Transition Thru The Looking Glass

a nod to Lewis Carroll

Used to be I'd look in a mirror
I didn't see me.
Not truly,
Not me.

I saw a young boy;
A teenage boy,
A man,
Not me.

I took a chance,
A leap
Thru the Looking Glass.
Fear was forgotten.

Clearly; now I saw
Who I was meant to be.
Now the image in the mirror
Is that of a woman set free.

Some refer to "Choice".
A "Choice"?
To be me?
Who else then would I be?

"Choice" - I beg to differ.
I call it a chance.
We only get so many.
Some go by unseen.

There is no Bookie
To predict odds of when.
Or if,
Or even success.

Chance comes to some young,
Some old.
Some get a second chance,
Some no chance.


So - When you look in a mirror
Who do you see?
Is that truly you,
Or someone other looking to be free.

Liz e LaVenture
June 3, 2014

                                        When Identity Becomes A Slur


     How do I 'identify'? I must state initially that I find the object in the question as posed problematic. The nature of the problem will be revealed as I continue.
     I am a woman. That is my declarative statement, simple as that. I 'identify' as what I am. Of course; there is more to the story, there always is.
     You see; when I was born I was not 'identified' as female by those that make these decisions. Doctors, my parents, the Church-'identified' me as a boy. When I was born (commonly, even today) medical science didn't understand that Gender is an innate sense that each individual has within themselves. Gender cannot be determined by looking at a baby's external sex organs/genitalia. The aforementioned medical science and that of psychology refer to someone like me as Transgender, a Transgender Woman.
     Transgender is a modifying adjective; it does not define me, it is not what I am. I am a Woman. Now; historically, a segment of the LGBT Community has thrown about the word - "Tranny". For better; and usually worse, society at large is familiar with "Tranny". Jerry Springer and more recently, RuPaul have thrust the word and it's connotation around the world via the media. Looking back historically again; if I may, in the early, emerging LGBT Community "Tranny" was used in a campy context. Drag Queens, early Transgender individuals, and many others either referred to themselves, or said to each other such things as: Oh! You're such a "Tranny". The word; and others we don't have room for here, also took on a darker side with the porn industry and sex work in general.
     Meanwhile; LGBT people gained some visibility and acceptance and Transgender women and men gained courage to live authentically and openly. We sought jobs in mainstream society. As a Community we have talents and skills all across the spectrum. Where 'identity' becomes problematic is in that search for employment; and truth be told, many every day interactions in society. Slurs that 'identify' other segments of the LGBT Community have fallen into public disfavor. They aren't uttered in 'polite' company openly. So; while there still exists undeniably discrimination against All the LGBT Community; the name calling on the street, or behind the back that formerly targeted and marginalized the L, G, and B has dramatically lessened. The Transgender Community has not overcome that hurdle as yet. Over 250 Transgender individuals are murdered each year worldwide. A frequently horrific brutal death occasionally with the word "Tranny" carved into their flesh. We are called "Tranny" by drunken thugs on the street and sometimes beaten. Many of us don't have the genetics, or resources to be assumed to be born female. Employers judge applicants on many levels and have a critical eye. In all but 13 (the count is changing) States we have no employment protection. Beyond employment, society at large grabs at a quick label, a box, to put people in. The quickest, the easiest is what they see on TV. A "Tranny" Drag Race, a "Tranny" murder-unsolved.
     The word "Tranny" is a diminutive-see wikipedia-a contraction, a lessening (lessening!) word, a modifier, and a Slur.
     So; we are back to the beginning, and you see why an 'identity' that consists of a modifier, Transgender can become a slippery slope. Once the modifier; for whatever reason, becomes contracted into a diminutive with a history of marginalization and abuse, i.e. - "Tranny"- it comes with baggage none of us wants.
     I am a Woman! I am proud to make that declaration. I am also proud to be Transgender; but, that doesn't define me or, identify me. I am a Woman named Liz e LaVenture. Simple as that. End of story.


Liz e LaVenture 5/29/2014

Elegy in Time

That was me,
That was then.
If not now,
Then when?

No, I can't go.
I am afraid!
I don't know?!
And so I stayed.

All are gone.
Some have died,
Some have moved on.
God knows; I tried!

Everywhere I go
Spirits are near.
Who was to know,
It took time to see clear.

Walk the walk
But, the heros are gone.
Talk the talk,
But, time has moved on.

Yet; here we remain.
The Earth's axis has shifted.
There's been changes; some retain.
Clouds of forboding have lifted.

They would want us to carry on,
We must not rest on their laurels.
The halcyon days are Not gone,
The future and past exist as parallels.

One door closes, one opens a crack.
We mustn't mourn times passing.
While crying and looking back,
What is in motion stops progressing.

Liz e LaVenture 5/7/14

The Seagull and the Crow

They circled in the air.

One high, and one low.

One black, and one white.

The Seagull and the Crow.

Each not noticing the other,

but lost in the joy of flight.

 

 

Their courses a concentric, breathtaking thing of beauty.

As the Crow dipped and swirled clockwise,

The Gull silently soared counter.

Suddenly; as if on cue, without a clue

The Crow turned and dove down to the Gull.

Their wings touched in greeting as they flew together now.

 

 

In tandem they circled the radiant blue sky.

They came from different worlds;

Land and Sea, Black and White.

Yet; as they flew in the sky, they knew

From the eye of a Crow, or that of a Gull

We're all in this together, one world after all.

 

 

As I watched, they flew together

One Black, one White; as one.

