Experiences Of Northern Pride From One Autistic, Trans Queer Woman

 

 

 

My experience of Pride was surprisingly good yesterday. Of course I never approached the main stage or the dance tent or the cabaret or the fair ground. With my sensory issues it's hard to be there at all. I have to miss out on some of what is on offer. And I admit that I miss out on some of it by deliberate choice.

I'd had a difficult morning. Much anxiety and tears and I wasn't going to attempt Pride at all. I was going to Durham - to give my soft toy a birthday adventure because I'm odd like that. But I decided we'd go and see if being part of the parade was possible. I had a look but it was too crowded and noisy and I wasn't coping. There was an opportunity though for the birthday toy to meet the mayor of Newcastle and to point out to a vegan that the flag she'd been handed was representing Nando's.

Later I found myself watching the parade. That's a new experience for me. I've never watched it before. Keep together next year guys! Too many big gaps were forming.

But about two thirds into the parade a friend from Spectrum Theatre - a group for autistic adults - spotted me and dragged me (I exaggerate) into the parade. So I paraded and wished I hadn't left my trans flag at home and had dressed more wildly for such an occasion. My soft toys paraded too of course and really enjoyed it. Because I'm odd like that. Everyone was fortunate. The weather forecast was for lots of rain but the parade was dry and much of the day remained dry too.

I saw more trans flags being toted than I've seen before. And noticed more of other flags too - I hardly saw them at all other years. Bisexual, Asexual, Pansexual, Poly. It was good to see. Pride events can forget to be properly inclusive and sometimes they've been known to actively stand in the way of proper inclusion. These flags had nothing to do with the organisation of the event but each one clearly stated "We WILL be included. We are here and are not going away."

I wasn't going to enter the actual event. I knew I'd want lunch and you're not allowed to take lunch with you. No more friendly picnics are possible at Pride unfortunately. I also knew it would be very noisy and that it's always hard work to be there. But I entered the event. Knowing there would be free pens inside.

I hastily drank my bottle of tap water on the way in knowing that it would be binned otherwise. The signs say "No alcohol" can be brought in but I knew from last year that my tap water would be confiscated too.

A couple of the delights inside:

The worst thing I experienced was the stalls - from relevant LGBT+ groups, local friendly crafty people, and corporates and unions. It wasn't the stalls themselves that were bad. But the gap between the rows of stalls was just far too narrow. It can't have passed the minimum width for health and safety by much. It was really crowded and it was hard to move or to see everything and I got pretty overwhelmed with it. I know a lot of people found it difficult, including the stall holders. Northern Pride need to take a good look at this because it's just uncomfortable and it's not as if there's no space to spare to make it a much more comfortable experience for everyone.

The most enjoyable thing for me was the youth and children's area and not being turned away from it by a grumpy security guard like happened a couple of years ago when I actually had a reason to be there. I knew that a woman who does lots of woodland and craft things was there this year so I went in and made a dream catcher with her. The main tent had lots of craft activities and also had a sensory area run by Sensory Spaces an excellent local charity working with autistic children. In that area I found friends who happened to be there. It was pleasant and relaxed. It was also at the point furthest from any of the different music going on around the site.

It was also good to bump into lots of people I've met in different places over the past four years. Only one of those places, Northern Lights MCC is directly connected with queer issues. I'm fortunate to have found safety and acceptance in so many other places and to have found good people almost wherever I turn.

I spent zero at Pride. One of the stalls had free bottles of water and I was able to finish off a cake at the Northern Regional Gender Dysphoria Service stall in the health zone. That was enough to get me through. Hoorah!

I left the event just before five o'clock. Others may stay until midnight and then go and party the night away. But five o'clock is a record for me. By that time I'd had enough and I was wandering round the health zone in a "Clare has quite an obvious learning disability" kind of way that happens when my brain has really had enough. I have an IQ above 150 and have many coping strategies. But sometimes autism becomes very, very obvious.

That was my Pride. I'd thought about going to a Pride service with the Unitarians this morning but they had to cancel unavoidably. I'm glad the local Anglican Cathedral offers a Pride service too and that it isn't the only church in the city centre to hang rainbows. I don't think I can make the vigil service tonight run by MCC. That's a shame.

The picture by the way is from last year. If I'd known I'd be parading again this year in dry weather I'd have taken my placard again. And left everyone wondering what the hell those flag colours might represent.

My Pastor Gazed At Me And Said, "Wow! You Were REALLY Fucked Up!"

To begin, a photograph.  I've taken this from a Messianic Christian page about faith in God.   The page argues, through links to many articles, that atheists should become Christians because that would be the sensible thing to do given the "evidence."  On the right of the screen there's an offer for a free book.

It's called, "I Have A Friend Who's Jewish ... Have You?"  Sounds riveting.

Today I've been sorting some files on my laptop.  It shouldn't have taken long but I got quite distracted by my past.  In the process of sorting I've found myself looking at Christian books and documents I saved. I've been looking at some of my own writing too which covers much of my Christian life. I still have the text of sermons preached in the year 2000, all kinds of documents from when I was an enthusiastic Catholic, and some really strong Protestant conservatism I briefly clung to after leaving the Catholic church and wondering how I could survive without it.

