#pride for nondual animists, maybe

the dogs keep barking, the birds keep shitting on the car
the moon keeps playing games with the ocean
and no one can open the vault of stars

i was born with a penis. i dont hate it, i just dont identify as it. just like i dont identify with the body that i carry and that carries me. i dont hate it, i dont despise it, but i am not it. just temporarily i experience through it. this body, with this penis, is a rhizome of fluids, symbiotic agencies all entertaining each other, for now. this party will eventually end, and it may have already ended, and this is the afterparty now. an underworld party, slowly melting into some psychedelic pool of undifferentiatable goo. as it was, as it will be. coming and going, to and fro, the sentience of water and fire together produce a third thing that immediately seeks a relative position.

gender, the social construct designed to control how humans behave, can only ever be a holographic fantasm, a dream projected onto a mirror. the social violence that arises from this reflective act is an enslaved angel, piercing the promise that god made. that god is. that we are.

if we ask 'what is liberation?', we will get an almost infinite number of competing answers, as liberation is interpreted and defined relative to the position of the observer. the western mind interprets all paradox as problems to solve, mathematical politics with winners and losers, a calculus of binaries, war shamanism. all the world an externality, material that does things to us against our will. liberation therefore must operate beyond the limited parameters of our mental models, must be the sky of another gravity, a milky way we find ourselves suspended in, much to our chagrin... the child that eventually rebels against the indignity of needing mothers milk is also the child that is fated to become a mother, regardless of the gender designation or biological sex function.

we are all mothers. we are all mothering. we are all in and of the bloodmilksea. currented around as waves or rains or morning dew that bursts invisibly into drinkable air.

the problem of gender is baked into the unmanageability of our incarnal shape. countless ancestral mother-fathers of all sexual orientation, of all biological diversity, dealing with the unresolvable paradox of bein'bornT!

the stupefying felt sense of being carrier waves, echoes ringing out across the sharp contacts of other 'nonhuman' bodies.

before we had a designation to other ourselves as not-other, what would it have been to scrape our skin against the skin of land of tree of rock of beast?

our manifold wetware learning over generations of living experiment, layering itself over and over, until such designations were possible, until such perceptual decisions could be fathomed as true, undeniable, real.

and now we live inside those simulations, our original inheritances masked over with narratives about thewaythingsactuallyarebecausereasons.

my #pride is knowing, feeling, that liberation is not merely a stance against simulated realities disguised as objective truth. nor is it just an escape route away from violence or impermanence toward some shangri la of Total Queer Freedom TM.

yet for all this preamble i cannot name it, it defies such status markers. i seem to be able only to name what it is not, and become dissolved into that open space that cannot be colonized.