It occurred to me that the reason so many transgendered people commit suicide has a lot to do with the profound realization--a realization that transcends daily speech, or even thought... something deeply rooted in the subconscious mind--that no matter the number or surgeries, the longevity of hormone use, the legal name/gender changes, the acceptance by family and friends, one will never, truly, be the other gender. In the absence of these things, of course, matters are worse. Coping skills and counseling only blunt the tip of the truth. Like others with dysphoric identities, a dark cloud, however big or small, follows these people. Then factor in *life*. One's suffering is rarely worse than another's... just different.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
Reposted from another blog for your viewing displeasure
I'll begin this blog with a letter I just wrote to a friend, but then elaborate on something in it.
Love ya, miss ya.
"Hey there.
So, I know you're not going to check this (well, hopefully!) until you come back from vacation... still, I need someone to talk to, and of course, you're number 1. (Numbers 2-4 are either unavailable, clueless, or both.) Emailing you while you're on vacation is number 5. (Calling Someone is probably number 37... but there aren't real options between 5 and 37.) Basically, a lot has happened with the scheduled surgery while you were gone: insurance won't cover it, namely. So, I've had a week to rush and find money for a down payment. Navy Fed denied me a small loan (literally, it was $1,500, which I could have easily paid back.) My sisters helped me out. <3 So, down payment made today... prescriptions also not covered--picked those up today, too. In less than 48 hours, I will rid of 90% of everything that made me female from birth.
And while I had no regrets about top surgery... some "socially awkward and inclined-to-perceive-perpetual-disappointment" part of me loves kids and regrets willingly eliminating any potential offspring. Really, I would have NEVER carried any kids, and only briefly considered surrogates (thank you $10,000 fertility preservation banks...) but even losing the cells are intentionally killing hundreds of potential politicians, artists, etc. (Wow, so, I just went a little more to the 'right' in opposing abortion.) So, while I'm not afraid of anesthesia, pain, infection, etc. (though I should be) I am feeling a little depressed about the impending 'deaths.' Does this make sense?
And, it is a little less than astounding that less than 24 hours after that, your friend, will also leave this world. I never knew your friend and decided not to write him after you gave me his address because, while I hadn't planned on writing a "sorry you're gonna die soon" letter... I really couldn't think of how to write one that didn't sound exactly like that. :( Nevertheless, I am very much saddened by his situation, and this wouldn't be the first time I've drawn parallels between capital punishment and abortion. Maybe I'm overreacting? Not appropriately reacting? I dunno, that's why I'm 'talking' about it. I just don't like the idea of killing anything/anyone, even potential anythings/anyones, and I feel like not only will a lot of bad karma come to me, but also to the people who decreed and will carry out the execution. And I'm just really sad for all of us. (I've also been teetering on the edge of another depressive episode, so it's really not taking too much to make me sad, which is also why I'm questioning whether or not my emotions are appropriate.) If you are able to be a witness, please convey not my condolences or apologies or anything... but my prayers for peace.
::sigh:: Great buzz kill to your vacation, right? (I'm gonna change the subject of this email. Done.) Well, I hope you had a fantabulous, resting vacation. Hopefully my few days away after the surgery will bring me back to some sort of peace I can share with you and the lady. Also hope you didn't forget to rub sunscreen on your girlfriend so she doesn't come back here looking like a Caribbean lobster. :)
Love ya, miss ya.
Me
Hok, so, here's the thing I wanted to elaborate on. A few years ago, I was looking at my life, trying to figure out what I wanted, what it would take for me to be successful, independent, and happy, and how I would get there. When asking myself the question about whether or not I wanted to have children, I kept concluding, "What if it has a disability? What if it has perpetual psychological problems?" Basically, the question was, what if I was, for whatever reason, unable to love it. That pushed me into special education, I confess, to learn to both confront the fear of people with disabilities, and to learn to not "accept" them, but to work for and with them, to love them, and to realize their differences from typically-developing society and to accommodate accordingly. And to move on. I love special education, I don't think I'll ever leave. I would even adopt a child who had a disability, if I was ever in a position to adopt and a particular child with a disability bonded with me for some reason. So it was never about the child or a disability or anything that made me not want to have my own biological children. It all comes down to this profound hatred I have for myself (not for any of the demographic classifiers I may belong to, but for the entire unit that exists independent of those classifiers.) Basically, it's everything people can't see: my GID, my chronic depression, my off-and-on eating disorders, my body dysphoria, my intelligence, my lack of intelligence... all these things that I never wanted a trace of to appear in another human being. Yes, there are countless others with these things, but how the combination manifest inside me and how it may manifest in my offspring... it's not the labels I hate: it's the spirit behind them. It's like, I can't hate my arm, just the force that animates it. I couldn't hate my children, but as I write, I realize that I would definitely hate the spirit that animated them: because it came from me.
You may judge as you wish. I think it's been established that I am far from sane, rational, whatever. But this is how I feel, and 25 years of life hasn't changed it. Actually, it continues to grow stronger. The most awful feeling I have about what I wrote in my letter (regretting the procedure on Wednesday) is that I regret killing any life... just not enough to outweigh killing life that might have come from me.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
My Christmas Eve Eve
So, I've always been a "good" child. Whatever it is that your parents tell you makes a kid good, that was me. Anyway, in November I turned 25. Being that I'm not really a child anymore, I felt like I could start to rebel against some of the archaic notions of "good."
Thursday after work, to quote the person who introduced me to my first experience, we went to "see the Grinch about a Christmas tree." Well, I'm not really really sure when the person met with the Grinch, but the tree was in tow on Thursday when we went out. The person drove around town and we smoked the tree. The first few puffs were pretty anti-climatic because I wasn't doing it "right" (or, in other words, it wasn't actually getting into my lungs.) I didn't feel any different, either, so I figured I'd try differently. I exhaled, and deeply inhaled to fill my lungs. I held it for a couple of seconds, then coughed for the next 5 minutes like this was the 19th century and I'd just caught something from the factories. Once I could breathe again, I guess I took two more hits. Now, the person I was with was telling me to stop before I went too far, but having never done it before, I didn't really know what "too far" was. I remember, though, that things were funny as shit when the effects first set in. I mean EVERYTHING was giggle-worthy. I knew that the person I was with was cracking up at me, laughing more often and more easily than normal, which was cool. I thought in that moment that it was a great experience. We stopped and got gas, and I was still giggling when the other person got out of the car to pump. I don't really remember what happened after that. It was like all the lights went out in my mind and everything rebooted without me actually losing consciousness (which reminds me, I will probably have to ask the person what happened in that time since apparently I was still awake and talking.)