I found a document containing my prayer diary through a week almost exactly ten years ago. During that period I was undertaking the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius Loyola in daily life, with one to one spiritual guidance from a woman who was part of the outreach team of Saint Beuno's Jesuit retreat centre in North Wales.

That particular week included this exciting day trip in London: It took in 3 churches, 2 cathedrals, a church centre, 2 Catholic bookshops and 2 masses.

In the same document I wrote about other days in this two week period in May 2007.

These days could and would include more hours spent kneeling in front of the "blessed sacrament", daily mantra and meditation prayers, praying the Office, rosaries, chaplets – including that of Divine Mercy, the triple colloquy, litanies, the Ignatian spiritual exercises, consideration of the "Mysteries", biblical meditations, Bible verses turned into daily prayers.

These were all happening on the same day.

You read that correctly. On. The. Same. Day. In my most ardent periods I could pray for six hours a day.

And what comments did I give? Many. They include these:

I wanted to enter more into the pain of Jesus. (Because some saints or spiritual writers recommend it.)

I asked of myself, "Could I be Judas?"

I said, "Not much progress in prayer."

I said, "Much need for change and for grace."

And the classic, "Not enough praying in the house."

Honestly. I wrote that. You read that correctly too.

I didn't believe I was praying as much as I should. I certainly didn't believe I was praying as well as I should. After all, hadn't I consecrated my entire life to Jesus? Hadn't I also made an act of total consecration to Jesus through Mary, in the manner of Saint Louis Marie de Montfort? Shouldn't I be praying more? Studying more?

That's what I thought anyway. Because I was utterly lost. Trapped. Despairing. Still self-hating. And when you self-hate it's hard to love others. Not truly and deeply.

As I've looked through some of the books as I've been clearing them out I find similar words from "heroes of faith" canonised by Rome. These men and women were also giving everything they possibly could for their God. And they still beat themselves up for it - mostly emotionally and mentally but sometimes physically too.

I was utterly screwed up. My ex-pastor from MCC used the phrase “fucked up.” But I was being reinforced in being screwed up and fucked up by the books I read, the spiritual writers, the saints.

Was there any hope for someone so screwed up when he was told that the grace to ask for that week included, “Shame and deep grief because the Lord is suffering for me.” And “Faced with the suffering of the Passion, I may have to pray even for the gift of letting myself want to experience it with Christ.”

I arrived screwed up. I left screwed up.

There were happy events.  There were some smiles.  But underneath it all I was screwed up.  Constantly.

I am immensely glad to become free of all that horror.

I am also glad that on my way out of the faith I discovered some Christian spiritual writers who didn't beat themselves up and who had a Jesus who could and would smile. Some people even have a Jesus I like. I recommend someone like Jim Palmer – a Jesus follower but pretty much an atheist. Or the writings of someone like Gretta Vosper – a Jesus follower but an atheist. There are even some theist Jesus followers I can cope with and dip into.

I'm glad they've found a faith around Jesus that's full of good things. No original sin. No exclusivity. No false gods. A view of the Bible that doesn't try to justify it having plenty of horrific things in both Testaments but just says, “The writers tried but got it wrong.”   I even know very happy Christians.  And I know Christians whose love and service to others is a big example to me.  I am glad they have found inspiration for that in the versions of the Jesus story people once wrote.

As for me, the pain is too deep, too long-lasting. It's hard to find any comfort at all in the Galilean preacher and peasant who was elevated to the sky by his followers with the accretion of pagan myths and superstition, a man whose very words were mostly put into his mouth by his followers and whose miracles were inventions. Yes inventions. Arising from the way religion was done then and often is now. In the quest for the historical Jesus, which some say is doomed from the outset, the New Testament narratives are in many places worse than useless no matter how many fine words they contain.

As for me, my question is what inspiration there is to be found in what is true and in the wonder of being - and the wonders of this cosmos, this earth, and humanity - without appealing to a very faulty ancient book that tells of a man who we can't know much, if anything, about.  As such I plan, after six months of putting it off, to attend a humanist meeting tomorrow night.  I want to see what answers they give.  I want to see too whether they offer new ways of questioning.  I'm looking forward to it and the talks at the meetings always sound fascinating.

It's pointed out to me that Jesus said (or is alleged to have said) some very good things. I can only agree with that. But I don't see that as any reason whatsoever to follow him or call him Lord.  He said (or is alleged to have said) some rather more problematic things too.  In addition, lots of people have said very good things. I've met some of them. I don't call them Lord either and some of them aren't holding onto and speaking with an ancient world view and in words arising from primitive superstitions and ancient pagan blood sacrifice cults.

Why would I want to be a Jesus follower – whether a red-letter Christian or an atheist without a sky god – over and above any other guide and inspiration? Why? I don't see a reason. I certainly don't see any unique claim of salvation power being valid. And I don't see the Jesus way as superior to all other ways although I recognise the inspiration and excitement many people find in him. I am told Jesus is about growing into freedom. I see that some people manage that. I missed the boat on that one!

