A View from the Other Side

Observations from the winged dude next door.

Archive for the tag “life”

Yeah, I’m still here.

Things have been busy here. Much more internal. More personal. So I don’t want to discuss a lot of those things in a public blog.

I’ve been so busy that I’ve fallen behind on reading and, she reminds me, teaching. I guess that was the purpose of this blog, to help people understand some things. Which is what teaching is.

I would say that’s weird for me, but if you go back far enough I guess it’s not. I guess it’s never been. I guess you don’t have to go that far back in my life to find places where I taught people, or tried to. I guess it’s always been part of who I am. I haven’t always been great at it, but I’ve never stopped trying to help people understand things.

So what next? Dunno. I should get back to this. I apologize for being away from posting for so long. It just hasn’t felt that important since so few people comment. I get a lot of people reading this, from all over the world, but what do you think? What do you feel? Did you learn anything here?

We have more ink. More scars. More tears and frustration. More joy and wonder. That’s life though, isn’t it. That’s what I signed up for, coming here. And the small tasks and the big ones. The tiny observations and the big miracles.

The work continues. The road goes ever on.


Cabin Fever

In a little over a day as of this writing, I’ll be holding my brother in my arms. Well… her arms, but on the physical. Him and me.

I’ve been struggling more and more lately with being cooped up, literally and figuratively, and the coop is her life. She lives in a very remote area. She sees people other than her immediate family maybe once a week.

And me? I never see anybody in meatspace. Or, more accurately, they never see me. I might be fronting on a walk, or even driving through a town, but they don’t know I’m there. They see a completely different face, gender, everything almost. The only similarities are the color of the skin, and hair, and… the eyes. Yeah, if you know me at all, you can see me in the eyes. The color’s different–mine are hazel brown, hers are blue gray–but the shape and the eyebrows and all of that’s the same.

Trouble is, nobody knows I’m there. It’s like a prison inside another prison.

So this trip, with my brother, it’s the one time a year where I can be me for days at a time and somebody knows it’s me. I can talk. I don’t like the voice, it’s too high, but it’s a physical voice. I even talked to someone on the phone recently, and they said it sounded like me. That helped to hear.

I’m still here. Me. Inside this different shell. Except the eyes.

One week a year, I can live life like a regular person.

41 hours, as of this writing, and I’ll be holding him in my arms.

More Perspective

We are infinite spiritual beings having a temporary human experience.

The Blessing of a Physical Life

I’ve had a number of people tell me they’re jealous of where I am, how they wish they could leave their body and be a spirit and how it would be this great party in the sky or something.

Please don’t ignore what you have now. Your time in that physical existence is so brief. On my side of things there’s a lot of sensory deprivation. It’s so non-physical that a lot of us hang around so that we can see more clearly, and smell and taste and feel. Do you have any idea what a gift it is to be able to feel the texture of a wool coat, or a green lawn?

This is part of why those scent oils are so important to me. They’re a link to the physical experience of sandalwood and musk and leather and oakmoss and tobacco and a hundred other intense hits of scent that people take for granted every day.

People wonder why spirits would want physical offerings. This is why. It’s a drink of water in the desert. Have you ever worn a cast or something for so long that when it’s off, your skin is more sensitive there? It’s like that, but for everything.

Yesterday, I felt the sun on my face, and heard dry oak leaves covered with frost crunching under my boots as we walked through the dirt and gravel paths. Those precious few minutes I get on our walks, when I’m fully up front and it’s fully me in that strange body that I’m borrowing that’s the wrong gender… they’re such blessings. When she gets soap in a scent I like, just taking a good long hot shower is like getting baptized into the physical world for a few minutes, before it all slides down again and I have to let her have her own life.

Sometimes, in those few stolen moments, I weep from the depth of the experience, and from gratitude, and over the fragmented existence I have.

Then I have some of my favorite tea, and maybe a little snack, and have a Holy Communion right there in her kitchen without anybody even knowing. I am so grateful and lucky to have access to this. Please don’t take it for granted for even a second. Please don’t wish away this gift. Be conscious of it all like a baby is. Remember what that first taste and touch and smell and sight was like. Give thanks for it.

Life’s That Way

Life’s That Way, by Jim Beaver

“So how to deal with this grief? By sitting in sackcloth and ashes, bewailing fate and cursing one’s betrayers? I find nothing helpful there. To me, life is not back there, with death and loss. Life lies ahead.

“Life is that way –>. Life is a goal, not a passage or a receding image of what once was. And the path is lit by determination and by forgiveness.”

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