I saw a Simpsons episode that reflected what life for me has been like for a long time. It parodies Goldilocks and the 3 Bears – Lisa is Goldilocks. The first bed is too hard, the second bed is too soft, and the third is too hard.
I have been letting my masculine instincts go soft - flaccid - for 11 years; four of them laying down most of the day with a feeling of oceanic chaos rushing through my body while I coped. Doing nothing but coping for so long, I became mired in the apathy of limbo. There were times I craved death, but I couldn’t take it on knowing the singularity of my experience might become important to many people, since I am privy to understanding that can only come to a male-identified male whom God transsexualized. God was able to transsexualize me through my receptivity to my inner-world.
You cannot, at once, be hard in the external world and receptive to the inner-world. Such hardness keeps the unconscious at bay, and softness admits it. Dreams, meditation, contemplation, entheogens, and mindfulness soften the ego. Through the softened ego, identity is molded from within; as if from clay, like Adam. Our psyches our sculpture like our bodies.
Staying in softness for a long time habituates it. I won’t fight softness, because that is upsetting. I will just stay focused and present and wait for the universe to lead me away from softness when it’s time; on to harder dimensions that can make the soft more vital; dimensions in love and creation and the body…
Softness has made me a whiner, a grumbler. Behind the softness of whining and grumbling is hard, vitalizing grief.
I focus deeply on my body to feel its vitality through the softness.
I have not belonged in my perfect softness to another body, in any context, since I was a zygote
The universe heals us by applying hardness to perfect softness. “God is pressure,” it is said.
At the beginning of my spiritual path, when I still identified as male, my masculinity fueled little but rage, comedy, survival and sex. It did not support achievement or creativity. I was headed for homelessness. In a dream my future, miserable, male, homeless self asked God, “Will you rape me yesterday?”
I have been criticized for saying God rapes; but it is a fact that God raped Mohammed (see Karen Armstrong’s biography of him). God raped me, too; and that’s ok. God rapes certain people so others don’t have to be.
But if you ask to be raped, as I did in the dream, is it rape? Yes, it is consensual rape. Had God not raped me, the world would have. In fact, a dream about the fate of my male self had I not followed my path showed soldiers amputating a man’s leg and then raping him with it. Instead, the destiny of the path I chose was pictured in this dream: I am a female rape victim.
My masculine ego went flaccid, releasing my attachments to my main masculine attributes (rage, comedy, sex, survival), thence engaging my receptivity to spirit and dreams, and the feminine unconscious poured in; raping me of my identity. This dream expresses my male self’s role in the consensuality of the rape:
Men with raging erections are lined up before angels. The men supposed to let their erections go flaccid. The tension is making their jaws clench and their teeth jut monstrously.
I was lined up to be raped of my identity; essentially to be killed and reborn. And the psychic rape continued after I was female identified.
At present, my male self is being reborn as an expression of my ability to be active in the external world. As such I recently dreamed:
I am editing a collection of my work, when something interferes with it, preventing me from deleting. The screen becomes a map and inside the map appears the silhouette of a head and arms raised. The figure is moving like it is trying to fight its way out of the map. Then BOOM this boy – a teen with short hair bursts through the map into the room, not very conscious. I say to someone with me, “It was bound to happen someday.” “Where are you from?” I ask him. “What?” he asks. I repeat. He is dazed and trying to come to.
The boy is awakening out of the flaccidity of unconsciousness.
Last night, as I wondered about the boy making me “erect” in the world - instead of lying flaccid on the couch and coping - a documentary about rap music culture was on TV; and as if talking directly to me, an electrifying black dude said:
Go hard or go home
Get down or lay down.
Watching him and his peers, I understood the power that black men in my dreams represent.
I wrote: “I have not gone hard in a while
My whole being went soft with the loss of my masculinity
Soft, flaccid.
The testosterone, the muscle memory, the mind
drained away. The way my male self willed my being into action evaporated.
The clay of my bones melted into softness, back into mud.
“I died and transformed, died and transformed over and over…over and over…until I found entities of the Kingdom: the soul, wisdom, the feminine, Jesus, the Queen of Heaven. Their centrality to experience is heightened as one becomes enlightened.”