For me, I need – at least for the present – to keep any version of Jesus at arm's length.  Any version. Even the Jim Palmer inner anarchist version. I was hurt in the churches, hurt by the Saints, hurt by Scripture.  Hurt in self hatred and there being enough in that faith to justify my self hatred even while talking of a God of love.  The second biggest selling Christian work in history is The Imitation of Christ.  In it we learn the call to despise ourselves.

I couldn't see it then. I couldn't see how damaged I was by my faith because my faith was the reason I clung to for continuing to exist and my hope that there was a better future if I would only persevere in faith until the end.  I believed in mercy.  And I was thankful because I believed that without the blood sacrifice of Jesus that mercy wouldn't be given to me who, like everyone else, deserved hell - either in fire or separation eternally from God.

I couldn't see how my faith strengthened my despair for this life.

I see it now.

I see it increasingly clearly the more I explore outside of my old faith.

At this time I am grieving for all the lost years.

But I am rejoicing for my future, wherever that may take me.

Outside of the certainty and shame of my Christian faith it may take me anywhere.

And by his lack of stripes I find I am being healed. (Isaiah 53)

If you pray I would ask you not to pray that I return to Christianity. I would ask that you not hope I return to the flock.

I would ask, if you pray, to pray that I may find the way that is right for me, the way that leads me into the fullest life I can live. If there eventually turns out to be some Jesus in that then so be it. If not, that's great. And I would ask that your hope is that I will be free to be myself, to grow in myself, and to rejoice in living and learning to love in ways that were impossible when I was trapped in religion.

At this point I am an atheist. I have no sky god to pray to.  That picture again.

But the statement “I am an atheist” tells you as little about me as it would tell you if I said “I believe in God.”

I apologise for this: I'm not going to expand on the statement any further today.

My Transgender Coming Out Story - A Tale of Difficulties and Deep Joy

So this is me.  Or one version of me.  A selfie taken a few days ago in a moment of deep joy and contentment at the top of a hill not too many miles from home.  I share it because it's where my story is right now, four years after coming out as a transgender woman.  There I am.  Just me.  In what is one of the stranger pictures.  You won't see many selfies of a transgender woman in a post about being transgender that look quite like this one.  Welcome to my reality.  I like it.  Especially when I'm being a little more crazy or weird than usual.

I just read an article about what one person has learned coming out as a non-binary trans person at the age of 43. After 100 days they say they did everything too fast. Their experiences are those of one person.  It is their truth.

My experiences and truth are also those of one person. They're bound to be a little different because I'm a woman, pure and simple, and about as far from non-binary as any woman gets. The article got me thinking about my own transgender life and the way I came out to the world and began to live publicly as a woman.

Here's a little of my experience. Just one woman trying to navigate her way into her truth. I've free written what follows and haven't edited at all.  Any mistakes are my own.

I came out to myself in a way I couldn't ever deny again at the age of 43. 43 years to get to that point. From then on things moved quickly.

2 weeks on: I dressed solely in women's clothes. Except when preaching. Not publicly in skirts and dresses. Not yet. But solely in woman's clothes I'd bought for myself via the miracle of very cheap charity shops. I didn't have a clue what I was doing. Everything was a matter of experimentation and sometimes I got it very wrong and nobody told me quickly enough before I had a chance to inflict my lack of dress sense on the world.

4 weeks on: I had told pretty much everyone that I was now Clare. The church leaders panicked about how to tell everyone and that delayed legal changes and the whole process. Most people were okay about it. Some people rejected me. Some people told me at length how staggeringly wonderful they were to not totally reject me. Gee, thanks!

8 weeks on: Having sorted things out with the church and had a ten day holiday as Clare (during which time my transition was officially announced to the congregation) I got round to legally changing my name. Much paperwork. Some people change their name quite often. They must love paperwork.

I was that (appearing to the world) 40 something man in a frock. Dark shadows of stubble. No make up. No hair removal. Hair that I'd cut short a few weeks before coming out. Totally, completely obvious. I was yet to meet anyone from Tyne Trans (as was). I had asked the GP to refer me to the gender dysphoria service – 27 days after coming out to myself, half of which was waiting for the appointment! - but my first appointment wasn't until three and a half months after signing that deed poll. To all intents and purposes anyone who saw me in the street would have clocked me as a cross dressing man not as a woman determined to be herself.

And sometimes, unsurprisingly, the world made things bloody difficult. Bloody difficult. Transphobia is real. If I had phoned the police every time I experienced it I would have been phoning a lot. Every. Single. Day. At times it was horrible. Truly horrible. And I was one of the more fortunate ones. Others have suffered a hell of a lot more than me after coming out. Every one of them is amazing for getting through that hell. When people quote the suicide and attempted suicide rate for transgender people I can only wonder why it isn't higher. For the record, in the UK nearly half of all transgender people have attempted suicide.

