Your Brilliance is Never Sexed

Your Brilliance is Never Sexed
By Creature KPW

Maleness is meaningless without femaleness, and vice versa. They are both out of context without a deep understanding and recognition of the many shades of intersex which exist; dancing forms and variations binding two ends of all that is together. Whole. We are in lust, as a society, with extremes. But to be whole we must embrace and desire not only that which is sharply pointed and easily defined, but also all of the matter which fills our outlines. Colors and shapes, curves and knobs, bumps and erectile tissues forming uncomfortably, ridges and caverns aligning for an experience of pleasure (even when defined by social standards as shameful or pain). Experience your truth. All that we are, inside and out, is potential. This is everything. You, man with a hammer, are an emotional, sentient darling capable of all things named beautiful. You, daughter of the ocean with your tides and nurturing arms, are clear and strong, capable of overcoming nations with your acuity. You, child unnamed by parents and disowned by society are desperately needed—your innate knowledge of both and neither is a thirst upon the land. We are defined as individuals by who resides between our ears, defined by the movement of our limbs and the sounds uttered from the throat, defined by the variety of choices we make, defined again by research we take, tricks we learn, growth we handle, the silence we sit in that we may function another day in increased grace. Our hearts know these things when we allow ourselves to listen.

You are never a category—especially not one culled from a cursory glance between the thighs at birth.

What universes we are able to explore from that thigh-bordered region though, can deliver us whole, broken open and reassembled a million times (with others, or unto ourselves) to the galaxy, the stars, the everything we are made of and more. Insects and our other siblings stalking the planet will chew us back into dirt one day soon enough, taking what nourishment we provide as a last act: our offering to these tiny Gods. They grant us oneness with the dirt beneath the feet of all who walk—unity with the substance we so dearly love it is the name of our home: Earth. Created from clay, the promise is that in time we return to that state. The circus of our animation is but an echo in the universe. We are built from stories and your echo matters too…

Listen closely to your own life, and it will tell you where to go. Your dreams are what make you meaningful, large or as small as they may be. They inform you and are of your spirit. No form, no box, no ticked line can take your dreams away from you. Dreaming reminds us to truly connect to something, anything, that matters in these moments alive. You are significant. You will die. What matters is connection. Recognizing others as an integral part of your own wholeness.

Care for this house that we share so that as time marches on many more lives may also nest here, seeking a moment of safety in their bodies, dancing with the many articulated forms of life surrounding us in the vast jungle of love we call the Universe. Painful, terrifying, sobering, awful, blessed, grinding: life. You are something brilliant. This may mean little until you find your own capacity for love, a name reflected in the possibility of knowing the brilliance of offering: self.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

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Evolution and Responsibility

An example of frustration and fear, judgement, and ongoing abuse. [Karin Webb as “The Butler/Hamlet” and Mary Widow as “Ophelia”. Photo by Sarah Patterson]

Evolution is a reality that continues to matter throughout our lifetimes.

We’re always capable of working things out and moving on from where we’re at. It requires the art of listening, introspection, responsibility taking, and trying new methods of communication amidst familiar seeming data we’ve (historically) interpreted in one way rather than another or another. Evolution requires that we examine our stories from the past and question whatever meaning we’re making in the present moment, acknowledging that this, right now, is a new moment with a different combination of factors in play. How do we re-interpret what’s going on around us, reframe how we look at the particularities of this moment, and come to new, more effective articulations of behavior?

I think of that quote, often attributed to Einstein:

Insanity Is Doing the Same Thing Over and Over Again and Expecting Different Results

This sentiment can absolutely be applied to our behaviors and coping mechanisms, as well as to our reactions and choreographies. To reframe the quote, I offer, “If one would like a sane result, one must do things differently.” Too often we humans get stuck in internalized stories about our lives and those around us, and do not change our behaviors when we feel friction. This can lead to depression, malaise, destroyed friendships, and deteriorating communal ties. We all struggle with these things. We get older, times change, relationships change, we change, new methods of connecting with one another reign… Over and over again we learn to adapt or we become stuck.

