Fairfax, VA, USA. I sing the body electric, the miracle of consciousness that resides in seven million human individuals on this planet and numerous other species we prefer to ignore. Others may write of the great unwashed umbrella of gender theory, the Chicks with Dicks hookers, the performance of Drag Queens, the political agendas of Transgender Activists, the public theater of youthful genderfuckers, and the purity and excess of transvestite purpose.

I sing of the quiet, hardworking women and men who participate in the day to day turmoil of family and workplace; of women who are required to excel at work, raise their happy children, and keep their husbands and lovers happy.

We are post-op transsexuals who are both ambitious and thoughtful without ever feeling the need to announce to the world that we were once women born transsexual.The revel of men and testosterone soaked behavior, the whole locker room of crossdressing pretention that fills the internet, where crude isn’t just tolerated but encouraged and passes for intellectual dissertation, interests me little.

I sing the world in all its many varieties, rejoicing that I am but one of many.We sing with the voices of Capitalists and Socialists, Communists and Anarchists, believing in the necessity of Big Government and the sanctity of individual freedom, the primacy of our leaders and the righteousness of personal liberty. We rebel against legal strictures that deny our existence and embrace the cultural traditions of family, marriage, and service to our country.

Our voices can be heard counting cadence in the Army and the Marines; we are aboard the Navy’s great ships, fly the Air Force’s fast warplanes, and guard your coasts with the Coast Guard. Our voices echo in the marble back halls of Washington and gather on the National Mall at the Lincoln Memorial to exercise our freedoms.

Americans all, we work our farms in Iowa and the Dakotas, run grocery stores in Pascagoula, teach school in Reno, minister to the sick in Chicago, shoot moose in Alaska, hold office in New York and California.

I sing of your neighbors and co-workers, the woman who works late in the cubicle next you, the bus driver who picks you up in the morning come rain or snow, the next door neighbor who takes you to your doctor’s appointment when your car is in the shop, the boy who plays with your daughter on weekends and afterschool.

You do not see us on your television screens. We seldom make the newspapers or march in Pride Parades screaming sexual innuendoes and obscenities.

We are not a circus designed to attract the fawning media eye. We do not willingly perform in the glare of the center ring. We make no demands other than to be like every other woman and man.

We are not here for your sons and daughters. We do not want a cultural revolution or wish to overthrow the established government. We have no truck with religion except at those intersections when it trucks with us. Render unto God those things that are God’s; render unto Science those these that Science discovers. Caesar should have no say in those things in which he has no expertise.

I sing of the Sequoia and the Great Sierra, the Rocky Mountains and the five Great Lakes, Manhattan Island and the Gulf Stream Waters, wherever there are Americans, we are there.

We are cops and nurses, lawyers, firemen, and doctors. We drive the truck that brings your food to the grocery and stand behind the counter making your caffè latte. We are mothers and fathers and daughters and sons.

Wherever people are hungry, we are there among them. Wherever people are unemployed, we wait in line for our next job. We live among the homeless, cast out by friends and family.

We are farmers and professors, the little kid next door and the octogenarian at the end of the block. We are the patient left untreated by the family doctor and the medical condition not covered by insurance or funded by the government.

We live in houses and apartments, in our cars and the street’s dark corners, earning six figure salaries and panhandling for our next meal.

We are the woman sitting alone at the end of the bar, nursing her glass of wine so she can remain among strangers rather than go home to an empty one bedroom. We are the girl sitting in her apartment after work with nowhere to go except back to work, who watches the news and late night talk shows to hear a friendly human voice before she goes to bed.

I sing of the women and men who do what they must to make right their bodies, who subject themselves to hormones and the surgeon’s knife to correct the mistakes of gene expression and fetal development.

We are the swimmer naked in the swimming pool, rolling to and from in the heave of the water; the horseman in his saddle, the rower in her scull, the sweaty laborers on their lunch break and the farmer’s daughter with her border collie working the sheep.

Girls, mothers, house-keepers, the female soothing a child, the march of firemen in their uniforms, the scent of smoke still on them: we are all of these. We are the fathers of sons and the mothers of daughters and have known the sprawl and fullness of our babies and the death of our parents.

Hair, breasts, hips, the bend of legs, the movement of hand and arm; love-flesh swelling, aching, longing for the fullness that only comes from being loved.

We are brides and virgins and rapacious hungers; wives to our husbands, mothers to our children; husbands and fathers and good providers. The same red-running blood fills our veins and swells our hearts, all the passions, desires, reachings, and aspirations of humanity.

All human life is sacred. I would no more impose on the lives of religious believers than I would have them impose their beliefs on me or the Constitution.

Each of us belong here, just as much as all the rest of mankind, as much as the powerful, the well-off, and the well connected. As much as you.

I breathe the sweet air of Earth. Her green hills are my home and birthplace, her rivers and oceans, the holy chrism that anoints my flesh.

I sing the world in all its many varieties, rejoicing that I am but one of many.

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Singing the Body Electric
Sunday, 14 March 2010

TS-Si.org

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