Of course I know what I want, and do it- for example, getting that scanner. And my inner critic says that does not count, that is silly and childish and self-indulgent– a big boo-word, “self-indulgent”- and shows that I am not focussing on what is important. Ha! But it was Fun.

I have bought a green aventurine necklace because of this post. Having told you of my adventures, I am going to perform a ritual for the matching earrings.


And later, it went.

Mutual acceptance

File:Glassy embrace.jpgImagine everyone in straitjackets, all tight-laced up the back. I cannot loosen my own straitjacket at all, but I can loosen yours slightly- though it is very hard work, and I am so concerned with my own bonds that I do not want to address yours. If I loosen yours slightly, then you might loosen mine a bit, and eventually I might be able to loosen my own. I am aided to accept myself if others accept me. I can deal with non-acceptance from others, but that needs my own self-acceptance, and that in turn needs some acceptance from others.

I posted that on Facebook, and Z responded with a long warm message of how if others do not accept me it is their loss. I am grateful. How does acceptance by others interact with acceptance by self?

I journey into self-acceptance from a place where my instincts and spontaneous reactions were entirely wrong, probably inculcated in early childhood. When I transitioned, I was accepted, and treated warmly, in the Quaker meeting and the Citizens Advice Bureau where I worked, and random insults in the streets from strangers meant far more to me than that. The insult would affect me for days. I went back to the Scottish Country Dancing in South Manchester, and was a little late. I was putting on my dancing shoes when a man came in, and as he took off his coat he said hello. I smiled at him and he-


He read me in that moment. I am certain of it. I do not think he was comfortable with a trans woman in the club. I never asked him about it, and nothing was ever said, but with fifty million years of evolution as a social animal, I trust my instincts on this.

It is normal for women to dance on the man’s side, there are usually more women than men, but in Cardiff the SCD class I attended had a number of poor dancers who insisted on dancing on the women’s side. So I danced on the man’s side until I got too upset with this, and burst into tears. My inner critic told me I was indulging in manipulative play-acting, and I was upset. I am not a man. I was welcomed there, accepted, I danced on the women’s side. One of the men- I noticed I was flirting with him, noticed my words and body-language, and was uncomfortable and embarrassed at my own reaction. I was frightened, I felt ridiculous, I feared being snubbed.

I am at least two beings, the one who cries and the one who reacts with contempt and fear at the crying, and the latter seems more under conscious control to me- I can consciously work out that I need to react with compassion to my own crying as I would react with compassion to someone else’s, it is behovely to do so, I can choose to do so. And if I do, if I accept my own anger, the anger grows less, like a child no longer clamours for attention once heard.

I am accepted by others. I want to pay that my full attention, to hear it, to take it in to myself. It aids me in my work of self-acceptance. I am not accepted by everyone. I am sensitive to that on a semi-conscious level, and it raises echoes in me.

Actually, now I am adult, I think none of those internal restraints are profitable. They hold down my emotional reactions, which get stronger to be heard; I do not feel and accept the emotions, so old emotion comes up and clouds my judgment.

And- I do not like all of myself. There is a thing I recognise in myself which disgusts me, and that is only one thing I am conscious of. There is more, still semi-conscious and denied.Jean_Jacques_Henner_-_Solitude.jpg


“Sensei- Rei” comes the command. Already kneeling, we put our foreheads to the floor. This morning (Sunday 23rd) I felt moved to do that in the Quaker meeting.

On my mind was the thought of being two, and how this did not work for me. Terry pressed on me his copy of Self-Hypnosis for Cosmic Consciousness, a way of attaining mystical experiences which the author, Ronald A Havens, PhD., believes are accessible and beneficial to any human being, and not connected to any God. I thought how that more conscious I resisted, and how the more unconscious I prevailed: in transitioning to female, in my current Refusal.

I thought, “I must submit. It is the only way out of this impasse.” First I put my hands together in the prayer pose- Gasshô, Reiki practitioners call it- then felt moved to kneel, and finally to put my forehead on the floor. This is not my final surrender, and it is a step towards it.

“This is silly and self-indulgent” said Johanna my inner critic, and I thought, yes, and isn’t it Wonderful! And- what I loathe and detest in myself is my Submissiveness, and this is where my Submissiveness fits, and has value, and is Good, good for me and good generally. It would not have been possible but for that kneeling in the Dojo, and that kneeling is my habitual posture in my Ritual space. And I feel fear of that submission.

Driving home, Terry talked of severing the corpus callosum, and how the different hemispheres had different personalities. Well, yes. That is my favourite Materialist explanation of the Muse, or the Inspiration of the Spirit. So it could be two halves of my brain, in conflict. This puts me- conscious-I, I suppose- in fear and withdrawal. And yet I feel and think that Submission is my path.

Acceptance is submission.

Or, at least, I have opened negotiations with a characteristic of myself, that submissiveness, which I have found vile, in an attempt to find its value, respect it, and integrate it in a better-functioning self.


Rufus Jones, one of the Religious Society of Friends’ greatest mystics, spoke in meeting, beginning “I was thinking”. After, a Friend commented that he was sorry to hear what Jones had said, you should not be thinking in meeting. All Quakers are aware of this story, and it relieves me to be absolved again by Valerie Brown, because in Meeting I think.

I may merely be ruminating, thinking unproductively, or I may be thinking as yesterday, being led to insight. By their fruits shall ye know them. The latter is good. I may never stop ruminating entirely, and attain Perfect Centering- it helps to be aware of and dwell on the moments where I do get it right,

She says I should let go of goals in my meditation, and this creates resistance in me. Of course I have goals. They may be unspecific, such as “improvement”, and I may need to be open to refining them with greater understanding- use the word as a Springboard, not a box- but of course I have goals.