Four years have passed since I came out and demanded to be called Clare and she. Woe to anyone who deliberately calls me he or protests that they don't see an issue with it if I get misgendered or who tells me it's too hard to remember that I'm female and so would like to be addressed as female. Fortunately that doesn't happen much now – and most people I see never knew me as he. Yes, pretty much my entire life, excepting family, is filled with people I didn't know four years ago.

I've learned a lot in those four years.

Would I do it again? Come out like that?

You bet I would. Except I'd have done it quicker.

And I wouldn't allow a religion to delay anything. I truly wish I'd come out to the church in the middle of a sermon I preached. It was very tempting indeed and I wish I'd done it. After coming out I was told that it would be "inappropriate" for me to preach or lead anything in case "anyone is ever worried." All the confusion. All the having to meet with diocesan pastoral advisors and so on. Just so I could be banned and yet find that the congregation itself was supportive. Yeah, I wish I hadn't let the panicking of the CofE delay me for one second.

If I knew now what I knew then I wouldn't have been so afraid. And to be honest I spent the entirety of those 8 weeks in a state in which my great joy at accepting myself was mixed with an immense amount of terror. Some days I didn't know whether I could do it and without my immediate family and the support of another church - Northern Lights MCC - I might have taken longer about the whole thing.

If I knew now, there would have been less fear. And I would have reached that deed poll milestone quicker.

I have regrets. I shouldn't. Because what's the point? I might as well regret not coming out when I was at college – and I was thinking only this morning of a couple of times the truth was very close to the surface in my mind and how things could have been different if I'd only chosen to speak one sentence differently. I might as well regret my A level choices or giving up the violin when I was nine or anything else that I can't change. Maybe they're not regrets. And each one led in some way to my life being as it is.

But I'd certainly change some parts of the coming out process if I had the chance. Not just the CofE thing.

I regret not telling my online world en masse rather than having to pluck up courage - through terror, always through terror - to tell people one at a time. I'm grateful my mum accidentally outed me to some people, after which I just said "To hell with it" and told the rest.

I regret that my Facebook account is not the one I had under my old name. There were many years of history on that old account and I wish I'd kept it back than and closed this one. The account is still there. With no friends. My old name isn't even friends with my new name.

I regret how defensive I've been about the whole trans thing and how much of that arose from fear and an expectation, borne of 43 years of self rejection and self hatred, that many people who reject and hate me too. I guess most people who come out can got through an over-defensive time arising from that same fear. Bear with us, we get over it – just don't expect us to ever give way to prejudice. We won't.

But these regrets and others are only little compared to the satisfaction and life-changing wonder of coming out at all, of acceptance. It's not just that I'm happier as Clare, more content, and so on. My life has been completely changed in many ways that wouldn't have been possible probably had I not done this. Or if possible, very unlikely.

I have met so many amazing people I wouldn't have met otherwise - including many of you. I've been so blessed. And I meet many more amazing people every time I uncover a little more of myself – this transgender, autistic, creative, weirdly spiritual, nature loving woman.

I've done amazing things too. In my own way. And being Clare has allowed me to start to work through other aspects of my life and being and slowly begin to heal and allow myself to be me.

Without coming out I don't think I'd have been able to accept being autistic. I don't think I'd be exploring creativity as I am. I wouldn't have encountered Broadacre House, wouldn't have completely transformed my faith and spiritual life - and I don't think I'd ever have found the freedom to leave church and start to find my own path again.

Yes. It's been bloody difficult. And there have been lots of difficult things in the past four years. Autism - yeah, that's been tougher than being transgender in very many ways. I've cried. Lots. I've been rejected by some. I've been labelled an abomination by my own church pastor (not the CofE or MCC one). My mental health, while generally much improved, continues to be a minefield just as it always has.

But it's been worth it.

Fabulously, profoundly, superbly worth it.

And I look forward to my future as Clare, as the person I'm discovering myself to be. I am excited for my future. Excited to meet more amazing people and do more amazing (for me) things. Excited because there always seems to be a new surprise when you allow the surprises and give them permission to bring change.

I'm typing all this in my bedroom. Nearly everything in here isn't just something I didn't own before coming out. It's something I wouldn't have considered owning at all. Not just the obvious clothes. But soft toys, my books, the purple Buddha on the wall, that whisk over there that doubles as a head massager (buying it was hilarious), precious things from autism conferences, poetry books, writing books, the meditation material on the bed, precious items from Manchester, even a series of books called Skulduggery Pleasant. I wouldn't have read those if I hadn't come out.  I look at this room and know that my life is almost infinitely better for coming out.

My life is very much not as I would have expected it to be. And the changes just keep happening.  There are more on the way that I know about.  And there will be more surprises too.

I give thanks for Clare.

In ten days time I will give thanks again. For it will be the fourth anniversary of the night I looked at myself in a mirror, fully dressed as myself without guilt for the first time in my life, and greeted myself as Clare for the first time. Welcomed myself into the world.

Photo Challenge Nine: A Rainbow Flag, Plus Pride, Prince, And The Ruining Of Art

I didn't have to ask for a challenge.  She told me.

She said "A rainbow flag."