I’ll use myself as an example. From a lifetime of observing my thoughts and feelings, I admit I frequently experience the feeling of being left out or flare-ups of the paranoia that no one likes me. I have described myself as a Vampire in the past, in that I need to be directly invited to participate in many events and activities to feel welcome or to muster the courage to attend. I could attach any number of actual stories from my past to support these fear-driven feelings, giving me a solid reason for feeling the way I feel and maintaining the fears and the blocks I have. I could refuse to show up for any activity where a person doesn’t directly ask me to participate. If I did that I wouldn’t show up at many events. The effect of this would be counter productive though. By not showing up at events I would receive fewer future invitations, as I’d have less opportunities to be asked out and I’d be remembered by fewer people in the public arena. The fewer events I participated in, leading to dwindling amounts of invitations, would lead to a flare-up of my isolation paranoia, which would cause me to go out even less… a self-sustaining cycle of merde, which does nothing to feed my need for socialization nor my desire to feel welcome and loved by my peers.

By holding onto the story of, “People will always ask me to be in a place if they desire my proximity”, I’m holding onto an idea which releases me from responsibility for the feelings I experience when I fear I’m being left out. Doubling down on this story as my solution to feeling isolated and unloved puts all responsibility squarely on other people to solve my emotional problems through their actions. This story gives me no voice, no power in solving my own problems, it requires no exploration of my feelings (because it’s always someone else’s fault), and therefore no responsibility is taken for the feelings I am experiencing. With this story I define myself squarely as a victim of other people’s actions and inactions. I define other people’s desires based on very particular actions and inactions thereby defining other people’s lives, actions, thoughts, and expressions as “all about me”, my fears and stories. I don’t have to do the work of acknowledging that other people are experiencing their own lives, and there’s an array of reasons for various actions and inactions (such as: they probably aren’t thinking specifically of me when they’re creating an invitation, or they forgot, or it’s a general invitation that I don’t need to be named to be welcome at, or they didn’t know it was an event I’d enjoy attending…). Instead of considering the vast array of options possible or simply asking “why”, I’ve constructed a universe where unless someone else takes the time to specifically approach me or makes an effort to gesture to me as an individual on my internalized terms, they are painted as someone who is actively devaluing me. This gives me incentive to act as badly as I feel, as if my feelings are the only truth. I have created a psychology where the world owe’s me, and I owe others nothing.

This is very unhealthy. A self-fulfilling prophesy. Narcissistic. Co-dependent. Depressing… and all too common.

When I experience this type of depression/paranoia or unhealthy shit-upon-thyself-ness I try to remember to examine myself for a minute and figure out what part of what’s happening is actually about me and which parts are actually question marks. This requires me to look into my feelings and sort them out. In the midst of my depression and fears, I must dare to ask myself, “How am I feeling right now, and what do I need?” The answer is usually to the toon of, “I’m feeling paranoid that my friends don’t value me, and afraid that they don’t actually like me or want me to be around. I would like to be invited out more often. I want to feel desired, loved, and a part of things”.

What a different conversation arises from these examinations! All of a sudden I have stated wants and goals I can work towards, and a series of questions I can ask others — should I feel so bold as to change my current experience. If there’s an event I’m afraid I wasn’t invited to on purpose, I can empower myself to approach the host and have a conversation about why. I can ask if I am indeed welcome, and I can ask if there was a reason I wasn’t invited — maybe it was an oversight, or there’s someone else going who they thought might have an awkward thing with me, or they weren’t done sending out invites yet, or they didn’t think I’d be interested, or they knew someone else would tell me about it so didn’t feel the need to extend a personal invite, or I was invited but the message apparently got lost… There are any number of realities (including the person actually not liking me and not wanting me to be at their event) which I’m able to ask about and decide how to address. At least if they tell me I’m not invited, I can work towards accepting that reality, or try to mend our relationship rather than powerlessly worrying that it might be true and do nothing but feel badly. I can acknowledge my feeling is due to a specific issue and stop feeding into a general story about all of my friends disliking me. I am empowered to break the cycle.

As a general rule, when I’ve examined what I’m needing or wanting from others, I try to turn it around and action toward fulfilling my own needs. This gets what I want out there in motion. It creates opportunities for others to rise to the occasion of helping me get what I need. In a situation like the one I’ve been writing about, instead of expecting others to invite me out, I begin to reach out to people I’d like to see and invite them out. This sets a new ball in motion and strengthens my practice of advocating for myself.

Of course there are situations I feel the need to address specifically. In these cases I’ll approach the person I feel snubbed by and ask if there’s anything unsaid between us, confessing that I am feeling excluded by them, and seeing if there’s a reason or something underlying I can address with them. It’s humbling to do this work, but it gives great insight into others, into myself, and more often than not it helps repair or even better a relationship that might be beginning to fray. It’s a good exercise in empathy too. As my process begins with me looking into myself and empathizing with my own struggling needs, I learn to create more space for others’ reasoning and to open myself up to empathizing with someone else’s struggles should they become apparent in the process.

