Tucson Conference Friday

Before I came she showed me a picture she painted of me.  Like the photograph I took of myself in the islands.  The artistic self.  Not the warrior. Not the provider protector. But rather the gentle one.  I struggle today with the disparate history.  I am among a tribe, a neighbourhood, a community.  Many here welcome me. I sit at any table and am welcomed. There are none I don’t like. Many I simply don’t know. So many I know I admire. I’m alone in one sense but in so many I’m among my own.  Each of us unique but otherwise so similiar.

I missed the main speaker.  Family origins and trauma. I see these considerations more as fads and fashions.  Each day the world begins and the old Menninger Triangle and the Transactional analysis material is less than the presence of self.  Today is a day for God. I suffer gender dysphoria but mostly in cross dressing. I like to wear skirts, vestigial celtic leftover of the tartan kilt but it’s the silks and satins that appeal

The ladies recognised my nail polish as Lincoln Park after Dark. I laughed that two separately commented and three discussed this. It was like listening to men talk of sports and touch downs.  I’d like to know the names of colours more than than the names of various teams. I’m changing with age and want to adventure into observer but curious not paranoid.  

I can’t underestimate the stress of surviving in this dog eat dog survival of the fittest jungle.  Mostly it’s doing the ‘right thing’.  It’s also accepting. The world is this way.  I don’t feel much joy in application of band aids but the demonstration of kindness is good .I’m releasing my own judgemental ness, getting to the bottom of the law of attraction.

As above so below.  That which I love and hate I attract. If I am judgemental and emotionally entrenched in sone position I bring more of that forward.  Even now the grief of not having children and moving towards the end of life is heavy. Yet I would not have it any other way.  We say we will not ‘regret the past’.  I can’’t change the past but I can change my perspective of it and embrace the myriad facets of myself.   I have loved and been loved. I ‘ve loved in conventional and unconventional ways so I ‘m okay .  

I have masturbated and my whole life and even today is heightened by the beauty of women . Yet there’s a sense of the individual beyond form. There’s the souls which shine in intimacy and the overall package loses appeal. I don’t like fatness and yet it feels good. The emphasis on sight yet in the moment of coupling comfort is paramount.  What I miss though is the fitness, the athletes dancing.  I am at a loss with the physical pain of aging and the limitation and vulnerability of this back injury.  

It’s all psychosomatic, my pain as much a matter of emotion and past as mechanics.  I imagine if my election was robust and I could lift a woman with her back against the wall and plunge my penis into the joy of her vagina I’d be fine. But today I’m afraid to lift most anything. I don’t find that I’m orgasmic with the thrust and miss the youth and premature ejactualtion threat when holding on to make it last and hopefully bring more pleasure to the love was all so important. But then I realized I was working at cross purposes .  The central dishonesty of sexual congress with me struggling to pleasure and arounse the woman, bringing platters of treats to the princess was little more than feeding the raccoons. 

Love your neighbour as yourself. I’ve been generous and kind in love and offered to pleasure in whatever way but that’s been rebuked. The whole feminist Marxist attack on the marriage bed has defined the last decade. Everywhere I turn I see self proclaimed victims and I’m attacked constantly in media and by the Marxist allies. The authorities are deeply evil and I’m punished by racists and sexists whose slick constructionist arguments no longer have any appeal.  They shout ‘me first…..me firsts.

I feel at war and want to drift down the stream and fear I’m alone. I’m more vulnerable and don’t feel protected or even safe with those I know . It’s all the betrayal. 

Yet here I am alive. I’ve obviously complained too much and had too much self pity. I’m feel I’m in the autum of my life and the other seasons were magnificent.

It’s what to do next and there’s no rush.  The months and may be years are fine. I’m fine. I’m progressing but I don’t feel clearly the plan that God has for me. I turn my life over to the care of God.  I ask to know his will and to serve. I’m moving along but wonder at the anchors that hold me in a past that I’m shedding like a skin. What is the future. Who am I.

I must lose weight and become healthy again. I don’t feel that I’m joined in this critical task by those who I am closest to . They’ve lived a life of luxury and hedonism and their bodies like mine show the emotional stuffing and unwillingness to address the central anxiety

Denial of death and fear of death and fear of dying are all central now as so many of those close have passed over. I’m falling and want to fly.  Life is an adventure.  I don’t want to go gentle into that still night.  Rage Rage against the dying of the life. Rather I’d dance.  I simply must counteract the effect of the office desk and seat with a lot more effort and healthy living.  

Thank you Jesus. More comfort in a crowd for me today. My mind is one. My heart another, my body another.  I’m balancing and walking a tightrope forward.  Thank you Jesus.