(hardly) all the isms: June 2008 Archives

The trilogy, billed first as Xenogenesis and then as Lilith's Brood, closes with more insight on the human condition from the vantage point of maturity. (Am I a grown-up, now?)

"Humans said one thing with their bodies and another with their mouths and everyone had to spend time and energy figuring out what they really meant. And once we did understand them, the Humans got angry and acted as though we had stolen thoughts from their minds." (p. 548)

Why are we so reluctant to be known? And what is the crime of understanding?

"...the ooloi perceived all that a living being said - all words, all gestures, and a vast array of other internal and external bodily responses. Ooloi absorbed everything and acted according to whatever consensus they discovered. Thus ooloi treated individuals as they treated groups of beings. They sought a consensus. If there was none, it meant the being was confused, ignorant, frightened, or in some other way not yet able to see its own best interests. The ooloi gave information and perhaps calmness until the could perceive a consensus. Then they acted." (p. 553)

Jodahs is another child of Lilith, Tino and Nikanj, Dichaan and Ahajas. Jodahs has exceeded the limits of genetic engineering designed to ensure only male and female children, instead becoming ooloi, an ungendered being. "Not being able to go to anyone for comfort...can make you like the lightening - mindless and perhaps deadly" (p. 558).

I have acted "like the lightening" sometimes, in past events and instances I'd rather not remember. Quick anger and deep hurt spark words that leap unbidden from the tongue even before my mind has wrapped itself around them. Then come the rationalizations: the excuses and reasons why, the justifications. None suffice.

Some things, however, must be said.

Jodahs is afraid of causing harm. "Give yourself time. you're a new kind of being. There's never been anyone like you before. But there's no flaw in you. You just need time to find out more about yourself." (p. 571)

The hard things Nikanj had to say were about killing in self-defense - if absolutely necessary. Such an action is a horror to the Oankali, whose reverence for life exceeds all other imperatives. "Nothing is more tenacious than the life we are made of." (p. 663)

That is the Oankali religion in a nutshell: "A world of life from apparent death, from dissolution." (p. 663) I am reminded of Alvin the Maker and quantum physics.

If one accepts the fact of quantum indeterminacy, however unlikely the probability, there remains chance - for life, for change, for health, for happiness, for any good thing (just as equally as, to be fair, any bad thing). One can never predict when, where, how, or why one may discover - in themselves and others -

Note:
Book Two: Adulthood Rites
Book One: Dawn

Tommy said to my friends: "You're funny!" :-) This was after Kelly regaled us with the joke about a man returning to college and learning something about logic. She went on to talk about racial tensions in Kansas:

"Me and Steph went to a KKK rally in Topeka...."
I had to interrupt: "We went to protest the rally!"

Meanwhile, Kay dispensed her wisdom:

Later, at Frances' pool party, a bunch of hooligans from the old days gathered. Tammy teased Kathy's kids about horseback riding: "Merry-go-rounds don't count." Someone (was it Lori?) sprained her ankle the last time she rode a horse.

How'd you do that?

I was drunk and fell off.

Everyone told me I looked better without the hair. No surprise. :-)

The hours drifted by, filled with easy conversation. When I returned to Kansas City two years ago for my nephew's funeral, it did not even occur to me that some of my old friends might appear - I had been away for more than two decades, hadn't everyone else scattered too? Nope, Kay said, I was the only one. I hoped for a chance to tell everyone how much their friendship means to me, the stability I gain from knowing that they are all still there. We were not in a sentimental space, just a casual one - like the old days.

After the long lazy day, five of us scooted off to catch Gay Pride. In the end, it did not matter at all that festivities ended at 10 pm instead of midnight - our arrival at the Liberty Memorial outdoor venue at 9:54 created another adventure. We moved on to

Organizers pitched this as the 30th year, which is a slight exaggeration. When we - me, Bill Todd, Marc Hein, and a very few others - got together in 1988 to plan a Gay and Lesbian Awareness event (GALA), there had not been any pride events in the KC area for several years. We did know they had occurred before, but - as far as I know - had no contact with any former organizers. Maybe some of the original organizers reappeared after I moved away? We held a first GALA event with a measly 200 participants, which grew to 500 the second year. I returned to town for the third year's event - an estimated 3000 and the first ever parade. Marc insisted I ride in the lead car (some people whom I didn't know weren't so happy about that but others agreed).

This was my first experience with the humility necessary to be a public figure. I use this concept deliberately - because I failed, and the lesson has never left.

I had no part in planning that year. My activism had led me to democratic politics and national-level organizing in the lesbian community, I had been fired (literally because of activism) and moved away. Marc and I talked about AIDS and the gay community for most of the ride. He was expert at setting the pace - I felt we us moving so slowly! The route was long...I lost track of time. Suddenly we topped a hill and a huge roar greeted us - we were at Southmoreland Park and a huge crowd spotted us the moment we came into view. I heard them before I saw them. The noise nearly compelled me to stand - in fact, I struggled with the visceral shock: this moment of collective celebration deserved cheering and I was the one in the only position to act as cheerleader. All it would have taken was for me to stand up and wave my arms - to use my body as a sign of triumph.

I could not do it. I was too embarrassed. I felt doubt - was I even supposed to be there? Should it have been someone else in the passenger seat of the lead car? I could not let go of my own ego and allow myself - my Self, in the guise of my Body - to symbolize for all of us that extraordinary historical moment.

This year, like last, there were tens of thousands of people celebrating pride in our community. Most events were at the largest outdoor venue in Kansas City (short of a sports stadium), rife with symbolic value. From those humble single afternoon programs, the event now spans an entire weekend. The estimate was thirty thousand people, of all stripes, religions, races, and ages: a human rainbow.