Walk With Me
Music in the lodge is more than sacred. It is medicine. It is the center of the ritual. Jerry, who pours the lodge (he is clear that the lodge itself is Bear Boy's lodge) says any song sung in lodge is sacred. Even if it is "row, row, row your boat." There are times in lodge that I have sung Sikh prayers. This is always meaningful and powerful for me. When Jerry held a small lodge for my children, I sang the Grateful Dead song "Ripple" which is sacred to me because it was one of the few lullabies I sang my children that was not an LDS hymn. There are times in lodge that certain songs will come to me; a personal form of medicine. I've taken time to mentally collect these to see what I could learn.
During ceremony, women wear long skirts as a way of communing with mother earth. Our skirts tickle the grass and let her know that one of her daughters has come to commune with her and the ancestors. With that in mind, one must ask the questions: What messages do our feet leave behind? What gifts do our footsteps offer mother earth and her throne - turtle island? This is the theme my personal medicine has focused on as I have become more mindful of the way I walk through life.
Before we go further, I feel the need to provide a content warning that suicide and mental health issues are strong themes in what follows. Know that I love you, and support you if you choose to skip this one.
Every journey has a beginning and more often than not that beginning is born out of an end. We live in a continuous cycle of reincarnation as one version of us dies and another is born, like a phoenix from the ashes. Sometimes the movements are subtle, other times they are tragic and monumental. My walk with indigenous spirituality came to me early in my transition and was a direct result of one of the most transformational fires in my life. Leaving the LDS church, at the time, was a tragedy to me. Having been born in the LDS church my path was laid out for me at birth: Serve honorably as a worthy young priesthood holder, serve honorably as a worthy missionary, marry a good worthy LDS woman, and have as big a family as possible. Throughout adulthood I would raise my children in the "lord's way" and actively serve where called. Once I retired my wife and I would serve as many LDS missions as our means and health would allow. Not only was I indoctrinated into this path from a young age but everyone around me was living that life. Why would I do anything else?
My wife and I refer to the period roughly between 2017 and 2019 as the "dark times." In a nutshell, I was recently licensed and started independently practicing at an inpatient psychiatric hospital. I personally found the transition to working without supervision to be very stressful. At the time, I was overly conscientious, and overly responsible. I felt the weight of life and death in my daily work. It certainly didn't help that I lost a patient the year prior. She completed suicide four hours after being discharged from the hospital. Being closeted at the time, I felt a lot of extra complexity due to the reasons behind her suicide. This young woman killed herself because she could not deal with the pressures of being a closeted lesbian in a very traditional catholic family. Her despair at her situation left an itching question in the back of my head. How much longer could I stay in the closet and be ok?
I was also actively working as "Ward Mission Leader" a church "calling" that required at least 15 hours per week from me. I was actively working to bring people who had left the church back "into the fold." My bishop gave me very little direction, and I was constantly anxious about whether or not my service was adequate. My anxiety related to this calling was compounded by the doubts I'd been nursing for years regarding the truth and utility of the church. As if that weren't enough, my wife was struggling through her fourth pregnancy. She was so sick and rundown that she could not boil a pot of water or care for herself. I was left carrying the burden of my new professional responsibilities, my church service, support/care for my wife, and the care of my three small children. I went to my bishop and begged him to release me from my demanding calling. I also asked him to provide assistance for my pregnant wife. The bishop refused to do either, and instead provided me with an "inspiring" sermon about sacrificing to build the kingdom of God. He mixed in something about working to gain the experience of a mission since I was not allowed to go on a full-time mission. I dropped over 60 LBS and developed intense gastric pain. The stress was ravaging my body and it might have killed me. I did not see anything I could do but carry on. There was not a viable way out of my responsibilities to my family, my God, and my patients.
I say there was no way out, but if I were to be honest, I had a very detailed exit strategy and access to the means to carry it out. One of the side effects of my profession is that I am far too well versed in the most effective and ineffective ways for one to end one's own life - knowledge I actively refuse to burden others with. My crushing sense of duty and responsibility was the only thing that kept me alive. I could not abandon my children.
Something had to give - and give it did. In the most devastating and earthshattering way it could have. My "shelf broke" and I left the faith of my childhood. I learned from my younger brother that my father's passive aggressive, authoritarian brand of spirituality was driven by clinically diagnosable paranoia among other mental health conditions. Not only this, but the LDS church assisted in bolstering my father's delusional reality that his mental illness was a spiritual gift; a belief that actively discouraged him from seeking treatment. These revelations included shocking details regarding the way that my father's delusions led to serious harm to those I love. After learning these things, I removed my sacred underwear and left the LDS church.