These examinations give me autonomy. I practice being actively responsible for caring for myself and my relations. I learn to pause and process my feelings, and to move on from my fears armed with new information and potential actions. I gain control over my narrative and can choose to respectfully go after what I want, rather than waiting in the wings for everyone else to feed perfectly into my ego, read my mind, or catering to my invisible will and judgemental interpretations of their actions or lives. I practice letting go of judgement. I’d say that letting go of judgement is one of the most powerful parts of beginning this work in the first place.

I much prefer feeling my feelings (whatever they may be) and moving through them, than being stuck fearing the answer to a question I’m too chicken to ask, and thereby letting my fear be the only answer I believe and entertain. There have been times when I’ve asked questions and gotten aggression or a refusal to engage with me back. That’s good information too, that’s where I’ve learned to give others space and not take their behavior personally, time to let it go and move on to spaces I feel less strife within. It’s not important that everybody likes me, or that I get to explain myself to every person who knows me, or that everyone even has to care about seeing me clearly on my own terms. The reality is that everyone will not. Other people are locked into their own stories and are living their own lives and I cannot read minds. I’m not ethically or behaviorally even interested in being compatible with all other human beings and the ways in which they act.

Letting go of judgement can also mean just letting go.

Proper asking. I’ll bet this approach leads to better conversations most of the time…

We may have unlimited resources for love and compassion in our hearts, however we also have limited amounts of time and energy in our lives. Decisions must be made. I advocate for the things I need for myself, and that includes behaving in ways which allow others to maintain interest in me (most of the time). That means learning to approach people I value in different ways over time, learning new behaviors and cultivating better coping techniques as we each grow and change. This is growing up. This is evolution. This is advocating for life, relationships, love, friendship, playtime, and all the connection we want to find under the Sun. I am responsible for my own evolution, and by evolving I have the opportunity to become a more happy version of myself.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

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~Thank you.

Telly from Sesame Street

Telly from Sesame Street, remember? Most people don’t. He was the purple monster (I think I learned in later years — our tv was black and white) who worried all the time. He walked around like a muttering animated fur covered ulcer feeling awful, guilty, and worried about e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g. He was constantly being talked down from ledges and explained to that everything was going to be ok.

Telly was my favorite, even though I hated his scenes.

I really felt him. I understood those overpowering huge feelings — unquenchable terribleness concerning anything and everything — in my little two and a half foot tall body. On the inside I was more often than not like Telly as a kid. I don’t think I’ve outgrown him, but the Telly inside me and I are better friends than we used to be.

Inside me there are settings that look very black and white. Yet I don’t believe in such dichotomies. The dimmer switch doesn’t work that well, it jumps around turning the lights on and off jarringly. Life is complex and even though we are constantly trying to hold on to some sort of “truth” to keep the fear of hopelessness and meaninglessness at bay, we are also lunging forward every day with mistakes and experiments. Our animal selves are reaching out to connect with one another in the most meaningful and inappropriate ways, and our brains are making rational decisions irrationally based off a chart of “acceptable ethics” we didn’t each actually internally create.

When I’m emotionally strong and feeling well I celebrate my feral deeds with hedonistic campfires and the barbaric yawp of an animal in heat, victorious in my fuckall war against repression — crystal clear about the effigy burnt up made of shame. When I am low, depressed, shaky, or weak inside, out come the tears and quivers, begging forgiveness for what I have done, thought, or risked, infected with remorse and self loathing at my counter-understanding of the the world, different from what I’ve been taught… Fear bleeds and creeps under my skin and I lie awake terrorized at who I might be: in fact who I am. What I’ve done for the freedom of my soul and the pleasure of my skin, I wring hands over moments later awash in guilt and shame. The concept that I should ever become an anybody terrifies me when I realize I might be crushed under the weight of facing this monster publicly who is me…

Neither of these, of course, represents truth. My mind ravages my body, my body in turn continually finds time to overpower my mind. Each of these moments an ultimatum for my heart, poor beatup civilian in the middle, to take sides. My stomach seethes and rebels, trying to shut the whole system down, while my head chatters incessantly allowing me no repair and no rest, so my heart (Maria or Gordan in this story), searches for the answer to this chaos, the understanding which will bring meaning to each of these feelings, mellowing out to find the line I can live with somewhere in between. Inside there are many wars being raged every day.

Why, even as a young child, did I perseverate so deeply, disquietly questioning the very basic impetus to remain tethered within my own skin? Why such intense and early connection to guilt and shame. I had (have) a ton of it.