I was quite thankful.  This would be an easy challenge.  It was so easy that I even considered making it harder for myself.  So easy that I already knew where I would find rainbow flags.  I do not possess such a thing.  Not a rainbow.  I do possess a pride flag.  But it's not the rainbow flag for gay pride but the three colour flag for transgender pride.  I am happy to possess such a thing and it was really touching when a stranger gave it to me last year at the Northern Pride vigil service organised by Northern Lights Metropolitan Community Church - the church I left, with no ill feeling, at the start of this year.

I would have to go out and photograph a flag.  But that's easy.  Newcastle has the gay triangle.  It's not a place I go.  I am not into clubbing.  I'm not into pubs.  I'm not into noise.  And in all honesty it just doesn't appeal to me.  Plus I've heard too many stories of transphobic (and biphobic) abuse in the gay triangle and understand that I'm far more likely to receive verbal abuse there than I am outside of the gay triangle.  I did once go with someone to the Pride Cafe, only to discover that it had closed down.  But that's it.  I got invited to join a gay art group once.  I'm sure it would be fun and I'm sure the people involved like it.  But I said no.  Because if I want to join an art group I'll just join an art group - unless perhaps if I could find a lovely autistic art group.  That might be a good thing.  An idea has been wandering in my head that I will one day run something similar - an autistic writing group, or possibly a neurodiversity art group.  I wonder where that idea will wander.

Back to the challenge.  Simplicity itself.  I got off the Metro and headed to the triangle.  Certain of success.  Easy.  Thankfully.  Yes, I was glad of the simplicity and that I wouldn't have to walk miles like I had when seeking a white horse the previous day.  Glad because minor illness was stalking me even though I was telling it to go away and seeking an injunction to keep it at a distance.  Glad too because I had to be at a meeting that day and so did not have much spare time.  I had a little though.  Enough for a rainbow flag.  And some to spare after that.

On the way to the triangle I passed the Dog and Parrot pub.  That's a place I've been to once before.  There was a talk and discussion there centred on philosophy and mental health.  On the upper floor.  The decoration there was interesting.  Each wall was painted the same shade of dark back.  So was the ceiling.  And the floor.  Some people must like that kind of thing.  On the wall of the pub there is this tribute to Prince:

And there is this:  Pop quiz.  What do each of these three refer to?

The route passed the Centre for Life.  I would blog about this place except it's expensive to go in.  Do you think if I asked very nicely and told them that they would receive a couple of nice blog posts they would let me in for free for the day?  Do you think they would if I told them that Blob Thing and Winefride would enjoy the place?  Probably they wouldn't.  That's a shame.  I just know Blob would enjoy learning about life.

In Times Square, outside the museum, there is this sculpture.  I rather like it.

No visiting the museum.  Not that day.  It was time to walk on to the gay triangle.  And straight away, on the very first building I see, there was a rainbow flag.  I'd thought there would be.

What could be better than a gay pride rainbow flag?  No, don't answer that question honestly from your own viewpoint!  In my view, and for the purposes of this blog, something better than a flag is a flag represented in street art.  In a back alley there is this one:

And on the main street there's this one.

I'm quite sad about this.  It was placed there before the Winter Olympics in Russia in 2014 and represents the oppression of queer people there.  A situation that has not improved in the two years following the games.  There was such hope that by highlighting the problems in Russia the government there would be forced to act and improve their human rights record.  Hope.

I'm sad about this street art because of the people who have ruined it with tagging.  I am not a fan of tagging - although I freely admit that some of the more complex examples have merit.  Some of it is rather good and the colours and designs can add to an underpass or a plain hoarding.  Some of these tags I've even photographed and they're elsewhere on this blog.  There's a large quantity of well done tagging and street art here, all from the North East.  Yes, there is so much decent art in the North East.  But so much crap too.  Some of it is particularly grim.  [I wonder if anyone local will ever read this and understand the joke in the last sentence.]


I especially had it when it's just a bit of black spray paint. It's ugly.  It increases ugliness.  There are so many pleasing things in Newcastle - and in every city in the UK - that have been blighted by tagging.  So you can spray your name on a building?  So what.  F**k off please.  Yeah.  I love street art.  I think it can improve a place greatly.  It can have a message - such as the above art does.  [Art, but is stencilling graffiti at all?]  Or it can just be a thing of beauty, such as all those pictures I saw in Sunderland last weekend.  Street art can make me smile.  Looking at that website linked to above was a joy.  Street logos can make me smile too - and you'll often find me taking a picture of someone's logo on a lamp post or the back of a sign.

But tagging your name in a bit of black paint?  No.  I'm sure there's a whole tagging subculture.  But like I say, to anyone who would spray their name in a bit of black paint, f**k off.  And I don't care if you've climbed to a difficult spot to spray your name.  You've made something ugly.  You've helped contribute to the need for Newcastle Council to spend a quarter of a million pounds a year removing ugly tags. Congratulations.  [sarcasm]  Slow hand claps for you all.

Artists sign their paintings.  You're signing nothing and without the painting your crappy little signatures are just muck on a wall.  Muck.   And as for tagging your name on top of some art that added something to a street?  Whoever did that was acting in a very shitty manner indeed.

