Tears are clues. That the ocean inside is being stirred.
A truth unearthed from the body basement
Going in deep, causing water displacement.
A recognition of an unknown yearning,
Or part of self left for dead, softly returning.
Tears are cues. Cues that there is something to do. You are being moved!
Tears are directives. They say “Pay attention! I am instructing your destiny, play detective.”
We’ve all heard, to find your purpose, “Follow your bliss.” I think tears can be another breadcrumb for this. So here it is:
I am in a female body that is up into its thirties. It doesn’t cry when it looks at babies. And very little at weddings.
I cry like a baby, though…
When I contemplate the oneness of humanity.
When I witness someone forgiving an apparent enemy.
When I hear Marianne Williamson speak about almost absolutely anything, or, a surprising one- watching a minister pledging allegiance in the marriage between life-force and her. Finally giving her body to its whimsy, saying “Play with me in the way you want me, so we can be the change You wish to see. Take me, Here in front of everybody.”
Like a gay boy who’s never heard the word ‘gay,’ witnessing 'gay marriage' on TV, my heart leaping, eyes weeping, watching an ordination, only knowing my passion for that divination, not knowing it was possible to marry It before a congregation!
Turning inward to G-d saying, "Marry me, we're free! We can COME OUT! Open my lips, that my mouth might declare
I cry when I tune in and turn into the peace within my body's boundaries.
And know it to be everybody.
It’s like New York- if you can do it here, you can do it everywhere.
So you can keep your ok-cupidry and your ideas on the maximum age a woman can conceive. Don’t pretend to know my dreams based on biology. While you’re at it reflect that for this earth, adoption might be key. Weaving a rainbow family that is kinder ecologically.
I am not this body, but my veins course my own destiny.
And sure, if you know another human being who sings a similar song as me, send them my way. That’s called "community."
If in our song there’s harmony, the music makes people happy,
Our happiness might make us dance.
In dancing, baby may be conceived.
And home, in a land of fellow dancers,
We will happily name it