Oceans of sadness. Oh, oceans of sadness.
Is this not a part of life? Do we not all wade through oceans of sadness, so constant that we cease to be aware of them most of the time?
I do not like to think of trans as being a special entitlement to extra self-pity. To me it just seems typical of life's complications.
But deep sadness there is. Sadness at the bitter cruelty of the gender divide. It is not just a matter of society getting it wrong. It is imposed on us by biology. The male-bodied dancer needs more than cultural licence to dance a female part with true beauty: he needs a female body.
Sadness at the horrible repression of foiled expression.
It is not just a matter of trans (less is it a matter of wanting to be female all the time). It is a matter of an ideal self in an ideal world, where the thing to do is dance, versus all of the wretched limitations and vicissitudes of the actual.
Trans can deliver a keener appreciation of femininity. We treasure it because we don't take it for granted. But we are constantly up against a 'but...'. We are doing what in a fundamental way doesn't fit (while in other fundamental ways it so does fit). The thrill is the other side of the coin of a frustration too permanent to be distinguishable as a distinct part of everyday existence.
But Deborah dances. Deborah dances within. A sad dance, a lonesome dance, but a beautiful one. For my t-femininity is an inspiring beacon of beauty and truth within me. I love it.
It needs persistent affirmation, being up against its sheer contrariness. Recently I have felt less happy about the blog as a medium for self-expression and connection, although it has served me well in the recent past. But I here I am, instinctively turning to it again. Deborah seems to reach for it, despite Mirror Brother's weariness.
An affirmation published online has a stronger reality. And, if you are a crossdreamer / male femme, it reaches out to co-affirm the beautiful t-femininity within you, dear reader. x x
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