So.  My ninth day of photographic challenges was over.  I had succeeded.  Which was never in any doubt.  And it wasn't time for my meeting yet.  Adventure called to me.  I looked.  And behold, I was near the Redheugh Bridge.  And I realised that I had never walked across it.  Adventure beckoned.  And who was I do refuse it?

Days of Gratitude - To Jeremy Hunt: We Have A Seven Day NHS Already

Some more good things from my life - even though one of them was nine months ago.

Saturday didn't go quite as planned.  Having to visit two hospitals wasn't how I'd seen the day going when I went to bed on Friday night.  Every single person I saw in those hospitals was courteous and treated me well.  On a Saturday!  You know, one of the two days of the week the Health Secretary seems to think we don't have an NHS.  How I wish someone had made a video containing all the times he has said the words "seven day NHS."  It would be like the Donald Trump "China" video but much, much, much longer.

Yes, on a Saturday I was seen at one hospital, referred to a second hospital, was seen and assessed by nursing staff and treated by a urologist at that hospital (which thankfully could be sorted pretty easily) and was let out at just gone 2pm.  On a Saturday.

20^th May

Grateful to have got out for a while with my wife and taken her somewhere pretty.

Happy to see a heron too.

And grateful for YouTube, to be able to relax in bed in the evening with some of a Broadway production of Into the Woods.

21^st May

Today didn't go totally to plan.

Grateful that Jeremy Hhhhhhhunt is wrong when he says in every single sentence "seven day NHS" as if we haven't got such a thing.

Grateful that the seven day NHS existed for me when I got up this morning and had to go to one of our three walk-in centres urgently and got referred from there to emergency admissions at the Freeman.

Grateful that it's not a serious thing. It needed sorting otherwise it would have become a more serious thing but they managed it. It's not unlikely that it will happen again in which case I'd have to have some surgery.

Grateful that they discharged me from the Freeman Hospital at 2.05 and the bus was ready to go at the bus stop so I was able to get to church for 2.30 which I'd been thinking wouldn't be possible.

Grateful for Rev. Cecilia Eggleston and for what she's done at MCC and in the wider community and for me too during my time at that church.

@reveggleston  A wonderful woman

Grateful that thanks to the staff of Westgate and the Freeman I could still be at her blessing out service despite my little medical emergency. As of today she is no longer the pastor of Northern Lights MCC.  Here's something she wrote a couple of months ago about moving on.

22^nd May

Grateful for being able to have a day on which I did almost nothing to follow all the fun and hospital games of Saturday.

But I didn't take any pictures. So here's one from nine months ago because I've thought about that day a lot.

This is the chapel of Giggleswick School shortly before a big thunderstorm arrived. The picture was taken on August 23rd though rather than August 22nd - there were two big thunderstorms that weekend.

Nine months ago today someone invited and encouraged me to dance and play barefoot in the storm. That evening changed both our lives.  I went to bed that night hoping beyond hope that I had found a friend.  I had.  We have talked every day since and seen each other quite a bit even though we live quite a distance from each other.

Very grateful for thunder, lightning, heavy rain, and unexpected invitations.  Without that storm and without a disco that neither of us could cope with the last nine months may have been very different.

23^rd May

Grateful for NHS vouchers and special offers. So the two pairs of new reading glasses didn't cost £180 but £50 instead. Yes, I went posher than necessary.

Grateful that Blob Thing enjoyed his pot of tea afterwards and that the sun was shining over Monument.

Also nice that The Stand Comedy Club was handing out some free tickets. Yay!

Cardinal Sarah and The Ugly Face of Intolerance

Before I start.  This is not a post to attack Jesus.  This is not a post to attack following Jesus.  This is not a post attacking the followers of Jesus.  Many of his followers are pretty wonderful.  I am privileged that some of them are my friends.  This is a post that looks at some others of his followers and says

And a disclaimer:  For many years I would have been one of those Christians who Gandhi would not have liked.  I couldn't see it at the time.  But it's the truth.  My Christianity and Christ were in some important respects divorced from one another.  My views were not far from those of the Cardinal in this post.  Even though that involved an unhealthy dose of self-rejection and self-hatred and despair.  Mea Maxima Culpa.  I sorted that in the last few years and hoped I moved a long way towards being the kind of Christian of the sort Gandhi would have enjoyed drinking tea with.  And then I left the church!

Pink News has reported on a speech by Cardinal Sarah, Prefect of the Congregation of Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments, at the National Catholic Prayer Breakfast in Washington D.C.

Lots of people have been getting annoyed by the things reported.  I'm not sure that he's worth getting too annoyed about even though he is a powerful man in a powerful organisation.  But it's fair to say that he won't be finding too many converts among the people who have learned that it's okay to accept themselves and live more fully in the truth of their own being.