I have not been able to find a way to describe the despair of leaving the church. My entire life up to that point was based on LDS doctrine. I had learned to loath myself and sought to "convert" my gender and sexuality through "Reparative Therapy." My life and major life choices were based on my father's delusional and paranoid version of Mormonism. It was as if I had been red pilled and learned that I had spent my life in the matrix assuming the matrix was a shared religious delusion and the desire to obtain the approval of a clinically diagnosed narcissist. Everything I knew and lived up to that point in my life was a delusion of the magnitude I saw daily in the hospital. And what did I say to myself? "I should have known!"
My grief was complete. I was lost; without a mooring. What could I have faith in? Perhaps the most dangerous and damaging thing the LDS faith and my father taught me, was to have absolutely no boundaries. Doubt my doubts before I doubt my faith. Follow my leaders with unwavering obedience and faith. Faith that they would never lead me astray, regardless of whether or not I understood or agreed with their commands. I took everything I wanted and knew about myself and labeled it "natural man." My individual will was the enemy of God and I had subjugated it to "wisdom" of "God" and his "Prophets". Absent my religion, I had no idea who I was or how I should live. I truly needed to learn a new way of existing. I had to learn to walk again.
In the song "Bitter Sweet Symphony" Richard Ashcroft of the Verve sings:
"Well, I've never prayed but tonight I'm on my knees, yeah
The Verve, 1997
I need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me, yeah
I let the melody shine, let it cleanse my mind, I feel free now"
Throughout my life I have sought solace in music that resonates with my pain. Sometimes that pain can find its way to hope. Dave Grohl is an example of many things; human kindness is the first that comes to mind. Fairly soon after that I think of living with loss and grief. This poor man has lost many of his colleagues and friends to suicide or other life circumstances. The first set of songs I want to share with you encapsulate the journey of loss, despair, and finally resolve to continue with life no matter what. I find inspiration both in the art and the story behind the art.
Foo Fighters - "I Should Have Known/Walk"
To really understand and experience the power of these songs they must be listened to together as a pair. This is how the Wasting Light album ends "I Should Have Known" followed immediately by "Walk."
It's Important to know the back story to "I Should have Known." Fundamental to that story is the fact that Dave Grohl, the lead singer for the Foo Fighters, was the drummer for Nirvana. Dave spoke very candidly in his memoir about his experiences around Kurt Cobain's death. The tragedy of losing a good friend and the irreplaceable lead singer/songwriter of his world-famous band nearly destroyed him. Dave questioned whether he would ever play music again. In an attempt to avoid the media frenzy and find time to mourn on his own, he went away to one of his favorite spots on earth: the secluded rural Scottish highland countryside. Driving down the road he saw a hitchhiker wearing a Kurt Cobain T-shirt. This convinced Dave that Kurt Cobain and Nirvana would be unavoidable whether or not he played music. He went home and started tinkering on a little project in his basement. An album of music. He wrote all the music and played all the instruments. During this time, Tom Petty tapped Dave to play with him on Saturday Night Live. At the end of the week, Tom offered Dave the position of full-time drummer for the Heartbreakers. Dave Grohl turned down Tom Petty for what he describes as "hope and a box full of cassette tapes in his trunk." The rest is History. Dave's self-titled "Foo Fighters" album (named after WWII slang for UFOs) became a hit. After that Dave assembled a band to play the songs live and became a world-famous lead singer/songwriter in his own right. Foo Fighters is a direct result of Dave Grohl's fortitude and conviction to carry on in the time of heartbreaking tragedy.
Dave Grohl has worked hard to keep the Foo Fighters separate from Nirvana and has never openly created art about his grief and loss around Kurt. Although, to the attentive fan, it would seem he did just that in 2011. The Foo Fighters recorded their seventh studio album, "Wasting Light", using the same analog soundboard and producer - Butch Vig - used to record Nirvana's breakout album, "Nevermind." This is also the first album to see the return of Pat Smear, a short-lived member of Nirvana/original Foo Fighters' guitarist. As a final tip of the hat, the penultimate track ("I should have known") features Krist Novoselic, founding member and bassist of Nirvana, playing bass and accordion. That ghostly drone that opens the song is Kirst's accordion.