When I "woke up", we were still in the car. But it was the fact that I woke up that freaked me out. I couldn't remember how long we'd been driving, but it seemed like anywhere between 4 and 6 hours. So, I completely panicked when I woke up, and the panic only increased as I realized I couldn't talk as fast as I was thinking, the fact that I kept coming in and out of "reality" (which, apparently, I referenced MANY times in the evening and how there were just times where I "understood" it), and the fact that whenever I looked at the person talking, it seemed like everything said was being echoed by the outlines of squirrels or chipmunks spreading to infinity in every direction. I hadn't been warned about what, specifically, to expect--and even if I had, I'm not sure I would have remembered it then anyway. I was terrified and beyond hysterical. Actually, I'd been like that one other time in my life, and that was when I was on my antidepressants in the spring and had briefly experienced a psychotic episode which only lasted a few hours and wasn't nearly as bad. So, all out with the hallucinations, panic, hysteria... I heard myself on a feedback loop screaming and saying, "I just wanna go home. Take me home. I wanna get in my bed." :D The thing that freaked me out the most was that I knew I wasn't dreaming, but I knew I wasn't awake. Everything would record to my memory before I consciously perceived it, so I kept thinking that things were repeating themselves. As we passed the church by my house I was not only panicking, but felt a little pissed and betrayed because, I claimed, "We already passed this. We already passed the church. Why are we passing the church again? Let me go home!" Then I looked at the clock and saw, with horror, that it was 12:58 and that's when I pretty much snapped. I just "knew" that it had been that exact time for HOURS and the fact that the clock wasn't changing, time kept repeating itself, there were squirrels on surround sound in the car, and my brain kept "itching" meant that there was actually some kind of conspiracy against me. Someone was watching me freak out and laughing somewhere. I had to "get out". I thought that if I went to sleep, I would escape, which explained my determination to get to my bed.
When I made it to my bed, I was still all jacked up with my brain racing in a completely different dimension from my body. I kept gaining and losing awareness of my skin... where my mind ended and my body began. Sitting in bed, I got on the computer because I had to record my feelings "for posterity." This is, word for word, what I wrote:
So, I have to tell you that I’ve been experiencing some sensations lately. I keep having this feeling that I am experiencing this inside and out side of my skin. My essence, I can feel it. I am it. My essence feels disconnected from my body. I knew, but I forgot why. I need to hold myself accountable. I keep realizing that I am slipping into and out of reality. Or, into and out of the realization I have about reality. The realization being my ability to know that I’m in the situation. Like, I understand that I experience that I AM a situation. My mom hates me. And she hates me so much, that she tells my dad to hate me. And my dad hates me so much that he wants me to hate myself. I don’t care about my dad, so his hate doesn’t bother me. I keep having these memories of something that happened earlier in the evening. I won’t tell you how I got there. But I had an incredibly long night that lasted because it slipped us into and out of reality. Why am I following the word count? I understand autism. I understand what autism is. It is being aware of things happening as they’re happening, and also lucidly remember them in dreams. It’s hard to filter out what to pay attention to because you can’t pay attention to only one thing. The itch on my back, my stomach, the word count, because it’s increasing. My itching. I don’t know what to pay attention to. I thought that I had typed more than that. I can type faster than I can think right now. I love that I’m not making any mistakes in my automatically correcting brain. I feel things, but I don’t know if they’re real because I perceive they are happening, or if they’re real because I know they’re real because they are. I need to save this right now. Tomorrow will I care? Will I care that I know all these things happened?
Thursday after work, to quote the person who introduced me to my first experience, we went to "see the Grinch about a Christmas tree." Well, I'm not really really sure when the person met with the Grinch, but the tree was in tow on Thursday when we went out. The person drove around town and we smoked the tree. The first few puffs were pretty anti-climatic because I wasn't doing it "right" (or, in other words, it wasn't actually getting into my lungs.) I didn't feel any different, either, so I figured I'd try differently. I exhaled, and deeply inhaled to fill my lungs. I held it for a couple of seconds, then coughed for the next 5 minutes like this was the 19th century and I'd just caught something from the factories. Once I could breathe again, I guess I took two more hits. Now, the person I was with was telling me to stop before I went too far, but having never done it before, I didn't really know what "too far" was. I remember, though, that things were funny as shit when the effects first set in. I mean EVERYTHING was giggle-worthy. I knew that the person I was with was cracking up at me, laughing more often and more easily than normal, which was cool. I thought in that moment that it was a great experience. We stopped and got gas, and I was still giggling when the other person got out of the car to pump. I don't really remember what happened after that. It was like all the lights went out in my mind and everything rebooted without me actually losing consciousness (which reminds me, I will probably have to ask the person what happened in that time since apparently I was still awake and talking.)
When I "woke up", we were still in the car. But it was the fact that I woke up that freaked me out. I couldn't remember how long we'd been driving, but it seemed like anywhere between 4 and 6 hours. So, I completely panicked when I woke up, and the panic only increased as I realized I couldn't talk as fast as I was thinking, the fact that I kept coming in and out of "reality" (which, apparently, I referenced MANY times in the evening and how there were just times where I "understood" it), and the fact that whenever I looked at the person talking, it seemed like everything said was being echoed by the outlines of squirrels or chipmunks spreading to infinity in every direction. I hadn't been warned about what, specifically, to expect--and even if I had, I'm not sure I would have remembered it then anyway. I was terrified and beyond hysterical. Actually, I'd been like that one other time in my life, and that was when I was on my antidepressants in the spring and had briefly experienced a psychotic episode which only lasted a few hours and wasn't nearly as bad. So, all out with the hallucinations, panic, hysteria... I heard myself on a feedback loop screaming and saying, "I just wanna go home. Take me home. I wanna get in my bed." :D The thing that freaked me out the most was that I knew I wasn't dreaming, but I knew I wasn't awake. Everything would record to my memory before I consciously perceived it, so I kept thinking that things were repeating themselves. As we passed the church by my house I was not only panicking, but felt a little pissed and betrayed because, I claimed, "We already passed this. We already passed the church. Why are we passing the church again? Let me go home!" Then I looked at the clock and saw, with horror, that it was 12:58 and that's when I pretty much snapped. I just "knew" that it had been that exact time for HOURS and the fact that the clock wasn't changing, time kept repeating itself, there were squirrels on surround sound in the car, and my brain kept "itching" meant that there was actually some kind of conspiracy against me. Someone was watching me freak out and laughing somewhere. I had to "get out". I thought that if I went to sleep, I would escape, which explained my determination to get to my bed.
