(At Pantheacon. )
We are sitting together outside Z Budapest's Sacred Body of Women, self blessing ritual.
This is a ritual for women to bless and honor their bodies. Our bodies our bodies that are so amazing and different. Our bodies that change. Our bodies that sometimes bleed. Our bodies that are sometimes so full of life that it leaks out.
I would love to be doing a self blessing. I would love to be able to circle with Z.
And I can't.
I can't because this is a ritual for "women born women" only. And I can't support that and I can't let it go unseen and unremarked upon.
Trans women are women. Trans men are men. It's not a matter of discussion. It's a fact.
There are 89 of us sitting meditation outside the ritual. We are maybe twice as many as the people actually IN the ritual.
And I am crying. Z is one of the old witches, the old women, the feminist magic workers, the ones who started this whole amazing huge trip that has grown in so many wonderful ways. She is one of the ones who wanted women to have space, for women, where we can do everything we need and want to do, without making room for men, without being dwarfed by men, without being afraid of the violence that so often comes with men. Until having that space, it's hard to really know what's possible and just how big we can be. As big as we are. We can be we sized. It's HUGE.
And I have tremendous respect for that. When I was a little girl I wanted to be a priest. And in Catholicism, that doesn't happen. Not because I'm bad or ignorant or untrained, but purely because I am a girl. End of story, over, done. And that did wound my heart. I found another faith and I am a priest now, but the wound is still there.
And she still speaks with the accent. And she's tiny. And she's old and she's confused and afraid.
I feel like I am calling out my own grandmother in public for doing something wrong.
And it feels really hard. And I'm sitting here crying.
She is not going to be here much longer.
She is old.
(Someday I will be old.)
She is confused.
(Sometimes I am confused.)
She is afraid.
(Sometimes I am afraid.)
I am afraid of things I don't understand. I am afraid of things that change. I am afraid of things that upset the way the world in my head works. I am afraid of things that challenge my sense of what's right. I am afraid too. And when I'm afraid I overreact. I stop thinking and I close my heart and I defend myself. With whatever means necessary.
We have a lot of things in common. And I'm still sitting here and still crying, for her, for us, and for everybody.
My partner is weeping. The man next to him reaches over so very very gently and touches him. We hold hands for a few monments.
We are here. We exist. We see what you are doing. We are real. We can sit here outside as long as it takes for you to come out and join us. We see you.
It is hard all around. But we are here. And we are real. And we see each other.
(Edit. This is public now. I want more people to see it and be moved to thought.)