In short: This song is recorded by all of the surviving members of Nirvana, using one of Kurt's favorite producers, and using equipment Kurt used to make the album that defined his legacy. I personally see this song as an invocation to Kurt Cobain's ghost, and a profound expression of Dave's persistent, life altering grief. I've included the full lyrics in the footnotes
Foo Fighters - "Walk"
The silence on the record is interrupted by bright major cords. The cord progression is left somewhat unresolved in a way that suggests hope and striving for something better. If we listen quietly, it is as if another part of Dave is speaking to his old friend. This part is the young man who turned down Tom Petty for the uncertainty of a little project he put together in his basement. Here is what this part of Dave has to say:
"Now
Foo Fighters, 2011
For the very first time
Don't you pay no mind
Set me free, again
To keep alive, a moment at a time
That's still inside, a whisper to a riot
The sacrifice, the knowing to survive
That first decline, another state of mind
I'm on my knees, I'm praying for a sign
Forever, whenever, I never wanna die"
I've included the full lyrics in the footnotes
Gone now is the despairing man who sympathized with suicide and empathized with his friend's final despairing act. No more "Maybe you was right. Didn't wanna fight." This new person has fought through despair and grief and learned a new way to be. A new person to be. He's not the shy, goofy kid hiding behind the drum kit. He is the loud, proud front man of a world-famous stadium packing rock band, and he is here to dance on his own grave and defy any impulse that would call him to say "goodbye." He has no desire to leave our hearts in debt, rather, he will take the pain and the joy and carry on with life. If other people (like Dave Grohl) could over come tragedy and learn to walk again, why couldn't I? Listening to theses songs together gives me hope and inspires me to keep walking even when I don't know the way.
In time things in my life changed. My wife had her own process that led to her leaving the church. Eventually we all had our names stricken from the records of the church and moved to Southern Texas. Southern Texas might as well have been the moon for how foreign it felt to me. I was a million miles away learning to walk again. My life was in shambles. A pile of ashes. And I struggled to see how a new birth could come from the wreckage of what I was indoctrinated into. I had made the decision to live, and I felt hopeful about the future. I was recreating myself and learning a new way to walk through life. I had no idea what I was doing or where I was going. I just knew that I wasn't ready to give up. I had no idea what life was going to be like I just knew I wanted to live. Texas was meant to be a fresh start an opportunity to reinvent myself.
My family and I only lived in Texas for two years. Don't let the brevity fool you, those two years resulted in profound growth. I moved to Texas unsure who I was going to be, and what my life was about. I returned from Texas with full knowledge of who I was. Having already completed a year of gender therapy and knowing that some day I would fully transition. I was slowly learning to walk again. The question arose as to how (In which way) I was going to walk. Luckily my past had taught me to a little about individuality. I had had some beginner lessons and good examples of how to walk unafraid no matter how clumsy and awkward I am.
R.E.M. - Walk Unafraid
Bonus content this wonderful cover by the Swedish folk duo First Aid Kit
Texas was not the first time I felt cut off, distant from all I knew, and floundering to find out how to walk in the world. The first time this feeling hit me profoundly was in January of 2003 when I left my childhood home to attend Brigham Young University. Within a day of moving to Provo I met a dear friend and kindred spirit who has come in and out of my life and who remains to this day an individual who has significantly impacted my life. For simplicity's sake let's call her "R". R was a vision of confidence and individuality. She wore her hair in a short bob, pulled into a ponytail and railed against the social constraints that demanded she grow her hair long. She doubled up on sports bras and did everything she could to hide her feminine figure. Her real signature fashion piece was a denim jacket covered in NASA patches. She was studying geology and dreamed of being an astronaut but was resigned to the life of a stay-at-home mother, as dictated by her faith. R and I quickly started dating. Gender fuckery was a core tenant of our relationship. R assumed the traditionally male roles, while I assumed that of the traditional female. I was always the small spoon, the one who got to feel protected and cared for, and R was the strong one who initiated physical affection and kept me safe. R's favorite band was R.E.M. She heard "It's the end of the world" on the Independence Day soundtrack and immediately fell in love with the band. This was a love she passed on to me. Not that it was hard. I already liked many R.E.M. songs. I hold that R.E.M. is one of those bands people love without knowing it because people know and love so many of the band's singles. We found joy in our defiance of the strict gender roles enforced by BYU's conservative culture. We enjoyed being unconventional. "Walk Unafraid" was one of "our songs".
R.E.M, 1998"How can I be
What I want To be?