When I made it to my bed, I was still all jacked up with my brain racing in a completely different dimension from my body. I kept gaining and losing awareness of my skin... where my mind ended and my body began. Sitting in bed, I got on the computer because I had to record my feelings "for posterity." This is, word for word, what I wrote:
So, I have to tell you that I’ve been experiencing some sensations lately. I keep having this feeling that I am experiencing this inside and out side of my skin. My essence, I can feel it. I am it. My essence feels disconnected from my body. I knew, but I forgot why. I need to hold myself accountable. I keep realizing that I am slipping into and out of reality. Or, into and out of the realization I have about reality. The realization being my ability to know that I’m in the situation. Like, I understand that I experience that I AM a situation. My mom hates me. And she hates me so much, that she tells my dad to hate me. And my dad hates me so much that he wants me to hate myself. I don’t care about my dad, so his hate doesn’t bother me. I keep having these memories of something that happened earlier in the evening. I won’t tell you how I got there. But I had an incredibly long night that lasted because it slipped us into and out of reality. Why am I following the word count? I understand autism. I understand what autism is. It is being aware of things happening as they’re happening, and also lucidly remember them in dreams. It’s hard to filter out what to pay attention to because you can’t pay attention to only one thing. The itch on my back, my stomach, the word count, because it’s increasing. My itching. I don’t know what to pay attention to. I thought that I had typed more than that. I can type faster than I can think right now. I love that I’m not making any mistakes in my automatically correcting brain. I feel things, but I don’t know if they’re real because I perceive they are happening, or if they’re real because I know they’re real because they are. I need to save this right now. Tomorrow will I care? Will I care that I know all these things happened?
Saturday, October 23, 2010
I swear I'm not this angry all the time. Wait, yes I am.
I had been on T for almost 2 straight years before my insurance company decided to start fucking with me, creating a one month embargo to date. I'll survive in the long term, but I am concerned about my body shape and body, er, functions returning to my pre-T state. Especially since I am also fighting with said insurance company for authorization to have bottom surgery. But that's not what this post is about.
I don't actually talk about being 'trans' much. I sometimes refer to being 'gay' or 'queer', but my 'trans' identity is very minimal. Not sure this is a good thing or a bad thing, just a thing. Anyway, that's not really the point either. The point is, I have been male for a while, legally so for at least a year. At work, I didn't really make a big deal about it. I said, "I'm changing my name to Ethan, I identify as male and always have, I won't respond to my old name, and yes, my last name is staying the same." All of my male co-workers, you could see it rumbling around in their brains when I told them, then they just all kinda shrugged and said, 'okay.' And since then, they have all either used male pronouns, or not use pronouns at all (which is pretty amazing) and just used my name. For some reason, the females ALL mess it up. Unless they started after the fact, they still call me 'she' and 'her'. WTF? I'm fairly sure a good number have forgotten my old name (shit, even I almost have, and I had it for 23 years!) But still, what about me is so god damned feminine that they still mess it up? No, I'm not like, lumberjack butch, but most guys aren't and people don't mess it up.
Now, here's my personal problem with the wrong pronouns. I already have some pretty good body dysphoria going on, so when I hear, someone use female pronouns to refer to me, I immediately think, "She just called me 'her' because I still look like a girl, which means I still have big hips and a girlie body." And since they remind me about what I already hate about myself, naturally, I want to hate them. I've considered just saying "him" to refer to the women who always get it wrong... but I don't want to seem petty, draw attention to myself, not sure they'd even pick up on it, and most of them are in supervisor positions. Grrrr.
So yeah, I had to vent about that.
I don't actually talk about being 'trans' much. I sometimes refer to being 'gay' or 'queer', but my 'trans' identity is very minimal. Not sure this is a good thing or a bad thing, just a thing. Anyway, that's not really the point either. The point is, I have been male for a while, legally so for at least a year. At work, I didn't really make a big deal about it. I said, "I'm changing my name to Ethan, I identify as male and always have, I won't respond to my old name, and yes, my last name is staying the same." All of my male co-workers, you could see it rumbling around in their brains when I told them, then they just all kinda shrugged and said, 'okay.' And since then, they have all either used male pronouns, or not use pronouns at all (which is pretty amazing) and just used my name. For some reason, the females ALL mess it up. Unless they started after the fact, they still call me 'she' and 'her'. WTF? I'm fairly sure a good number have forgotten my old name (shit, even I almost have, and I had it for 23 years!) But still, what about me is so god damned feminine that they still mess it up? No, I'm not like, lumberjack butch, but most guys aren't and people don't mess it up.
Now, here's my personal problem with the wrong pronouns. I already have some pretty good body dysphoria going on, so when I hear, someone use female pronouns to refer to me, I immediately think, "She just called me 'her' because I still look like a girl, which means I still have big hips and a girlie body." And since they remind me about what I already hate about myself, naturally, I want to hate them. I've considered just saying "him" to refer to the women who always get it wrong... but I don't want to seem petty, draw attention to myself, not sure they'd even pick up on it, and most of them are in supervisor positions. Grrrr.
So yeah, I had to vent about that.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Comida Mexicana... Tarot Cards... Drag Race... Fabulousness... Visions and Oneness (Part Three)
I'm so tired, it's ridiculous. It's 5:03 AM. Imagine, however, that I was also tired at 2:53 AM when I was approaching the exit from 66 to go home. I tell myself that I will be home in less than 10 minutes, so just stay awake, concentrate, and enjoy the soft warm bed soon enough.
Visions and Oneness
I dropped my friend off at 2:20, and the entire way home, I was so tired I had to bite my wrists and forearms to stay awake. (This works VERY well!) But, I was so tired that even staying awake, I kept hallucinating. I kept feeling my body slipping away--not trying to slip away, but fall off or into something else. It was so strange. I hate hallucinating... anyway, my hallucinations involved me seeing huge biped creatures in the distance walking in or across the street. I won't even bother trying to explain how strange and scary this is, but imagine 15 foot Sasquatch dragging a club and walking across 66 in the distance. It's almost 3 in the morning and you've been awake for almost 24 hours. This happened from the time I was still in DC until I was about a mile away from home (over 30 minutes later.) As I turned into my subdivision, the vision returned.
