Sometimes I think there must be an army - no, a nation - no, an entire planet's worth - of us, stumbling through life unawares. That was how the sermon yesterday morning closed, with a quote from Einstein about the distinction of consciousness being an illusion, which I'm probably badly misrepresenting. I can't recall the correct words at the moment. (It was really good, though, the sermon. Homily. Reflection. Is there a word that's more correct than the others there? Faith, and how it's a growing thing we must bring to life within ourselves, like love, rather than a static thing that is given to us, which is sorta what the disciples seemed to be asking for.)
Biological Anthology is slowly picking up speed, though we're still spending a lot of time on building blocks. Our prof today, in explaining mitosis and meiosis and diploids and haploids and somatic cells and gametes, paused after explaining the X and Y chromosomes, and what they mean, to point out that this referred to sex and not gender, by the way. Y' know, I've sat through the lecture of gametes and somatic cells more times than I can count, and I have never, ever, ever had a prof or teacher make that distinction. It made me absurdly happy - afterwards, I stopped by to talk a bit, to thank him for that and attempt to clarify a disagreement about mathematics.
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, at this point, when conversation with people turns to gender identity and religion and all the deepest points of what constitutes our humanity. But it still takes me aback sometimes. (He accused me of being politician-level of evasive with regards to poetry - I hadn't realized, I have developed the habit, or possibly skill, of dodging certain sensitive subjects. "What makes a poem good, for you?" is one of them. "Well, that depends on the poem, that's like asking what makes a person good, isn't it?") Talking religion is an odd thing, and an interesting one, and one that makes sense for a conversation that started going around about Creationism. What throws me for a loop is when it veers, unexpectedly, into gender. Oh, shit. But it... well, I dunno.
There must be a world of us, stumbling through life so very alone, trying to figure out where and how we got to who we are. Queer, and trying to first admit that to ourselves, and then to each other, and then staring down the world with the scarlet rainbow flashing over our hearts...
Anyway. Daniel is in California for the week, so it'll likely be two more weeks before I see him - having not seen him since before his birthday. I'm going to resist the urge to grind my teeth at reality, and take two weeks to do something somewhat spectacular. Letter-writing is a dying art, I have been told (sometime, not recently). While talking about gender today, and the way some people fall in love with minds, and gender doesn't much enter into it, I explained that I'd come out here for a boy whose mind I fell in love with before I ever laid eyes on him. Thinking about Daniel makes me grin like an idiot, and I don't even care. Talking about him, even in passing, I suspect leads passers-by to imagine me some sort of defunct sappish fool.
I have two weeks, and an elaborate plot involving baked ziti and a ridiculous amount of cheese and sauce. (I was going to make it tomorrow and freeze it until Saturday - now I'm glad I asked, I'll hold off and do that next week.) The other part of the plan involves moss, waterfalls, and books, and is approximately half complete (it takes a full month to work all the way, but I didn't have the funding to start a month before his birthday). And in the meantime, I'll haunt the library at night to talk to him, or sit in silence with the invisible wires of internet and thought between us.
There must be worlds of us, stumbling through life under the painful illusion that we're all alone, in parallel journey with a thousand thousand great-souled companions.
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