Shame II

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I announced that I had overcome my shame. I know my transsexuality and my sexuality, and I accept them. That is how and who I am. It is OK. Rejoice with me, for I have overcome my shame. I even believed it. When one sees a spiritual task, one may do it, or fib to onesself one has done it already.

Then the exercise was, we stated publicly what we were ashamed of, around sexuality, and I heard the pain of others. I was overwhelmed with horror and disgust, a thick sharp agony under my sternum. If our fucked up way of being hurts me as “not normal”- I am quite an outlier, though I am still part of the bell-curve- that is one thing, but these poor benighted heterosexuals:

all that hurt and pain and shame-

So now I sit with it. Not writing this post stopped me writing for seven days, for how can I write it? It is beyond my words. I have two answers. My shame is past, it will not affect me any more; or, my shame is a part of me, part of my own reactions. Hello darkness my old friend- it is something within which moves me, and my resentment and resistance to my own responses are the problem. Let all these unconscious processes be, and they will unknot themselves in time. Don’t overthink.

I fear. I need to be unknotted Now. And is that not an “unconscious process,” worthy of equal honour?

Words are not definitions and boxes and restrictions but suggestions and possibilities and spring-boards. Robert Bringhurst, Saraha:

No difference exists
between body and mind, language
and mind, language and body.
What is, is not. You must love
and let loose of the world.

I used to write poems,
and like yours, they were made
out of words, which is why
they said nothing.

and yet we use words, for what else have we? People talking without speaking, people hearing without listening

From Facebook: The Feminine is finally meeting her pain with a respectful namaste. Her pain is her oldest teacher. Also the one she’s avoided facing at all costs. Finally, she’s putting her attention to it. Feeling it fully without running away is scary, it’s especially hard to stay in it.

Her sankalpa to shift her consciousness is coming from a space that is much larger than her contractions. Her practice is to continue to breathe into her ‘not knowing’. Slowly, as she experiences her dark, agonising spaces without resistance, it begins to take her through the dark alleys of lifetime after lifetime of victim/aggressor existence. And at the end of the tunnel, she meets love. Intense, blinding, golden, shimmering love. She melts into it.

Kneel in the ritual space. There is this moment.

Robert Bringhurst

The review said that Robert Bringhurst is a great Canadian poet, not previously published in his own book in England. I had to get the book.

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Picture credit: Jason V

Instantly I am plunged into a strong masculine vibe. The Beauty of the Weapons:

With the truncated butt
caught in the cocked
elbow, the trigger
falls exactly to hand.

Bringhurst addresses the male/female divide. Though I do not imagine that the “Poet” in These poems, she said is Bringhurst, rather than an aspect of him, it rings true to have a woman tell him that “These are the poems of a man who would leave his wife and child because they made noise in his study.”

I love Deuteronomy. This is not a comforting Bible story for children, this is fear and unknowing and uncertainty and urgency in the Desert. Miracles are played down, and the Voices could be madness. And at the end, the task accomplished, tiredness, not fulfilment.

Can words describe the World? No, because they cannot mean the same to two different people, and they cannot encompass the whole nature and variety of the simplest thing, a grain of sand or a wild flower. And yet they are all we have. In Hick and Nillie, a poet talks to a god, of words turning false, until

Silence, like clear speaking,
washes words. In time they will
come true again. But then, of course,
they will be different words.

It is the poet teaching, and the god listening.