I saw a creature walking slowly, zombie like, in the street. It was only a few feet away, and as I slowed down my driving, I realized that it was a real person. What the hell was he doing in the street? Behind him sat a totaled car wrapped around a tree. Funny how all your self-preservation instincts go out the window when someone else is in trouble. I rolled down the window, to ask him if the guy needed help, from the safety of my car, but even as I did so, I pulled over behind him, turned on my flashers, and got out to talk. I asked if he needed someone to call 911 since there were no emergency responders around. He said he did. The guy looked scared as shit, but definitely not drunk or belligerent. I guess I subconsciously knew this because I didn't hesitate to open my phone to call as I also opened my trunk and searched for a first aid kit. I was shaking so much, I felt enclosed by an entire cloud of sleep-deprived adrenaline. The one where your consciousness has all but shut down, the physical body is being animated by competing neurotransmitters and the mental body by the subconscious mind. God knows where emotional, spiritual, social bodies went... fair-weather friends. ;)
As I was calling, I was surprised to NOT hear my voice in my head as I spoke. It was like my lips were moving and communicating information with the 911 responder, but I had no idea what they were saying. In fact, when I first held the phone to my ear, I almost panicked that no one was answering before realizing I hadn't activated the phone application and dialed 911. I did it. Fumbling through the first aid kit on the ground to find gloves, the responder actually said, "Hello" to me 3 times before I realized someone was there on the line, that they were talking to me, and that it was my cue to answer. Amazingly, I gave an incredibly accurate description of the location. I continued to fumble with the gauze pads. The poor guy was sitting on the ground talking to his dad on the phone, scared shitless. I was scared for him, though the obvious extent of his injuries was the huge gash on his right knee. Fumble, fumble fumble. Fucken gauze pads. I think I broke the disposable ice pack trying to activate it. I asked the guy if I had permission to help him, though I was already crouching on the ground next to him, opening the kit and not paying enough attention to him to wait for a response. The responder asked me to ask him if he had any stomach or chest pain. He said he did where the seat belt caught him, but other than that, no. (And, BTW, thank GOD he was wearing the seatbelt. There is no amount of first aid kit in my trunk that would have helped him had he not been!!! So kiddies and adults alike, FUCKEN BUCKLE YOUR SEATBELTS!)
I wipe the blood that had dripped down his leg... there wasn't a lot, but the gash was deep and will definitely require stitches. The first gauze pad was comically thin, so I added the abdominal gauze pad on top. Perfecto! I held pressure until the paramedics arrived. The second set, since the first set was on their way to another accident further down the road but stopped to make sure that the guy I was with didn't have any life-threatening injuries. I'm glad they remembered the correct questions to ask because, between him talking to his dad on the phone and me shaking and waging a holy war against the sterile gauze pad packaging (who would have though tearing a fucken PAPER packet open would be so difficult) with no conscious facilities, I sure as hell wasn't gonna notice that he was missing a limb, his heart laying next to us(talking, no less!)or that his neck was broken in half, or something else painfully obvious. Fortunately, none of these things happened. Anyway, the po-po and the paramedics arrived, and I was surrounded by a dozen 30 to 50-something year old white dudes in the middle of the night... (Deja vu?)
The car was FUCKED UP! I mean, the poor guy! As it turns out, he was returning home from dropping off a friend and he fell asleep driving. (It was, after all, 3 in the morning!) His car hit the curb and did at least a 90 degree (and possibly a 450 degree, if done twice) spin around a tree. Ack! He hadn't been drinking... he was too scared and sober to lie about what happened. But he remembered driving, then he remember waking up with horrifying pain in his right leg and his car on the opposite side of the road. (Not his words.) At some point before the responders arrived, the operator I'd been talking to on the phone hung up. I don't remember when, I just know we asked me about the seatbelt thing, asked for something and I said the address again, which was the wrong answer apparently. I think the right one was my name and phone number. Anyway, responders arrived, took over, EMTs secured his neck and back to a board on the stretcher, police looked around the scene trying to piece together what happened, and I just kinda sat there in my car since I couldn't get around any of the vehicles at this point. I picked up my phone to call my mom and let her know what happened, or to play bejeweled, or send a text to my friend whom I'd dropped off earlier... and my phone died instantly. Had it died 10 minutes earlier, or with just a few more functions like another text message or so earlier in the evening, I wouldn't have been able to call 911. Weird how things work out, huh?
Anyway, the kid's dad came (sorry, I should say that the guy was probably about 19 years old... and I'm calling him a kid, even though he's only 5 years younger. Hehe.) The dad followed the ambulance to the hospital. I don't think he saw me at all the whole time. Funny how I just disappear sometimes. The po-po got my information. Had I not been so scared when they asked for it, I'd have said something like, "Go ask Officer So-and-So in This-and-That county... or 50 other of your cop friends. I've been pulled over enough times, I'm sure ONE of them has my data!" Anyway... free to go. Me, sleepy to the point of hallucinating, had been on scene for 30 minutes.
I got home and told mom, "You'll never believe where I just spent the last half an hour: doing first aid at the scene of a car accident a mile away from the house." I guess I felt proud because I know some people will just drive past, assuming that responders have already been called, afraid that the person involved might be some sociopath, or just not wanting to be bothered with being obligated to someone for a period of time--however brief. But, the more I think about it, the less proud I feel. Feeling proud should come from doing something extraordinary, in my opinion. Helping out a fellow living creature is NOT extraordinary in most circumstances. It's something that, if done more often, would lead to a much happier, less fucked up world.
I FINALLY got home, and approaching the door I see a bug moving on the porch. I stepped over it, not wanting to look at it (because if you look at it, you have to acknowledge it's form and the fear it incites within, which I would have rather not done.) I turned around anyway, and saw a beetle on it's back, it's legs desperately waving in the air to either grab onto something with which to leverage itself up, to flip itself over, or to get my attention. Only the latter worked. I bent down and flipped it over with my house key. I left before it could walk any closer to me. Fear, yes, but even that doesn't excuse us from our duty to other living beings.
Locking the front door and walking over to my mother to tell her the story of the evening, I was reminded of a verse, "i have abused my so-called power forgive me/ you mean we actually are all one/one one one one one one one."