They dipped their wings in salute.

They circled toward the West.

They then circled no more, but flew out to sea.

Perhaps the circle had expanded to cover the world.

 

 

As if by design, their wings flapped in time.

Black and White, up and down, as one.

They headed out to spread the word

To encompass the whole world

Bird, Fish, Mammal, Plant, or Human

All part of the same,diverse life on this one Earth.



Roots

I pen these musings with apologies to Alex Haley and Mark Twain, who never actually said; The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco. Roots was written by Alex Haley. I am no Alex Haley. I am just a woman who came to St. Louis not knowing what she would find here.
Twenty two years ago I drove a U-Haul truck filled with a lifetime full of 'stuff' from L.A. to St. Louis followed by a car driven by a wife with two kids, a dog, and more 'stuff'. I return to California after passing through the crucible of the Gateway City. I have shed a facade and a family. I emerge purified, and authentic. I carry less 'stuff' and I am returning to California, San Francisco, by plane.
What are roots? I find roots in front of me, I have roots behind me, and underneath me. If you dig in a garden, you find the roots are interconnected. One plants roots weave and twist together with it's neighbor's roots. I found just that sort of interconnection here. There are ancestral roots; Mother, Father, and their fore bearers. There are geographical roots. There are roots of identity. Roots may be as much about where you are going as where you have been. Roots are seen to be what is true and authentic. Roots are underneath, at the core, they are the base from which each life grows and blossoms in it's own unique and individual beauty. Roots are support and the LGBT Community of St. Louis has been that for me.
I leave St. Louis, but I take my roots with me as I plant myself in San Francisco. Those interconnected roots will take hold in soil that is at once old, and new. I return to California, to San Francisco, where my parents first lived in California. I leave St. Louis where my ancestors lived beginning in 1830. I return to California, a woman fully aware of my roots, my connections, my identity. I am proud of who I am and where I come from. I know where I am going and I have a purpose. Thanks to all who have knelt beside me and helped me dig at my roots. Your help has been invaluable, and at the same time, you are my roots. I will write down more of my thoughts about roots, about digging in the dirt of my soul as I touch down and replant those roots in San Francisco. Home is where the heart is. I leave a piece of mine in St. Louis.

Liz e LaVenture

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Yes, it is a song by U2 that commemorates a horrific day forty years ago, to the day. On, January 30, 1972, which really isn't that long ago, the British Army began firing on a peaceful march in Derry, in occupied Ireland. Twenty-six unarmed protesters were shot by the British Army, fourteen of which died. Two were injured when they were run over by army vehicles. Five of the wounded were shot in the back. Following a twelve year inquiry, The Saville Inquiry was made public June 15, 2010. The report found that all of those shot were unarmed, and that the killings were, "unjustified and unjustifiable." The British Govt. apologized, 38 yrs. after the fact.
The dead:
John Duddy, 17yr. Shot while running away.
Patrick J. Doherty, 31yr. Shot from behind while crawling to safety.
Bernard McGuigan, 41yr. Shot in the back of the head while helping Patrick Doherty.
Hugh Pius Gilmour, 17yr. Shot thru the elbow entering his chest as he ran from the troopers.
Kevin McElhinney, 17yr.  Shot from behind while crawling to safety.
Michael Gerald Kelly, 17yr. Shot in the stomach.
John Pius Young, 17yr. Shot in the head.
William Noel Nash, 19yr. Shot in the chest.
Michael M. McDaid, 20yr. Shot in the face walking away from the troopers.
James Joseph Wray, 22yr. Wounded, then shot again at close range while lying on the ground.
Gerald Donaghy, 17yr. Shot in the stomach while attempting to run to safety.
Gerald McKinney, 34yr. Shot right after Gerald Donaghy, he was running with his hands up, yelling "Don't shoot. don't shoot!!" He was shot in the chest.
William Anthony McKinney,27yr. Shot from behind as he attempted to aid Gerald McKinney (no relation).
John Johnston, 59yr. Shot in the leg and left shoulder, he wasn't even at the march, but walking to the park to visit a friend.

No British soldiers were wounded or reported any injuries, nor were any bullets, or bombs recovered to back up claims that they were fired upon first.

Notice the ages of the dead. The vast majority were teenagers, just kids. All were either running , or already prone on the ground and unarmed.

Why is this important to us in the U.S., forty years later? Northern Ireland is still occupied with an uneasy peace. Great Britain of all world governments most resembles ours. Both countries are ruled by an anglo-saxon hierarchy, both are uneasy in the face of protest, even if peaceful and legally sanctioned. In 2012, times are hard, the economy is bad, unemployment is at record levels, 1% of the population holds a preponderance of power and is unresponsive to the 99%. Many are denied their rights and due process. In sum, forty years is not that long ago....and not much has changed. I just pray there aren't any more Bloody - any days!!

Random musings from a muse.

Since I was a child it has been difficult to get close to people, or for them to get close to me, which is it? Perhaps it is the fire I have inside, I have a fire - a passion deep inside my core. Since I have begun living my authentic life, the fire is more focused and burns with a white-hot heat. Perhaps, people are afraid of getting burned, but the fire is contained and controlled and gives out only warmth and comfort. Humans have used fire for good since, well, time began. The only way someone would get burned by me is if they tried to silence me, or demean me, or push me aside. It would be like trying to stop a brushfire with a gardenhose. I will be heard, I will make a difference! Alone, my fire may burn out, it will change the landscape before it does though. But -imagine what we can do together!