On Monday, Wednesday and Friday updates are posted to Amy George’s other blog Ask the Dream Queen, for which she interprets reader-submitted dreams.
I have been letting my masculine instincts go soft - flaccid - for 11 years; four of them laying down most of the day with a feeling of oceanic chaos rushing through my body while I coped. Doing nothing but coping for so long, I became mired in the apathy of limbo. There were times I craved death, but I couldn’t take it on knowing the singularity of my experience might become important to many people, since I am privy to understanding that can only come to a male-identified male whom God transsexualized. God was able to transsexualize me through my receptivity to my inner-world.
You cannot, at once, be hard in the external world and receptive to the inner-world. Such hardness keeps the unconscious at bay, and softness admits it. Dreams, meditation, contemplation, entheogens, and mindfulness soften the ego. Through the softened ego, identity is molded from within; as if from clay, like Adam. Our psyches our sculpture like our bodies.
Staying in softness for a long time habituates it. I won’t fight softness, because that is upsetting. I will just stay focused and present and wait for the universe to lead me away from softness when it’s time; on to harder dimensions that can make the soft more vital; dimensions in love and creation and the body…
Softness has made me a whiner, a grumbler. Behind the softness of whining and grumbling is hard, vitalizing grief.
I focus deeply on my body to feel its vitality through the softness.
I have not belonged in my perfect softness to another body, in any context, since I was a zygote
The universe heals us by applying hardness to perfect softness. “God is pressure,” it is said.
At the beginning of my spiritual path, when I still identified as male, my masculinity fueled little but rage, comedy, survival and sex. It did not support achievement or creativity. I was headed for homelessness. In a dream my future, miserable, male, homeless self asked God, “Will you rape me yesterday?”
I have been criticized for saying God rapes; but it is a fact that God raped Mohammed (see Karen Armstrong’s biography of him). God raped me, too; and that’s ok. God rapes certain people so others don’t have to be.
But if you ask to be raped, as I did in the dream, is it rape? Yes, it is consensual rape. Had God not raped me, the world would have. In fact, a dream about the fate of my male self had I not followed my path showed soldiers amputating a man’s leg and then raping him with it. Instead, the destiny of the path I chose was pictured in this dream: I am a female rape victim.
My masculine ego went flaccid, releasing my attachments to my main masculine attributes (rage, comedy, sex, survival), thence engaging my receptivity to spirit and dreams, and the feminine unconscious poured in; raping me of my identity. This dream expresses my male self’s role in the consensuality of the rape:
Men with raging erections are lined up before angels. The men supposed to let their erections go flaccid. The tension is making their jaws clench and their teeth jut monstrously.
I was lined up to be raped of my identity; essentially to be killed and reborn. And the psychic rape continued after I was female identified.
At present, my male self is being reborn as an expression of my ability to be active in the external world. As such I recently dreamed:
I am editing a collection of my work, when something interferes with it, preventing me from deleting. The screen becomes a map and inside the map appears the silhouette of a head and arms raised. The figure is moving like it is trying to fight its way out of the map. Then BOOM this boy – a teen with short hair bursts through the map into the room, not very conscious. I say to someone with me, “It was bound to happen someday.” “Where are you from?” I ask him. “What?” he asks. I repeat. He is dazed and trying to come to.
The boy is awakening out of the flaccidity of unconsciousness.
Last night, as I wondered about the boy making me “erect” in the world - instead of lying flaccid on the couch and coping - a documentary about rap music culture was on TV; and as if talking directly to me, an electrifying black dude said:
Go hard or go home
Get down or lay down.
Watching him and his peers, I understood the power that black men in my dreams represent.
I wrote: “I have not gone hard in a while
My whole being went soft with the loss of my masculinity
Soft, flaccid.
The testosterone, the muscle memory, the mind
drained away. The way my male self willed my being into action evaporated.
The clay of my bones melted into softness, back into mud.
“I died and transformed, died and transformed over and over…over and over…until I found entities of the Kingdom: the soul, wisdom, the feminine, Jesus, the Queen of Heaven. Their centrality to experience is heightened as one becomes enlightened.”
On Monday, Wednesday and Friday updates are posted to Amy George’s other blog Ask the Dream Queen, for which she interprets reader-submitted dreams.
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