-One, by Alanis Morissette
Retrieved from http://www.elyrics.net/read/a/alanis-morissette-lyrics/one-lyrics.html
Visions and Oneness
I dropped my friend off at 2:20, and the entire way home, I was so tired I had to bite my wrists and forearms to stay awake. (This works VERY well!) But, I was so tired that even staying awake, I kept hallucinating. I kept feeling my body slipping away--not trying to slip away, but fall off or into something else. It was so strange. I hate hallucinating... anyway, my hallucinations involved me seeing huge biped creatures in the distance walking in or across the street. I won't even bother trying to explain how strange and scary this is, but imagine 15 foot Sasquatch dragging a club and walking across 66 in the distance. It's almost 3 in the morning and you've been awake for almost 24 hours. This happened from the time I was still in DC until I was about a mile away from home (over 30 minutes later.) As I turned into my subdivision, the vision returned.
I saw a creature walking slowly, zombie like, in the street. It was only a few feet away, and as I slowed down my driving, I realized that it was a real person. What the hell was he doing in the street? Behind him sat a totaled car wrapped around a tree. Funny how all your self-preservation instincts go out the window when someone else is in trouble. I rolled down the window, to ask him if the guy needed help, from the safety of my car, but even as I did so, I pulled over behind him, turned on my flashers, and got out to talk. I asked if he needed someone to call 911 since there were no emergency responders around. He said he did. The guy looked scared as shit, but definitely not drunk or belligerent. I guess I subconsciously knew this because I didn't hesitate to open my phone to call as I also opened my trunk and searched for a first aid kit. I was shaking so much, I felt enclosed by an entire cloud of sleep-deprived adrenaline. The one where your consciousness has all but shut down, the physical body is being animated by competing neurotransmitters and the mental body by the subconscious mind. God knows where emotional, spiritual, social bodies went... fair-weather friends. ;)
As I was calling, I was surprised to NOT hear my voice in my head as I spoke. It was like my lips were moving and communicating information with the 911 responder, but I had no idea what they were saying. In fact, when I first held the phone to my ear, I almost panicked that no one was answering before realizing I hadn't activated the phone application and dialed 911. I did it. Fumbling through the first aid kit on the ground to find gloves, the responder actually said, "Hello" to me 3 times before I realized someone was there on the line, that they were talking to me, and that it was my cue to answer. Amazingly, I gave an incredibly accurate description of the location. I continued to fumble with the gauze pads. The poor guy was sitting on the ground talking to his dad on the phone, scared shitless. I was scared for him, though the obvious extent of his injuries was the huge gash on his right knee. Fumble, fumble fumble. Fucken gauze pads. I think I broke the disposable ice pack trying to activate it. I asked the guy if I had permission to help him, though I was already crouching on the ground next to him, opening the kit and not paying enough attention to him to wait for a response. The responder asked me to ask him if he had any stomach or chest pain. He said he did where the seat belt caught him, but other than that, no. (And, BTW, thank GOD he was wearing the seatbelt. There is no amount of first aid kit in my trunk that would have helped him had he not been!!! So kiddies and adults alike, FUCKEN BUCKLE YOUR SEATBELTS!)
I wipe the blood that had dripped down his leg... there wasn't a lot, but the gash was deep and will definitely require stitches. The first gauze pad was comically thin, so I added the abdominal gauze pad on top. Perfecto! I held pressure until the paramedics arrived. The second set, since the first set was on their way to another accident further down the road but stopped to make sure that the guy I was with didn't have any life-threatening injuries. I'm glad they remembered the correct questions to ask because, between him talking to his dad on the phone and me shaking and waging a holy war against the sterile gauze pad packaging (who would have though tearing a fucken PAPER packet open would be so difficult) with no conscious facilities, I sure as hell wasn't gonna notice that he was missing a limb, his heart laying next to us(talking, no less!)or that his neck was broken in half, or something else painfully obvious. Fortunately, none of these things happened. Anyway, the po-po and the paramedics arrived, and I was surrounded by a dozen 30 to 50-something year old white dudes in the middle of the night... (Deja vu?)
The car was FUCKED UP! I mean, the poor guy! As it turns out, he was returning home from dropping off a friend and he fell asleep driving. (It was, after all, 3 in the morning!) His car hit the curb and did at least a 90 degree (and possibly a 450 degree, if done twice) spin around a tree. Ack! He hadn't been drinking... he was too scared and sober to lie about what happened. But he remembered driving, then he remember waking up with horrifying pain in his right leg and his car on the opposite side of the road. (Not his words.) At some point before the responders arrived, the operator I'd been talking to on the phone hung up. I don't remember when, I just know we asked me about the seatbelt thing, asked for something and I said the address again, which was the wrong answer apparently. I think the right one was my name and phone number. Anyway, responders arrived, took over, EMTs secured his neck and back to a board on the stretcher, police looked around the scene trying to piece together what happened, and I just kinda sat there in my car since I couldn't get around any of the vehicles at this point. I picked up my phone to call my mom and let her know what happened, or to play bejeweled, or send a text to my friend whom I'd dropped off earlier... and my phone died instantly. Had it died 10 minutes earlier, or with just a few more functions like another text message or so earlier in the evening, I wouldn't have been able to call 911. Weird how things work out, huh?
Anyway, the kid's dad came (sorry, I should say that the guy was probably about 19 years old... and I'm calling him a kid, even though he's only 5 years younger. Hehe.) The dad followed the ambulance to the hospital. I don't think he saw me at all the whole time. Funny how I just disappear sometimes. The po-po got my information. Had I not been so scared when they asked for it, I'd have said something like, "Go ask Officer So-and-So in This-and-That county... or 50 other of your cop friends. I've been pulled over enough times, I'm sure ONE of them has my data!" Anyway... free to go. Me, sleepy to the point of hallucinating, had been on scene for 30 minutes.
I got home and told mom, "You'll never believe where I just spent the last half an hour: doing first aid at the scene of a car accident a mile away from the house." I guess I felt proud because I know some people will just drive past, assuming that responders have already been called, afraid that the person involved might be some sociopath, or just not wanting to be bothered with being obligated to someone for a period of time--however brief. But, the more I think about it, the less proud I feel. Feeling proud should come from doing something extraordinary, in my opinion. Helping out a fellow living creature is NOT extraordinary in most circumstances. It's something that, if done more often, would lead to a much happier, less fucked up world.