When I found out about the concept of reincarnation I was appalled and depressed for days. I worried that there was any truth to it because “WHO THE FUCK WANTS TO DO THIS AGAIN?!?!?!!!!” I was staunchly aware that I didn’t. Life was not weight which should be borne again and again, one time was enough! Maybe even too much. To imagine rediscovering all the pain that emotions bring, again and again, even once, seemed too much for my young mind. Later on in High School I read Camus and learned his theory of the “Theater of the Absurd”: nothing was, nor ever will be again, this window of living is but an absurd moment in chaos. Theater. I was finally pacified, satisfied, and hopeful about my eventual nothingness.

I’ve gotten older though and I want to travel the world outside of storybooks, and I doubt I’ll be able to see as much as I desire. I probably won’t build that house with my own hands. I don’t think I’ll have children. There is a growing list of professions and experiences I’d like to have which I never shall wrap my hands around, a list of mouths I’ll never kiss, stages I’ll never touch, levels of ecstasy I’ll never reach, plateaus of peace I’ll never find…

In this life I’m living I’ve repeatedly made mistakes, gone too far, felt remorse, cut myself off, pushed boundaries I felt were important to push, trusted my instincts, fallen on my face, picked myself back up better skilled, and championed the challenge. I am teasing free this ball of twisty knotted line and it is chaos theory, way way bigger than only me. The older I get the more easily I recognize the cycle of it all too. I can, from further and further distances away, observe my moments of burning high flight before the fall. I recognize myself bottoming out. I know I am not in truthful territory during these highs and lows. But there’s Art there. Struggle is integral to seeing complexity and finding undiscovered degrees of perspective. I connect with ideas that are beyond me, larger than the sum of of my experiences, feelings I could not follow were I not here now in the middle of the up and down agony of… whatever it is I’m flying and crashing about right now.

The up and down agony of reality. Nothing about our lives is ultimately controllable, yet without our struggle to organize, life is not energetically sustainable.

So I come to my theory of perfect tension. The meaning of life is, I think, to find proper tension. Adjusting constantly, tendrils snaking out to each body one is connected to, keeping time with the cyclical humming we are all a part of/immersed in. Now tighter, now loosening up, now hold it firmly and breathe, breathe together, let go slowly, don’t fall if you can help it… We’re balancing in our separate corners with the million lines to one another continually supporting and threatening each other as we go. I am feral. I want to be loved. I am perverse and sexual. I want no shame within my vulnerability. I must trust. There are walls. No one will catch me but me. Autonomy. Interconnectedness. It is a mess to be born of atoms, and a challenging blessed practice to be.

Does it matter that I cheated on my vocab test in second grade? I was a wreck for weeks. I didn’t tell anyone until now. Really. The shame of being a disappointment to my parents. Whispered promises to a god I don’t believe in begging for some peace from this feeling of inner decay. I begged to that anonymous bigger thing in high school too, worried so deeply, hoping I’d start to bleed. I find myself there in adulthood about saying the wrong words to people I love, or afraid I’ll have a heart attack from eating the wrong recreational thing, or when worried I’ll find myself exploited for my mistakes which might look like tresspasses to the people not inside me… Of course I do better on my strong days, a purring lion-faerie riding dandelion seeds on the wind. On those days nothing can harm me, for I believe above all in my reasons for doing what I have done, in my own intentions and decisive jumps. Still, moments, weeks, years, decades later I can locate each rotted gut feeling, tendril upon tendril of tension wracked with guilt and disharmony carried alongside me still, worried I did the wrong thing. It is a messy gaping bag of cancer I haven’t figured out how yet to set free.

This is the struggle of humanity. Born alone, dying alone, with all of these others that we feel around us — so deeply, so tenderly, so savagely, so cuttingly, so movingly (for better and worse) — in between.

I’ve been told more than once that I’m a path cutter, wielding my machete and hacking into wilderness, looking for the more that there is. Covered in scrapes and bruises, falls, twisted ankles, yet also sitting in wonder at the solitude and beauty I find when the moon is just right and the animals and insects around breathe with me.

I make mistakes, I’ll never stop. I try things I’ve been told not to and creep toward being a better more understanding animal. I stand up for my beliefs and hold a tense line when I must in the face of judgemental reproach. And I am weary some days. I am wrong now and again. I get crazy ideas and start racing head down into the unknown future: danger be damned! This is ultimately all I know how to do, and yes, I know it ain’t pretty… But when I stop and listen: “Human child” I hear my heart say, “there is no other way it is possible to be”.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

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