SHE:

An unapologetic, irrational approach to Transgender

Some men are called at an early age to be girls. Any man or woman who says they understand this has never been there. Dressing in female clothing is a magnet for definitions, all of them weak, most of them false.

I felt the blood of The Great Mother course through me on the day I tried on my mom's yellow formal and saw that beautiful girl in the Mirror. There was peace and calm that day, no hint of sex. Guilt perhaps, but truly perplexity and helplessness and wonder....before an urge, a calling greater than me. In a small bathroom, I tried on stockings and immediately ejaculated. This is the Goddess, pure, sweet and hot. She is red, the color of lipstick, blood and the monthly ceremony of life itself. Millions of little boys become men share the same goal; be her. See her before you, see yourself as her, obliterate your given name identity and history and feel the power of HER coursing through you. Western thought demands explanations, whereas Buddha twirled a flower.
I am more myself in stockings and boots than I am at work in suit and tie. That face on my drivers license is but a glimmer of me.

The salmon swims through bears, rocks, hooks and spears until she feels the water of her birth, then she reproduces and dies. Our call is as instinctive To paint our faces and wear perfume and walk through that shopping mall really being ME… Our goddess has the skin of snake, leopard, and eel, wings of the Flamingo and the Red-tailed Hawk….she is all of life's ripeness, sugar and fruit….She is that girl in the halter top across the high school parking lot, the smell of cigarette smoke, and the glow of neon in twilight. My sisters and I saw her but we were confused: we wanted to BE her. I wanted to wear Laurie Zuckerman's stockings and boots. (I still am.)
We marry, and love our wives and our children and all women but we MUST see HER the Goddess in our own eyes or we are restless and discontent. We plan it for months and years of desperate hope and longing and desire and some of us risk death in countries where the Big Patriarchal Ape still beats his females and humiliates those who oppose him. We huddle around little screens while the Muezzin cries and the Priest chants and wish we could just walk down the street in a white spring dress. We are both sexes and we are neither. We are passionate lovers of men and smoky Lesbian bitches. Some of us serve tea, and some of us shoot smack. We sit with our wives and we go down on men for money. The overweight Mailman in his wife's panties and the gorgeous post op who is fooling them at work are sisters in our Goddess pool. Her smile shines on them all..a million eyes and arms…Male and female creator and Destroyer, Shiva, Kali, Durga…..the beautiful Dakinis in the dance before a mountain of skulls. Joan of Arc was a pure Vessel for God to do what men could not. I think we are pure Vessels for the Great Nurturer, for a purpose we do not know..our call is to play, be pretty, and to love….

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