I FINALLY got home, and approaching the door I see a bug moving on the porch. I stepped over it, not wanting to look at it (because if you look at it, you have to acknowledge it's form and the fear it incites within, which I would have rather not done.) I turned around anyway, and saw a beetle on it's back, it's legs desperately waving in the air to either grab onto something with which to leverage itself up, to flip itself over, or to get my attention. Only the latter worked. I bent down and flipped it over with my house key. I left before it could walk any closer to me. Fear, yes, but even that doesn't excuse us from our duty to other living beings.
Locking the front door and walking over to my mother to tell her the story of the evening, I was reminded of a verse, "i have abused my so-called power forgive me/ you mean we actually are all one/one one one one one one one."
-One, by Alanis Morissette
Retrieved from http://www.elyrics.net/read/a/alanis-morissette-lyrics/one-lyrics.html
Comida Mexicana... Tarot Cards... Drag Race... Fabulousness... Visions and Oneness (Part Two)
I got my reading first, and went outside while my friend got his done to give him some privacy. While I was out there, I saw this gorgeous, thin drag queen walk quickly past me. She had tons of curly blond hair and a short, blue Tinkerbell-looking dress. She was so cute! Normally I am not a big fan of blondes, but drag queens are totally my kryptonite. All the better if they're actually my age...
Drag Race and Fabulousness
After the tarot readings, my friend and I got more cash out of the ATM at 7-11 (and I got a sugar-free slurpee, yay me!) and we walked over to the club. It was still a little early, about 10 minutes early, so we sat outside and talked about stupid stuff while my friend finished his cigarette and I finished my slurpee. As we went in side, we waited for about 5 minutes, and the drag show began. Now, I've been to drag shows at this club several times before, and they usually last 45 minutes tops and they're not particularly crowded. Tonight, the club was PACKED (and, the show lasted over 2 hours!) But we didn't know this before...
Apparently, the night was replicating RuPaul's Drag Race in D.C. Local amateur drag queens were competing for $250 tonight and a chance to compete further for $2,500. As soon as I realized what was going on, it occurred to me that maybe the blonde blue-fairy might be one of the contestants. Sure enough, she was like the 4th. I hadn't seen her face before. She's really cute, in a fairy sort of way (i.e., long and pointy nose and chin, very thin--though not skeletal, shy and coquettish... etc.) Anyway, it was great watching each girl do their routine (though some were more irritating than others. For the final runway walk, each girl had to walk down the runway with a spoon in her mouth and an egg in the spoon. I think like 4 of the 8 dropped their eggs... it was hilarious. I kept covering my eyes like a little kid and giggling so incessantly. Good thing it was so loud in there and so crowded, otherwise I might have been too self-conscious in the lack of anonymity to enjoy myself. God forbid I should RELAX and ENJOY MYSELF for once...
Each girl was great, but it was clear from the beginning who the winner was. She could DANCE. She seemed VERY shy, which I thought was strange given her talent. Congratulations to you, Coco! The blue fairy was runner up, which surprised me because the audience didn't seem to care one way or the other for her (and she was from North Carolina, so it might have been that they just weren't cheering for a friend like with the others...) But she had her makeup done very well, none of her tucking came undone, her wig stayed on... and if judges were just going on technicalities, then that got her a lot of points right there. Congratulations to you, too, Blue Fairy.
Of course afterward everyone was free to dance in the club. It was great being with my friend (and maybe just where I'm at in my life) because I really wasn't concerned with checking out cute guys or worrying about how I looked. I was very excited about the drag show (and savored my 3 hour crush on the blue fairy) and was with a cool guy and completely sober (I'm always amazed when I'm able to go to a club without drinking and still have fun... sounds stupid, but that's definitely a skill I never thought I'd have.)
We had a lot of fun dancing to all the queer music, hanging out in the smoke pit with this weird ass guy talking about some shit... I had NO idea what he was saying. I think he might have been a little high--he was talking way too fast to be drunk. Unless that's just how he rolls. Anyway, he was talking about renting a boat and going out to Occoquan with his uber-straight Asian friend who's really tall and muscular and he's SO into muscle guys and they were smoking camel crushers (WTF?) and he had crushed the ball into his fingers and got badly burned from it and for some reason he and his straight muscle friend had to carry part of the boat somewhere... I had no idea what the hell he was talking about, and he really didn't make any pauses (like the sentence above.) But I did notice something interesting. I guess when you go out with a friend, and the two of you meet a stranger, the stranger will talk to the more 'attractive' of the two. This is strange to me since 'attractive' is so subjective. I didn't even realize this was what was happening because people have always talked to the person I was with (I was always 'the friend.' Anonymous, simple.) I'm not sure if it's because I was a good 3-4 inches taller than my friend, that I've been on T for longer, that I had this stupid fake grin on my face the whole time, that I used 'active listening skills' such as nodding and repeating choice words that he had said, or some twisted combination thereof, but he'd glance at my friend--in between us--while talking mostly to me. Strange, strange, strange. Then again, I don't feel too bad--my friend isn't into biological men, and I most definitely am. The guy's name is Joseph, though I doubt anyone would remember him telling us this in conversation. Active. Listening. Skills.
We ended the night listening to Telephone, by Lady Gaga and Beyonce. I will assume that everyone has seen that music video (if you haven't, DO IT!) so that I can send you to the parody link. ::insert evil grin here:: I love you all!
SHERRY VINE!!!!! PEPPERMINT!! TELEPHONE Lady Gaga parody
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8685ogp7QRQ
Stay Tuned for Part Three: Visions and Oneness
Drag Race and Fabulousness
After the tarot readings, my friend and I got more cash out of the ATM at 7-11 (and I got a sugar-free slurpee, yay me!) and we walked over to the club. It was still a little early, about 10 minutes early, so we sat outside and talked about stupid stuff while my friend finished his cigarette and I finished my slurpee. As we went in side, we waited for about 5 minutes, and the drag show began. Now, I've been to drag shows at this club several times before, and they usually last 45 minutes tops and they're not particularly crowded. Tonight, the club was PACKED (and, the show lasted over 2 hours!) But we didn't know this before...