When all I want to do is strip away
These stilled constraints
And crush this charade
Shred this sad masquerade
I don't need no persuading
I'll trip, fall, pick myself up and
Walk unafraid
I'll be clumsy instead
Hold me love me or leave me high"
I've included the full lyrics in the footnotes
At BYU I was beginning to discover who I would become as an adult. R showed me how I could find a modicum of self-expression and identity within the strict confines of BYU's culture of conformity. The idea of walking unafraid, despite being clumsy, has stuck with me ever since then, and not just because I am actually clumsy. It reverberated as I worked with teenagers on the autism spectrum, and as I strove to proudly be a "conservative religious academic" (oops so much for that). As much as it meant to me then, it has never resonated with me the way that it has during my transition.
I have always known who I was - I mean, I was wearing my mom's jewelry when I was in grade school and trying on her clothes by the time I was in middle school when I was about her size. - The way I was taught to deal with my incongruence (dysphoria), was to find ways to express my femininity within the confines of masculine social roles. My mother did her research, and I knew that people had transitioned and that I could maybe transition. I knew transition was an option in the same way that I knew becoming a serial killer was an option. Sure, it's something I could do, but it would make me reprehensible and ensure eternal damnation. This internalized cissexism stayed with me even after I left the church
Like many other old friends, R and I reconnected during the pandemic. For me the pandemic was the culmination of a lot of things that would eventually lead me to claiming myself. I was spending all day on zoom looking at my very manly, very beardy face. I was mostly isolated and away from the social constraints that forced me into manhood, and for the first time in my life I was completely isolated from the LDS church. R stepped into this perfect storm and stirred the pot. We discussed our younger selves and revisited our gender with the perspective offered by time and a society that had evolved in its awareness. We had both left the LDS church and explored together what it meant to have a gender that was not dictated by an institution. R admitted that her use of sports bras was tantamount to binding and that she had always felt uncomfortable with womanhood. R had come to think of herself as non-binary. After our discussions, she got a pixie cut and started wearing more androgenous clothing. I helped her pick out chinos to work with her graphic bowling style button downs. Somewhere over our interactions I asked her to start calling me Marcy. It felt so right to be referred to by that name. I started seeing therapists who specialized in gender. Over this time, I gave myself permission to be myself. In a way slowly over time. It would take a relocation back to Utah, a few more years of therapy, a journey/ritual, and lots of experimentation before I was ready to be full-time femme. Ultimately, I needed to shred the sad masquerade that was my "manhood." Before I could be fearless.
Walking unafraid is the best analogy I have for being visibly trans in public. Puberty is associated with being clumsy and awkward as you figure things out. This clumsiness is enduring in teens. It is also a nearly universal experience. Teens who experience puberty do so in a cohort. Their classmates have changing bodies and voices and are figuring things out as they go. This isn't usually true if you are going through puberty as a middle-aged, professional person. You get to be clumsy and stumble and figure things out as you go in front of people who did all of that decades ago. Puberty is a distant memory for your cohort. Now add to this the fact that the validity of your identity is the political, hot topic du jour. Every uneducated zealot feels that their ignorant opinion is valid, and that your mere existence in public is an affront to their "good decent values." The boldest of these folks will tell you to your face, some will make very loud comments to their friends, and others may just stare in a very unsettling way. Any way you shake it, being visibly trans comes with a lot of clumsiness, and a lot of public judgment. The only way I have found to cope is to look at the world and tell them "I'll be clumsy instead. Hold me, love me or leave me high." I also took comfort in seeing my fellow travelers as comrades (as opposed to missionary opportunities or a "project"). Real joy came when I was able to recognize the familiarity or others' contradictions. I learned that I am not the only individual attempting to walk against the current of what I was told I was supposed to be.
Knowing who I was and deciding to walk authentically were critical parts of my journey, but they certainly were not the end or really even the beginning. I knew who I was and how I was walking but where was I going? If life wasn't about Jesus and his kingdom on earth what was the point? I suppose this is a question that may take a lifetime to answer but I definitely have some Ideas. At the start of my transition, I read several memoirs and biographies of trans and queer folks. I needed to know others have made it and to learn how they did it. One individual I admire is Kimya Dawson whose deeply personal music has served as a guidepost for me. Perhaps one of the most gut wrenching, inspiring and profound examples of this is her autobiographical epic "Walk Like Thunder."