I've read the speech and I try to be fair.  I know that speeches by Catholic Cardinals have to be interpreted and decoded firmly within the context of Catholic thought and that sometimes what they mean will be something very different to that reported.  I've seen articles in which what is reported is pretty much the opposite of what was said.  And in my Catholic years when I was wanting to robustly defend my faith I sometimes saw Protestants totally twist the words of Catholics into something that implied Catholicism was a false version of Christianity.  To balance that, I have to say that I also saw Catholics do exactly the same with the words of Protestants.  Yay, Christianity, it's all one big, unhappy family where rejection can often triumph over love.  Sometimes.

Pink News overstates things.  I have to say that.  Pink News often overstates things and takes words out of context.  Cardinal Sarah didn't quite say what he is said to have said.  However, his speech is not good at all. Not good at all.  Or if you're a traditional Catholic reading this, it's a wonderful speech, you'll love it! I don't want to comment too much on it because there's such a lot to comment on.  I would end up picking apart every paragraph of the speech for the good and the bad points because my brain would obsess about it until the task was complete.

Yes, Pink News didn't quite get it right.  He didn't call transgender people demonic.  Not quite.  But. There's a lot of but. A heck of a lot of but. It's not a speech to bring hope that the Catholic Church is going to officially embrace the equal rights and the equal dignity of all people any time soon.  It may claim to do so but while it still calls some of us intrinsically disordered just for existing - and the official Catechism of the Catholic Church still uses such language - its claims are obviously far from the truth at this time.


I guess that his views on many matters are totally opposed to those of the good, faithful Christians I was with yesterday and to many other Christians including many Catholics.  No, I don't guess it.  I know it.  Without any doubt.
 
When the Cardinal says that the move for trans people to change their gender identities shows that “God is being eroded, eclipsed, liquidated” I don't suppose that the faithful transgender Christians I know would agree. They would say almost the opposite. If God is truth (as the Bible says) then the move is an embracing of God.  God is being revealed and increased in their lives through the liberation and freedom they have found in loving themselves as being, as they see it, beautifully and wonderfully made by their God.

And I don't suppose that anyone at church yesterday - many of them in same-sex unions - would agree that same-sex unions are "a deep wound that closes the heart to self-giving love" or that the enthusiastic Christians there would say their marriages are "a crushing burden that can prevent them from opening to the healing power of the Gospel." After all, if God is love (as the Bible says) then embracing same-sex unions is embracing God.

Only if they're prayerful God botherers!

Here's the full speech.

Read it, and then, as is said in MCC (Metropolitan Community Church) frequently, "Dismiss whatever insults your soul." Or as was said to me yesterday by Kate, a minister in MCC who had just learned I had left the church, "Go wherever feeds your soul."

I love MCC!  I may have left it but I still love it and will continue to do so.  I will keep telling people about it and hoping that the people who belong there will find their way there. I'd gladly take someone along if they wanted to go but were nervous of going alone. Because what they would find there is welcome, safety and a place of freedom in which they can be who they are no matter their sexuality or gender.

If you want to read a Catholic commentary on the speech and the event, here's one.  It notes what Cardinal Sarah said about legalising the same-sex unions that already existed in a non-legally binding form:  "It is like putting bandages on the infected wound. It will continue to poison the body until antibiotics are taken."  Yes.  He said that in a speech that saw lots of applause during and afterwards.

Speaker Paul Ryan also spoke at the event. He said "A lot of people think faith is just an odd, colorful mask for the ugly face of intolerance."

Well, no, faith isn't that.  Faith can be a beautiful thing and can lift people towards the heights of what a human being can be, towards the depths of love and the wideness of our creative spirits.

But the faith of Cardinal Sarah and those like him, as displayed in his words, is most definitely an odd, colorful mask for the ugly face of intolerance.

Days of Gratitude - Freedom and Friends. Failure and Falling.

It's time for another blog post with entries from my Gratitude Diary from the Sunday Assembly Newcastle group.

There have been good times and tough times.  Today my head has rather fallen apart and just getting through the day feels much like swimming through quick drying cement.  I need to be doing things.  And I just can't do them.  On days like this it's important to be able to remember the good things and to know not only that there will be good things again but that even on the bad days there are good things.  If they are "good" and "bad" at all - are those words just value judgments or are they objective realities?

What a difference from yesterday when my brain worked and I was able to be out and pretty free and even the noise in the pub and cafe and main street was not too much.  It took some work but I could do it.

And what a difference from a month ago.  A month ago today - as mentioned in the gratitude diary - this happened.

It was a day on which we did nothing very special together.  Ordinary things. And it was very, very wonderful.

A day on which just being together and holding each other on a beach as it snowed and the tide came in was a heaven.

But not every day can be heaven.  Many of my days are like this one when my head can hardly function.  These are days of "Yes, this is really very hard, I really am disabled, and I do need support."

Thankfully, not every day is like this one and there are the days and moments of wonder and free joy too.

Image from http://emilysquotes.com/

9th February

Tough day mentally.

But grateful to have had the spoons remaining to get out to something this evening.

And grateful for a feeling I had while I was out: Freedom! It's a commonly used image - but it is like a massive weight and burden has been lifted.

