Aadi

I wonder why some days there is no inspiration and others it bubbles over. 

Where do ideas come from anyway? ~  ~ ~

"You have been looking for me"

My first, my only thought upon waking was 'shimmering' and then a wide eyed 'Oh My!'.

The being who was before me (saying standing just wouldn't make any sense for there was no place to stand there) defied description. Dickens had said it best, writing "... - like a child; yet not so like a child as like an old man through some supernatural medium..." when describing the ghost of Christmas past. To this spirit, not a man or boy - not a girl or woman but all at the same time, I asked or maybe just thought "Who are you?"

"I'm Aadi" she said, settling down to appear to be a woman about my daughter's age, "and you have been thinking about me a lot lately, so it was time for us to meet." 

The landscape gathering itself around us seemed to be a forest and we were (or seemed to be) sitting on that old beach blanket at the base of a huge tree. "And you are..." she looked up into the tree and pointed at one leaf suddenly glowing enough to stand out among the rest "that one" and smiled gently at what had to be an astonished look on my face. "Are you saying that I got it right about the tree and all being one?" She tilted her head side to side, as if deciding; "You did a pretty good job creating a metaphor that works for you, so we will take it as far as we can; ok?" I nodded at that because it almost seemed to be a condescending remark but had been said with so much love that I couldn't possibly feel offended. "So, every decision we make does create a new branch?" 
"Yes, as I said, you have a good model here, but you do know it is more than that don't you?"

Before I could answer, she looked up and I followed her gaze and saw the branches of my tree suddenly shrink in thickness into hairs. Where the branches could have been counted, the threads were infinite in number and the branching of those threadlike paths was so dense I couldn't follow it any more. Where there had been leaves there were dots at the tips of the threads, more numerous and as bright as stars.

"In what you wrote the other day it was all about your choices." She shook her head. " There is so much more than personal choice." "Well, yes, I left out all of the sub-atomic particle stuff." There was that gentle smile again. "You left out a few other things too, so here is an important question. Did you choose to be transsexual?" I tried not to look offended. "I am not crazy! Nobody would choose that!" Almost laughing at my reaction, Aadi carried right on. "You already know from meeting Beth that not all of you are male-born, let alone transsexual, so tell me, what explains these sort of things if not choice?" 

I nodded and then shook my head too realizing the implications of my oversimplification. "Yes, I see. There are important factors that make our paths diverge that aren't under our control." She was nodding at me to carry on. "Like whether we were male or female born, or whether we got measles with the rest of the neighbourhood kids, or... " Aadi reached over and stroked my hair and beamed at me as though I was a toddler who had finally started to stand on my own. "This streak of curiosity your branch has is endearing. Keep at it." She got up and smoothed the gown that had been spread around her legs. "Stop by and visit again if you get stuck, ok?"

"Please, wait, I have so many questions!" 

Looking over as she began strolling away and disappearing like the Cheshire Cat, 

"I know. 

Like I just said,

an endearing quality."

All One

Those of you who have been here regularly have read my infrequent reports on travels in dreamtime to visit with alternate selves. It may be that you have wondered about them. Those of you who remember your high school literature classes might be thinking 'literary device'. The physics students among you might be thinking 'many-worlds theory of reality'. I am more of the latter variety than the former, although writing here has made we wish I could go back and give Mrs. Lane more of my attention in grade 13 Lit.; such is life.

For me, these alternate selves are real. "Every action has a consequence" allows for every possible thing that might happen to actually happen to some version of each living being. For example, deciding to write this post has caused some other thing that might have happened to be part of the life path of some other version of me while 'I', or 'this version of I' am sitting here instead. Every moment's decision causes some change in our future, but here is the thing; every possible consequence and every possible 'person' we might have been does in fact exist in their separate reality. An amazing thought and one I am convinced is real. Every life is like a multidimensional tree where every choice creates a new branch. Each leaf is a unique but connected individual.