Apparently, the night was replicating RuPaul's Drag Race in D.C. Local amateur drag queens were competing for $250 tonight and a chance to compete further for $2,500. As soon as I realized what was going on, it occurred to me that maybe the blonde blue-fairy might be one of the contestants. Sure enough, she was like the 4th. I hadn't seen her face before. She's really cute, in a fairy sort of way (i.e., long and pointy nose and chin, very thin--though not skeletal, shy and coquettish... etc.) Anyway, it was great watching each girl do their routine (though some were more irritating than others. For the final runway walk, each girl had to walk down the runway with a spoon in her mouth and an egg in the spoon. I think like 4 of the 8 dropped their eggs... it was hilarious. I kept covering my eyes like a little kid and giggling so incessantly. Good thing it was so loud in there and so crowded, otherwise I might have been too self-conscious in the lack of anonymity to enjoy myself. God forbid I should RELAX and ENJOY MYSELF for once...
Each girl was great, but it was clear from the beginning who the winner was. She could DANCE. She seemed VERY shy, which I thought was strange given her talent. Congratulations to you, Coco! The blue fairy was runner up, which surprised me because the audience didn't seem to care one way or the other for her (and she was from North Carolina, so it might have been that they just weren't cheering for a friend like with the others...) But she had her makeup done very well, none of her tucking came undone, her wig stayed on... and if judges were just going on technicalities, then that got her a lot of points right there. Congratulations to you, too, Blue Fairy.
Of course afterward everyone was free to dance in the club. It was great being with my friend (and maybe just where I'm at in my life) because I really wasn't concerned with checking out cute guys or worrying about how I looked. I was very excited about the drag show (and savored my 3 hour crush on the blue fairy) and was with a cool guy and completely sober (I'm always amazed when I'm able to go to a club without drinking and still have fun... sounds stupid, but that's definitely a skill I never thought I'd have.)
We had a lot of fun dancing to all the queer music, hanging out in the smoke pit with this weird ass guy talking about some shit... I had NO idea what he was saying. I think he might have been a little high--he was talking way too fast to be drunk. Unless that's just how he rolls. Anyway, he was talking about renting a boat and going out to Occoquan with his uber-straight Asian friend who's really tall and muscular and he's SO into muscle guys and they were smoking camel crushers (WTF?) and he had crushed the ball into his fingers and got badly burned from it and for some reason he and his straight muscle friend had to carry part of the boat somewhere... I had no idea what the hell he was talking about, and he really didn't make any pauses (like the sentence above.) But I did notice something interesting. I guess when you go out with a friend, and the two of you meet a stranger, the stranger will talk to the more 'attractive' of the two. This is strange to me since 'attractive' is so subjective. I didn't even realize this was what was happening because people have always talked to the person I was with (I was always 'the friend.' Anonymous, simple.) I'm not sure if it's because I was a good 3-4 inches taller than my friend, that I've been on T for longer, that I had this stupid fake grin on my face the whole time, that I used 'active listening skills' such as nodding and repeating choice words that he had said, or some twisted combination thereof, but he'd glance at my friend--in between us--while talking mostly to me. Strange, strange, strange. Then again, I don't feel too bad--my friend isn't into biological men, and I most definitely am. The guy's name is Joseph, though I doubt anyone would remember him telling us this in conversation. Active. Listening. Skills.
We ended the night listening to Telephone, by Lady Gaga and Beyonce. I will assume that everyone has seen that music video (if you haven't, DO IT!) so that I can send you to the parody link. ::insert evil grin here:: I love you all!
SHERRY VINE!!!!! PEPPERMINT!! TELEPHONE Lady Gaga parody
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8685ogp7QRQ
Stay Tuned for Part Three: Visions and Oneness
Comida Mexicana... Tarot Cards... Drag Race... Fabulousness... Visions and Oneness (Part One)
This will be a multi part series because, if it were all in one post, you'd get bored reading it very soon. But this is the story of 8 hours of my Friday night.
Comida Mexicana and Tarot Cards
I met up with a friend in DC tonight. I was reluctant to go, not because I disliked the person (on the contrary, I like him a lot) but because I have so much work to do and so little time to do it. Nevertheless, I went. Because everything happens for a reason. Once we finally found parking, we got dinner at a restaurant on U Street called Alero. While we both like lots of different food, Mexican was the first thing we'd agreed on--plus, it was close and I'd heard good things about it before. The wait for the food was long, but it was (sorta) worth it. My friend ordered a margarita and some guacamole and chips (he wasn't very hungry) while I ordered a grilled portobello mushroom in a tomato sauce (AMAZING!) and a giant salad. Dinner was great. (I didn't drink because, lately, I've been finding it extremely hard to force down alcohol... good thing, since it saves me money in the evening!)
Like I said, the wait for the food was long. We had a lot of time to talk (though I feel like I dominated conversation, which I always try to be mindful of doing) but talk was pleasant. Despite getting to the restaurant at around 7:15, we didn't leave until around 9:30. It was too early to go to a club (most open around 10:30), so as we were walking around, we passed a psychic. My friend insisted that we go, which is completely cool cause I like to get a reading done once a year--and I appreciate anyone who believes in tarot/psychics/horoscopes, or at least doesn't judge me for believing. I won't relay what the psychic told him since that's his business, but I'll break down what I remember of the tarot reading:
Life: As with most psychics, this one told me that I would live an extremely long life... if not into my late 90s, then definitely into my early 100s. She said that longevity was in my genes and that not only would I live long, but I would live an extremely health life as well. YAY!
Love: Next she said that love was not in my cards for the immediate future (well, for the rest of the year.) She said that I've had horrible luck with love and pretty much a nonexistent love life, and that that wasn't likely to change over the next several months, so I shouldn't stress about it. I guess I'm supposed to use the rest of the year to work on myself (?) and that would help me when I finally meet this person. She said that I don't know him yet, but that his name would start with a "D" and that we would meet in a very public place. Not like in a club or a bar... but somewhere completely unexpected, like a grocery store or library.
Career: I may be going out of order, but the next topic that I remember was her talking about career. The psychic said that I wasn't doing what I was meant to do. She said that I was meant to be in a leadership position. Specifically, I was meant to be in the military in the future. She asked if I had ever been in the military (I said that I had) and then asked if I'd ever considered returning. I said that I had considered it, but nothing more. She said that the opportunity would arise for me to reenter the military and that I should definitely do it. I was born to be a military leader, apparently. (I laugh a little when I think of all the people who are spiritually choking on their egos as I type this, and can't figure out why. For that reason, alone, I hope she's right.) She said that I'm not in the career I'm supposed to be in, and while I may make progress and things may go well, it's not permanent by any means.
