Spirituality - Buddhism

FORGE asked Pat Walsh -- a professor at Alverno College -- to speak to us on spiritual wellness, self-love, and Buddhism at our February meeting. Pat is a vibrant woman, who radiates warmth and a deep expression of compassion for other peoples' experiences. She is someone who can be brutally serious and outrageously funny. Regardless of the levity of her comments and contributions, she is always genuine -- very real.

I asked Pat if she would share her poignant and almost painfully humorous poem she wrote and read at February's FORGE meeting. In addition to simply sending the poem (For a Man), she also sent a second poem [Bringing the Dharma to Transmen (pre-op)] AND an introduction.

[If you would like to contact Pat, email info@forge-forward.org and FORGE will forward your message to her.]

I am a lesbian who started attending FORGE meetings a few years ago as an ally. Initially, my intention was to show solidarity in the LGBT community, but now I just feel like I am part of the group. We share a sacred path, transmen and allies: the journey to find out who we really are.

The topic that came up in a Forge meeting a few months ago was body dysphoria. I was deeply moved when one of the men in the group --who had not had surgery yet---shared his white hot hatred for his breasts. I wanted to respond to this suffering-as a feminist who has worked to love her own body, just as it is; as a mother who feels honored to witness her daughters becoming women; as a Buddhist who is coming to realize that I cause most of my own suffering. I wanted to ease this man's anger at his own body. I felt that I had learned something in my spiritual journey that might help him. I offered suggestions for treating his body with loving kindness. But with the insight that comes only through experience, some members of the group emphatically pointed out to me: "You don't get it! He really does hate his breasts and he can't get over it until they are gone."

I have done a great deal of thinking about how hard it is to understand the "other" and how little I truly know about Trans and spirituality. But as it happens--because FORGE is a place of openness and sharing--I was invited to be the speaker at the next meeting to talk about spirituality and Trans. Because poetry is a passion of mine, because poetry can communicate what is hard to say directly, I decided to write a poem for my dharma talk so I could allow my imagination to take me deeper into the trans experience. I wrote a second poem in reflection after the meeting.

My experience over the years with the TRANS community has been important to my growth as a person. When I came out in my early forties I had already been married ten years and had young children. It broke my heart that my marriage was ending. At the very moment that I finally admitted to myself that I would have to give up my dream of a traditional family, I realized that my next partner, if I ever had one, would have to be a woman. It was a heart wrenching realization and coming out was a difficult passage. Some of the time I felt like I was reinventing my life, my identity. But most of the time, I felt like I was losing my self. In the beginning, I tried to get a glimpse of what my new life might be. I went to a meeting to hear about the plans for creating the LGBT community center in Milwaukee . I knew what lesbian, gay, and bisexual were, but I had to raise my hand to find out what transgender meant.

I started reading coming out stories to give me courage. The stories that spoke to me the most were the ones about transgendered people. I thought, if they can find the courage to transcend the physical reality of their own bodies and respond to some deeper truth, then I can find the courage to change. Years passed and I kept meeting transgendered people whose profound self-acceptance--in the face of great obstacles--inspired me.

Over time, my two daughters become comfortable in the LGBT community. In my first year of coming out, my daughters and I marched in the PrideFest parade behind the Rainbow Family banner. At the starting line my younger daughter who was four years old at the time, studied the float of drag queens, straightened her posture, faced forward with a radiant smile, and said "Hello, Hollywood!" as she embarked on the parade. A few days ago I overheard my daughters, now in puberty, talking about the Unitarian church they attend with their father. "I saw some transgender people at coffee hour after the service." "Cool. Were they F to Ms or M to Fs?" My older daughter pointed out to me with pride that the permission slip for her church youth group's regional conference allowed the teenagers to check a box for either male, female, or transgender.

I recently developed a gender diversity course at the college where I teach. In this course we look at gender as a social construct and study LGBTQI issues around the world. I invite transpeople to speak to students about their experience. Since my older daughter didn't have high school the day the panels were scheduled, she tagged along with me to class. The trans community reminds me that the range of human experience is vast. As we were leaving the classroom my daughter said that she wanted to join the gay/straight alliance when she went to college, but she would make sure they included trans.

I wish I would have found Buddhism when I was coming out. It was the hardest time in my life and Buddhism would have helped me find more peace in my suffering. There is a tradition in Buddhism called "the bell." Ringing the bell is a way to call Buddhists to awareness, to invite them to meditate, to remind them that we are each a part of a sacred whole. You can use an actual bell or you can build a spiritual practice by using a reoccurring event that calls you to awareness, like the sight of the moon or the sound of birds. As I look back on my coming out, I realize that even though I didn't have Buddhism, I intuitively found the bell; the bell for me was the transgender community. Each time my path crossed with a transgendered person's path, it reminded me that gender and sexuality is fluid, not fixed. And if those two concepts--that seem carved in stone--were actually socially constructed, then maybe there are other concepts that I take for granted that hide a deeper truth.

Pat Walsh

These plump breasts,

Smashed beneath their binding,

Wish to enthusiastically greet the world.

These breasts do not understand

How much I am a man.

They are boobs, these breasts,

Bobbing above my belly;

They are hooters,

Hooting and howling at me.

They are jugs,

Jiggling and giggling at my manhood.

These bosomy bazooms belong on a baboon,

Not bursting my balloon.

These knockers have knocked me senseless.

These titties are twittering and tweaking my self esteem.

A tit for tat. Take that.

I don't want to be

Full figured, big busted, double breasted, hope chested.

These curves are all askew.

I want nothing to do with you.

Fuck you. Screw you.

Pat Walsh
January 2005

"Think of your breasts as the bell,

Calling you to pause, to breathe, to center.

Each time you encounter your breasts,

Use the moment to reunite your soul with the universe." (or not)

Perhaps you would rather regard your breasts

As a source of suffering,

The obstacle that keeps you from passing

In public, in private, even to yourself.

Perhaps the budding of your breasts was the first bell,

A warning bell that puberty had come to ruin you.

Why meditate on breasts?

Why remind yourself of trouble?

Because the bell calls you to awareness

Of your deeper self.

(A place transmen already know.)

Because breath pulls you into your body

And pushes you out again.

Inhale existence; exhale transcendence.

Because it can take a long time

To get the doctor, save the money, find the courage.

In the mean time,

Reconciling the experience of breasts

With the knowing of true gender

Forges authenticity;

Bringing mindfulness to the incongruity of breasts

Verifies masculinity.

" With gratitude, bring awareness to your breasts ."

But why?

Because transmen find manhood

Through the body of a woman.

Because these breasts, this bell,

Will be gone someday,

And the scars remaining

Will have to be the bell.

Pat Walsh
February 2005