There's a lot in my head from Thursday's lunch. Did you ever see Apollo 13? I've always been fascinated with space and space travel, but cosmically, I worry that I'm like that craft spinning out of control, with rockets firing from all sides randomly, and am trying to get control. Maybe not so much out of control, but over-controlled? Not sure. I feel close, very close, but I now know enough to know that I don't know, and I feel forces I cannot explain. I am sure it all makes sense but I wonder if there is some 3rd eye discipline that is lacking, but where to start? Or maybe I need glasses? :) No doubt, there is some premature enlightenment carried over from my explorations with chemicals, but all that's there for a reason; at least we have awareness!
So it comes down to letting go or more discipline. I would not be surprised if I had to be more disciplined about letting go, or if I had to let go about being more disciplined. Intuition says to let go... the warrior instinct says discipline... and of course the sage says wait.
Yesterday was a kinda crummy day, in case it wasn't obvious. I'm always amazed at how much it still hurts to get 'sir'ed, even if, as the case may be, it was from a non-native English speaker confused about pronouns. Gotta get over that, and fast!
I pampered myself with a full-body massage but really confused Joanda, the therapist. But then, she really confused me too. Energy is a funny thing. I did explain to her the four dimensions of gender, and she got it, but she didn't get why I was where I was, and kept trying to understand why I would be on the path I'm on if I didn't just adore men. No doubt, it would be nice to be in the arms of a nice, tall, handsome, clean, not-too-hairy man, but that's not the reason one is transsexual... that has to do with being transgendered, and that has to do with the mind sex not matching the body sex. I think she got that. She explained her conviction in men by knowing that the first sight she would want to see after bliss when she opened her eyes would be a big strong man there to make her feel safe. I thought that was pretty lucid a definition of knowing your sexuality if ever I heard one! I told her for me, it had always been female and still was, but that I would not rule out a mind based on the body it was in. (How could I?)
Then she confused me, started talking about another client, saying she told one that she had a penis (the client got all interested)... an odd thing to say during a massage! Then when I was leaving at the counter, she pointed out- making me come very, very close to her face to see- that she was a bit uncomfortable with her facial hair. (She wanted me to help her become more lady-like!) That's when I saw the beard growth on her chin. Looked like a man's, having been there and felt that way. Her hands were really, REALLY strong. Hmm... Tips on being more lady-like? Had I just failed to acknowledge another tranny? No way I insult a genetic woman with such a comment, for she was already self-conscious and already looked all like a woman!
She reminded me of Talia. Both were from small islands in the Atlantic, both had fled, and both were stunningly beautiful with an equally charming accented English. I never saw Talia as a boy, and I think she liked that. So, I decided to see Joanda as the woman she obviously was.
The universe, testing me, delivers a very tall Mexican boy my way later that night. He follows me out of the hotel into the car park, totally fixated on me. (Relax, the Robin Williams show had just let out and the place was jam-packed with people!)
He was tall, handsome, and didn't speak much English. Turns out, I know more Spanish than I thought! (Mental note, learn four languages by 2010, twenty by 2020.) Though a combination of broken words and thoughts, I learn that he's here with his dad and that he wants to go with me back to my place. He was huge! It would have been fun. I told him that he was pretty bold to ask me that, not even buying me a drink or dinner first, but he was unconcerned with proper etiquette.
Living in America, one forgets the vigor in which young, non-American men pursue the objects of their affection. I allowed myself to enjoy it, knowing there was no way in Espanol he was going home with me, although I would have chatted with him in the bar, or maybe even his room if his dad wasn't already in there. Oh yeah, and he'd have to be a little more better off than being with his dad on vacation, and he'd definitely have to lose that herpes-esque looking thing on his lip. Zit? Maybe. On a stranger? To me, that's full-blown Hep-C! Still, I would have enjoyed the chance to learn a little more Spanish.
Finally I just start to repeat 'no' to the boy, and he is visibly hurt, like a puppy. Just like a puppy in fact. He watches me go up the escalator. Who knows how long he stayed there?
What a confusing day. Tears well up, but I did have to laugh afterward, having just said that I had given up on finding anyone interested in someone like me. Good bye Francisco... good luck at USC!
No comments:
Post a Comment