Kimya Dawson - Walk Like Thunder
I can only listen to this song occasionally. It typically brings me to tears. It is a ten-minute narrative set to music. I will not be including the lyrics. This autobiographical tour de force starts with Kimya in the critical care unit after surviving a suicide attempt. Her friend tells her "Walk Like Thunder." Kimya takes this wisdom and chooses to continue living. She chronicles her success and the story of her community. This is a very queer story that involves queer characters. Kimya pays tribute to a community leader who touched her life. She shares the story of people she has been able to touch. This is a story of Queer kinship, and a queer life lived with passion and joy. The album version of the song ends with Aesop Rock providing a verse of rap/spoken word. He ends with the line "Coincidentally the rebel in me ... walked like thunder." This song is an homage to the power of a life lived authentically. A queer life lived authentically. There are characters in my life that resemble the charters in Kimya's life. I have community leaders that have inspired and touched me. I like to believe there are people I touch and inspire. This song resonates with me so much because it feels like a mirror of my own life. Moving from despair to community and love.
In these dark times, many of us are despairing and scared. Rightfully so. The world seems bleak, the trans community is facing a full-frontal assault from the legal "powers that be." Regardless of what happens legally, open hatred is on the rise. Slurs are unabashedly and triumphantly used in the halls of the national senate and there is an eerie sense of impending violence in the air. Despite this, I believe we can take hope in knowing that we are the latest generation of queer folk who have walked this earth and survived the oppression and hate. As long as America has existed our community has walked through hatred and legal oppression. Life and music have taught me that every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end and darkness cannot last forever. Please stay strong and, when you can, Walk Like Thunder. Together we will survive.
Much Love,
MJ
I Should Have Known - Foo Fighters
I should've known that it would end this way
I should've known
there was no other way
Didn't hear your warning
Damn my heart gone deaf
I should've known
Look at the shape you're in
I should've known
But I dove right in
One thing is for certain
As I'm standing here
I should've known
Lay your hands in mine
Heal me one last time
Though I cannot forgive you yet
No, I cannot forgive you yet
Leave my heart in debt
I should've known
I was inside of you
I should've known
There was that side of you
Came without a warning
Caught me unaware
I should've known
I've been here before
I should have known
Don't want it anymore
One thing is for certain
I'm still standing here
I should've known
Maybe you was right
Didn't wanna fight
I should've known
Couldn't read the signs
Couldn't see the light
I should've known
Walk - Foo Fighters
A million miles away
Your signal in the distance
To whom it may concern
I think I lost my way
Getting good at starting over
Every time that I return
Learning to walk again
I believe I've waited long enough
Where do I begin?
Learning to talk again
Can't you see I've waited long enough?
Where do I begin?
Do you remember the days?
We built these paper mountains
Then sat and watched them burn
I think I found my place
Can't you feel it growing stronger
Little conquerors
Learning to walk again
I believe I've waited long enough
Where do I begin?
Learning to talk again
I believe I've waited long enough
Where do I begin?
Now
For the very first time
Don't you pay no mind
Set me free, again
To keep alive, a moment at a time
That's still inside, a whisper to a riot
The sacrifice, the knowing to survive
That first decline, another state of mind
I'm on my knees, I'm praying for a sign
Forever, whenever, I never wanna die
I never wanna die
I never wanna die
I'm on my knees, I never wanna die
I'm dancing on my grave
I'm running through the fire
Forever, whenever
I never wanna die
I never wanna leave
I'll never say goodbye
Forever, whenever
Forever, whenever
Learning to walk again
I believe I've waited long enough
Where do I begin?
Learning to talk again
an't you see I've waited long enough?
Where do I begin?
Learning to walk again
I believe I've waited long enough
Learning to talk again
Can't you see I've waited long enough?
Walk Unafraid - R.E.M.
As the sun comes up, as the moon goes down
These heavy notions creep around
It makes me think, long ago
I was brought into this life a little lamb
A little lamb
Courageous, stumbling
Fearless was my middle name
But somewhere there I lost my way
Everyone walks the same
Expecting me to step
The narrow path they've laid
They claim to
Walk unafraid
I'll be clumsy instead
Hold me love me or leave me high
Say "keep within the boundaries if you want to play"
Say "contradiction only makes it harder"
How can I be
What I want To be?
When all I want to do is strip away
These stilled constraints
And crush this charade
Shred this sad masquerade
I don't need no persuading
I'll trip, fall, pick myself up and
Walk unafraid
I'll be clumsy instead
Hold me love me or leave me high
If I have a bag of rocks to carry as I go
I just want to hold my head up high
I don't care what I have to step over
I'm prepared to look you in the eye
Look me in the eye
And if you see familiarity
Then celebrate the contradiction
Help me when I fall to
Walk unafraid
I'll be clumsy instead
Hold my love or leave me high
Walk unafraid
I'll be clumsy instead
Hold me love me or leave me high
Comments
Post a Comment