Yes, that's related to yesterday's grateful post which I copied as a blog post yesterday too. Get the word out! Tell people what's going on. And get pretty much no reaction (yet) from church people. (Eight words from the pastor and a response from someone I specifically asked about it)

10th February


Grateful for the little things on random doors, walls and windows at Broadacre House. Anyone else read the haiku on the 5th floor?

Also felt grateful last night because the days countdown until I am with Amanda dropped below 10. At last. Single digits are easier to cope with. 9 1/2 days to go by the end of yesterday.

These words are on a wall by a lift door at Broadacre House.  Sometime I need to do blog some photos taken there during the last six months.

11th February

Get in early today. Grateful that in the next hour this lot will be collected for charity. Loads went to the tip at the weekend too.

Truly we have a super-abundance. What we are clearing is far more than a lot of people could ever dream of owning.

Maybe it's time to learn to use this abundance better. For joy, people, relationship, love, creative passion, for being all we can be. All the things I think God is, rather than god being an omnipotent bloke with impressive facial hair. My heresy has very much in common with committed atheism!

12th February

Totally failed to get to a social event tonight. Not for lack of trying. She left a crucial piece of information out of her address.

But the view over Newcastle from the Trinity Square student accommodation was worth seeing.

 
And though the lights and escalators are too loud in different ways, it was good to look at the art at Gateshead Metro.

For anyone interested, the mosaics are by http://www.bbc.co.uk/arts/yourpaintings/artists/keith-grant

13th February


Grateful that somehow I mustered up some extra spoons today and got out when all I felt like doing was sitting on the bed.

Grateful that when I was getting severely overloaded in town I decided not to go straight home but to go and see if a cafe I'd passed was quiet enough for me to cope with.

Grateful that it turned out to be a very cool place. Very cool.

(My grateful post contained more photos but since I've already written about the cafe I'm only including two photos here.)

14th February

First Sunday of Lent. No church. Because this is my Lenten fast. Not just to stay away from church but to explore the physical, temporal and inner space created by no church. To learn to walk more in my own freedom.

No church, but the Shamanic Sound Journey tonight was quite stunning. Grateful for the person who said they were going - which meant I spotted it - even though they couldn't get there in the end.

And making that conscious choice to let go of church, at least for a while, possibly much longer, feels so liberating and absolutely the right thing to do.

It was the last of these journeys because the person leading it moves away tomorrow. I could moan and say "Why didn't I know about this sooner?" The truth is, if I had known, I wouldn't have been ready to be there.

Anyway, grateful for tonight. And grateful, so grateful, for being able to intentionally choose
differently than the circular habit of so many years.

The lovely changing colours light at The Vault, Wallsend

15th February

Having a day when my brain was deciding to behave and shine and smiles could fall out and even the noise and haste was reasonably easy to cope with.

Meeting a friend at Tea Sutra. Great time. And I spent rather longer with her than planned discussing all kinds of things.

Also great that she's a stunning Christian friend of the kind who cheers and gives big hugs when she learns I've given up church at least for Lent. Glad and fortunate to have met her last year in unlikely circumstances.


(Tea Sutra addicts will not that this picture was not taken yesterday. But it was taken from the spot I was sitting yesterday.)

One Day of Gratitude - A Big Decision For Lent

This is today's post in the Sunday Assembly Newcastle gratitude group.

 

Normally I've been collecting them for a week and then blogging them - for my benefit though I know there are people appreciating seeing them too.

 

But this is a biggie.  Not a big gratitude thing.  But a big decision.

 

And if I post it here, now, publicly, then it becomes more of a reality than if it just stays in my own thoughts.

 

I could write rather a lot about what's going on in my head.  This time, just for once, I'm not going to.

 

People will react in a variety of ways to this.  Or they might not react at all.

 

 

Gratitude Diary - 8th February

 

 

 

 

Apologies. This is a lot of text. And you now have a church photo in a godless group!

Today I am grateful for a decision I made, half in jest last night and in all seriousness today.

MCC has been my church pretty much since I came out as transgender, got banned from preaching in one place I had joined and got called an abomination by the pastor of the other place I'd been going to. But I've been having faith issues (for much longer than I care to admit) and what Church and Christianity used to give me (the centre of my life and reason to keep living) it doesn't give me now. It's a long story.

Anyway. Decision. Since Lent begins on Wednesday I've decided to do the done thing for once and give something up:

 

I have decided to give up church services for Lent.

This break should give me some space to find out what life might be without the reassurance of church, without the habit and safety of it. And without some chosen break that's not something I was ever going to allow myself to discover.

So today I've booked up to do something else next Sunday night. It's still crazy spiritual stuff. But it's very different. A lot more free. And it's the kind of thing that doesn't impose a story that has to be believed.

Making this decision and booking to do something different feels good, liberating. But after (very nearly) 25 years of church and Christianity being central to me it's pretty scary too. Hey ho. Others at SA have taken similar steps. And some will look at my decision and would say Hallelujah, if they had a Jah to say Hallel to.

I think at some point soon I need to find some very wise neutral person and have a serious talk about my life. That person will need to be carefully chosen or just turn out to be a completely obvious choice.