From The Inside Out

I wrote the paragraph below this morning in response to a post on the Thomas group:
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Maybe I'm saying that whatever consciousness God MAY have is not the sort of consciousness homo sapiens consider to be what consciousness is. Maybe what consciousness is to God doesn't require a human invention like the various languages to KNOW why humans invented language. With the question for me being: Did we invent language in order to understand what God is or simply to understand how life on Earth relates to whatever sort of creative or destructive forces there are beyond our own. 
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I don't quite understand the second sentence and why I used it to segue to a short rap about human languages. I do like the question I asked by the ti-me I got there.

I just glanced up to the TV (which is just to the left of my computer monitor), and there was a video with our new Governor-elect, Bev Perdue. I don't like it. I don't like the idea of a woman being governor or acting like a man, anymore then I like encountering men who act like women. I was raised in The South and to be Jim Crow, but I found it easier to vote for a black man than for Hillary Clinton. I would have voted Independent again to avoid the whole situation, and give myself an out for refusing to vote for a woman. But, I felt a deep sense of history at work with Obama, and I wanted to be part of that from the inside out.

The problem I have with not liking women is that I don't love men. If I were born homosexual, that would explain everything, but I wasn't. Maybe I''ve progressed to a distaste for seeing people through the gender gap. I sort of became that gap when I asked for and received a vasectomy. I just didn't wanna deal with the problems brought into play by procreation which can appear to be the only dance of life. Even that was decided by women.

A table full of women and a bottle of whisky and a game of truth or dare in the very center of the women's liberation movement in the late Seventies and early Eighties. The specific subject of this game was whether or my then-wife was going to tell me she didn't want to have any more babies. Either with me or with anybody else. I'm guessing the way the game went, one of the circle of women around that table was chosen, or she more likely volunteered, to come over to where I was sitting watching the dancers, and tell me the truth of what my wife truly wanted me to know, but was afraid to mention.

I immediately agree that this was cool with me, but I always begin with a lie. It's easier to apologize later if what I agreed to didn't work out. I knew I had time before she could arrange to get her tubes tied. This second-hand announcement wasn't as fresh an idea as the me-singer (messenger) believed it to be.

In the coming weeks I reflected on what was at hand. I cared very much if my then-wife got her tubes tied, and then flipped that over to question what I really cared about. What I found kind of surprised me. Here was the perfect opportunity for me to find out how being infertile affected my spiritual quest. It was what I considered a "no blame" situation.

I was wrong. I don't want to reverse anything, but I was wrong because I didn't consider the consequences, and indeed, could not have. It was like with my remembering vision, I couldn't have known what to prey for to accomplish the end result. I never even considered that something like my remembering vision could be stalked. In turn, I couldn't have known what removing my ability to procreate would do to how I perceive life as I once knew it.

The persona I developed to make myself a viable contender for the favors of impregnable women didn't make any sense to me any more. The bottom line reason supporting my procreative activities became non-existent with the snip of a pair of surgical scissors. The ends were folded back and tied off. The incision was sewn up, and I became a neutered person.

I was no longer the person my then-wife lived with for two years before we married, and I was no long the person who impregnated her, and I was no longer the man who sired our children. I couldn't be. The personality I created through mimicry to be-co-me those persons I formerly acted like did not work for what amounted to me being a castrado.

One of the results of my receiving a vasectomy was that I became very angry. I didn't really understand why. I think I know why now. I felt betrayed. I wanted her to stop me. When, for whatever reason she didn't, it was too late. The die was cast.

In the new persona I've put together over the last forty years the eunuch bit has somewhat removed my desire to blame her to blaming women in general for the direction my life has taken. I had a strong, overpowering mother, and two older air-sign sisters who thought my water-sign mother was weak, and they practiced being strong to establish their own identities beginning with me to start the ball rolling.

I chose two women (or quite possibly chosen) who were both named after their fathers, and all of my legitimate children are female. Three above, two in between, and three after. It's too late now, but I think a marriage might have worked better with a more passive woman who didn't constantly challenge me to live up to what their fathers meant to them. Fat chance... eh?