One of my spiritual practices is having a bath, like this morning: I bathed for two hours, initially in water as hot as I can bear, reading and musing. And I saw that all I am capable of now is No- No, for example, to the goal that I should be supporting myself, for it comes from outside me. And- I am patiently and unconsciously turning my No around, from a No to my deepest self, my reality and my desires, to a No to things outside which I have found inimical. Even my conscious goals might have inhibited that.

My locus of control is internal, and so deep I am only conscious of it afterwards. Like Moses in the Wilderness, Exodus 33:20-23. The Lord said,

I will cause all my goodness to pass in front of you, and I will proclaim my name, the Lord, in your presence. I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion. But, you cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live. There is a place near me where you may stand on a rock. When my glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by. Then I will remove my hand and you will see my back; but my face must not be seen.

I thought that story was Elijah, and needed my Concordance to find it. Ha! Take that, Bible-haters! A story which is gibberish if taken literally, and holds spiritual truth.


Valerie Brown describes various spiritual practices: centering down, centering prayer, and meditation on the Breath. As for concentrating on the Breath, I have not done this a great deal. Valerie describes it in a way which makes it far richer than I had imagined: do listen. And hearing her voice is so much more intense than reading the words.

The picture is of my meditation bear, who sits in my ritual space all the time, holding the silence. Sometimes I meditate beside her, and sometimes in the ritual space I cuddle her and weep.

Spiritual practices

I have done physical spiritual practices recently: healing, karate, biodanza, clowning, all involving body-consciousness and minimising the critical mind. And this morning I returned to the Quaker meeting, and our particular spiritual way.

I have borrowed “Living from the Center”, a Pendle Hill pamphlet by Valerie Brown, which I sat to read before meeting started, and I got to thinking how different this spiritual experience is: most of us have degrees, a lot of us are academics, we are good with words, and when we minister in meeting we produce well-constructed paragraphs. And I want to bring the physical, body spirituality here.

Then I realise I can. Here is that flower on the table- I always sit close to the table, where I may look at the flower(s), and even the grain on the bench is beautiful. And I am projecting onto Friends: I want to unite these aspects of spirituality in Me, not in the Religious Society. And I can unite my intellect in my body work too: making that karate move, or dancing, while it is inappropriate for the conscious mind to seek to control or judge it, my intellect may appreciate it.

So it was a joyous meeting for me, of appreciation, integration and unity. It felt like a Leading. I thought of speaking it in ministry: but I felt no leading to that, why should I preach at my friends? It was a message just for me. Also, I thought of two recent facebook shares:
For a seed to achieve its greatest expression, it must come completely undone. The shell cracks, its insides come out and everything changes. To someone who doesn’t understand growth, it would look like complete destruction.- Cynthia Occelli.
The truth will set you free- but first it will piss you off.

Being broken in order to grow is such a common topic in spiritual writing, and a common spiritual experience. It is a way I have appreciated certain hurts, which have appeared strongly linked to my conscious growth moments- and I thought this morning that it is a way to accept and appreciate and value all my hurts, all my history. There was a light, joyous feeling in the room at the end of meeting, others noticed it too, not just me. We can come to feel together, though we sit in the same place, not touching, not speaking.

And- it was nice, sitting in the meeting room before meeting, when that couple walked in. All queers together- just, nice.
I have two spiritual practices in my ritual space at the moment. I perform metta meditation:

May I be safe and protected
May I be peaceful and happy
May I be healthy and strong
May I have ease of wellbeing

Just for me, and not for others, at the moment. I am sufficiently socialised, perhaps being too socialised is part of the problem; and I am hurt, and need to value myself. The pther practice is to feel the flow of Qi in my chakras, to invoke it, perhaps to bring it to myself. I intend to consider other options for spiritual practices. So I am grateful for the words of others, leading me towards the centre.

Monday: I kneel in my ritual space, my bear beside me. My friend gave him to me to console me in hospital, so I received him in Love, and now he sits in my ritual space, holding the silence, meditating whether I am there or not. Also I have a timer, for fifteen minutes’ meditation. I will not look at the timer, I will rise refreshed after my fifteen minutes. So “Not looking at the timer” becomes an illustration of my ego’s inadequacy, in its inability to achieve an unnecessary aim. I hurt and I fear, and I struggle.


Toddler is cried into silence. Mummy looks at toddler worriedly. 
Mummy says, "Is there anything you want?"


"Would you like a biscuit?" That was the pretext of the last battle.
Mummy reaches out, and sets her off again.

I understand, I assure you. I need to get myself a job, get out among 
people, earn money, support myself, get myself out of this stuckness. 
Or do something I enjoy doing, cheer myself up, stop being so negative. 
And all my 
is capable of, all she can manage at the moment, is NO.
In the sauna I complain my nipples are wrong, and get the standard 
feminine response, that they are absolutely fine, that there is a huge 
variation in nipples. And this upsets me more, because it is not relieving 
this anxiety but devaluing my greater anxiety, that I look like a man, 
I look like a tranny.

Or someone says "Your skin is so soft!" and I hear surprise, and I hear, 
"You're a man, you're a tranny, how come your skin is so soft?" 
Though perhaps that implication is not intended.
Lighting the fire, 

fanning the flames-
I am, no, not normal, no-one is normal, but-
 How can I take that into myself? How can I breathe it in? 
It seems clearer, kneeling in my ritual space.
It seems strengthened when I tap into the Universe to refresh my Qi. 
So, despite the apparently intellectual objections, this cannot be real, this 
cannot make sense, etc, etc, yada yada yada

I need to do that.