Finances: Haha, so then she said that my financial situation would be set by the age of 33. She said that when I reach the age of 33, I would no longer have any financial worries. I wouldn't have any worries then, or for the rest of my life. I suppose all my current debts would be paid off and I'll be making enough money to never struggle for things I need. She said that I was blessed to always financially be provided for. So far, she's been right because even my worst has been better than 80% of the world's populations, sad to say.
School: Ugh, the worst news I got was that she said that for some reason I would be encountering delays in finishing my schooling. She said that it wouldn't been finished for another 3 years. I hope she's including graduate school in that because another 3 years in undergrad, and I might kill someone. She said in October I would find many distractions from my school work, but would eventually get back on track (seems like within the same semester.) Nrrrh. I REALLY hope that doesn't happen, but we'll see.
Family: The psychic said that my family life was relatively calm, without major disputes. I suppose if she figures my dad and I being completely estranged while living in the same house 'calm', then sure.
Children: So, as mentioned in the love part, she said that I would meet my true love in the beginning of next year (which, with psychics seems to mean anytime in the first six months...) and with this true love I would have three children. Then she clarified that these three children won't be biologically mine (no shit) and that one of them may not even be a human child, but something I love like a child. She asked me if I had any pets, and I said yes without saying what kind, and she said that it would be with me for a very long time. I guess that makes sense because while a goldfish doesn't last long, a cat can live to be 20 something years old. Yay for Serious!
Spirituality: She didn't say much about spirituality, other than over the next year as I come closer to meeting my true love, that I would been improving my own spiritual health and ultimately achieving a higher level of inner peace.
I think that's it. If I remember anything else, I'll edit the post and add it.
Stay tuned for Part Two: Drag Race and Fabulousness and Part Three: Visions and Oneness
Comida Mexicana and Tarot Cards
I met up with a friend in DC tonight. I was reluctant to go, not because I disliked the person (on the contrary, I like him a lot) but because I have so much work to do and so little time to do it. Nevertheless, I went. Because everything happens for a reason. Once we finally found parking, we got dinner at a restaurant on U Street called Alero. While we both like lots of different food, Mexican was the first thing we'd agreed on--plus, it was close and I'd heard good things about it before. The wait for the food was long, but it was (sorta) worth it. My friend ordered a margarita and some guacamole and chips (he wasn't very hungry) while I ordered a grilled portobello mushroom in a tomato sauce (AMAZING!) and a giant salad. Dinner was great. (I didn't drink because, lately, I've been finding it extremely hard to force down alcohol... good thing, since it saves me money in the evening!)
Like I said, the wait for the food was long. We had a lot of time to talk (though I feel like I dominated conversation, which I always try to be mindful of doing) but talk was pleasant. Despite getting to the restaurant at around 7:15, we didn't leave until around 9:30. It was too early to go to a club (most open around 10:30), so as we were walking around, we passed a psychic. My friend insisted that we go, which is completely cool cause I like to get a reading done once a year--and I appreciate anyone who believes in tarot/psychics/horoscopes, or at least doesn't judge me for believing. I won't relay what the psychic told him since that's his business, but I'll break down what I remember of the tarot reading:
Life: As with most psychics, this one told me that I would live an extremely long life... if not into my late 90s, then definitely into my early 100s. She said that longevity was in my genes and that not only would I live long, but I would live an extremely health life as well. YAY!
Love: Next she said that love was not in my cards for the immediate future (well, for the rest of the year.) She said that I've had horrible luck with love and pretty much a nonexistent love life, and that that wasn't likely to change over the next several months, so I shouldn't stress about it. I guess I'm supposed to use the rest of the year to work on myself (?) and that would help me when I finally meet this person. She said that I don't know him yet, but that his name would start with a "D" and that we would meet in a very public place. Not like in a club or a bar... but somewhere completely unexpected, like a grocery store or library.
Career: I may be going out of order, but the next topic that I remember was her talking about career. The psychic said that I wasn't doing what I was meant to do. She said that I was meant to be in a leadership position. Specifically, I was meant to be in the military in the future. She asked if I had ever been in the military (I said that I had) and then asked if I'd ever considered returning. I said that I had considered it, but nothing more. She said that the opportunity would arise for me to reenter the military and that I should definitely do it. I was born to be a military leader, apparently. (I laugh a little when I think of all the people who are spiritually choking on their egos as I type this, and can't figure out why. For that reason, alone, I hope she's right.) She said that I'm not in the career I'm supposed to be in, and while I may make progress and things may go well, it's not permanent by any means.
Finances: Haha, so then she said that my financial situation would be set by the age of 33. She said that when I reach the age of 33, I would no longer have any financial worries. I wouldn't have any worries then, or for the rest of my life. I suppose all my current debts would be paid off and I'll be making enough money to never struggle for things I need. She said that I was blessed to always financially be provided for. So far, she's been right because even my worst has been better than 80% of the world's populations, sad to say.
School: Ugh, the worst news I got was that she said that for some reason I would be encountering delays in finishing my schooling. She said that it wouldn't been finished for another 3 years. I hope she's including graduate school in that because another 3 years in undergrad, and I might kill someone. She said in October I would find many distractions from my school work, but would eventually get back on track (seems like within the same semester.) Nrrrh. I REALLY hope that doesn't happen, but we'll see.
Family: The psychic said that my family life was relatively calm, without major disputes. I suppose if she figures my dad and I being completely estranged while living in the same house 'calm', then sure.
Children: So, as mentioned in the love part, she said that I would meet my true love in the beginning of next year (which, with psychics seems to mean anytime in the first six months...) and with this true love I would have three children. Then she clarified that these three children won't be biologically mine (no shit) and that one of them may not even be a human child, but something I love like a child. She asked me if I had any pets, and I said yes without saying what kind, and she said that it would be with me for a very long time. I guess that makes sense because while a goldfish doesn't last long, a cat can live to be 20 something years old. Yay for Serious!
Spirituality: She didn't say much about spirituality, other than over the next year as I come closer to meeting my true love, that I would been improving my own spiritual health and ultimately achieving a higher level of inner peace.
I think that's it. If I remember anything else, I'll edit the post and add it.
Stay tuned for Part Two: Drag Race and Fabulousness and Part Three: Visions and Oneness
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