Some version (or most certainly, versions) of 'me' in some time in her past found a way to transition. When I found Beth, a version of me who was in fact born female bodied, created by a choice made before we were born, It was a surprise. The alternate 'me' I was searching for was not a genetic female, but one who had transitioned. Sometimes what we get is what we really need though. Understanding her has been something of a turning point for me.

Since that conversation on the beach, I have continued the search for that person the boy might have become. It might be that like many of our sisters here in Blogistan over the years, having moved into a life as a woman, she has no interest in chatting, even in dreamtime, with one who did not. More likely, the right circumstance just hasn't happened yet.

In the meantime, it is a real pleasure to chat with, or read the blogs that some have begun to post after their lives here are done. I am not going to point at individuals here. Some don't want followers who make casual readers start wondering about their history. Others don't seem to be worried about that. We are all so very different and isn't that wonderful!? Whether these ladies concern themselves with things 'T' or just report on the people they have met, perhaps a new job, a hobby, boyfriend, recipes or places they have gone, these women are reporting about a sort of life that gives me hope for those many versions of 'me' that are out there now, and are yet to be. To those who wonder, I can report that even when you don't transition, life is interesting and full when you accept yourself where you are, and let it be interesting and full.

It might be that I will never have a conversation with one of Halle's descendants, but that is ok. Maybe I will be one of them? Future choices, choices and more choices.

To all of my sisters and brothers in an infinitely diverse set of worlds, be well all of you. In some magical way, we are all ONE.

A Woman Named Beth

I was expecting to see the boy again. It was the smells and sounds that took me back to my youth that made it harder to recognize the woman stretched out on the blanket at first.

Wavy blonde hair hanging just above her shoulder was framed by a colourful golf visor with no logo on it (my kind of person obviously) . The white coverup showed a royal blue bathing suit underneath and her feet were bare. A pair of sandals with jeweled bands were lying close by the bottle of spf60 sunscreen and not far from the ~ I Love Bermuda ~ beach bag. The overall impression was all woman, but unquestionably, all me.

This was dream-time, and I had asked for what was to come so many times that it was a surprise to realize it had come this night. Going to sleep, there was a calm reverie; walking down my childhood beach as my young self, yet as the dream I was currently having began, I was that same man who shows up in the mirror every morning, not the young me and definitely not the person who inhabits my heart. This dream was to be about contrasts, and the woman I was looking at took my breath away as I began to grasp how the results of such small difference happening at the microscopic level so long ago had cascaded down the decades.

She was on a very familiar and very old beach blanket with lots of other goodies spread around her. A phone, cooler bag, an ipad that she was busy working on beside that colourful beach bag with a copy of "i of the vortex" by Rodolfo R. Llinas sticking out.

"That's a really interesting book isn't it?" I remarked, pretending to have just been walking the beach, when in fact I had simply materialized behind her.
Looking up at me, obviously surprised, she did a double take, then looking back and forth at me and the book, said "yes, very". Staring deeply into my eyes then up and down with a 'deer in the headlights' sort of urgency she just as quickly apologizing, explaining "Oh my, you really startled me! Usually when someone walks down this beach I see them long before they arrive. It isn't just that though. Your eyes, mouth and nose are so much like my father who passed away ten years ago. I am sure I know all my relatives, but... "

Shaking her head side to side and looking out toward the water, she unfolded her body and stood, offered her hand, smiling and said, "Please, shall we start over? I'm Beth." I told her my first name and she shook her head again. "That is so strange! That was my father's name too and you do look so much like him; taller and more hair by far (she chuckled at that as she took in my lengthening gold and grey mop), but your face… oh dear I am going on aren't I?"
Her image shimmered for just the shortest of moments and it felt like this dream was about to end, but then it became clear again, as she looked up smiling a smile of recognition, "This is one of my lucid dreams! I haven't had one of these for so long. This is just like Richard Bach's One... you look like dad because you are an alternate me! One with some obvious and startling differences!" I laughed at myself; as me and as her and we joined hands as we laughed together at the absurdity of such a thing being possible. Laughter turned to hugs and we sat together on that old blanket, quickly losing ourselves in conversation so intimate, deep and open, the sort only old lovers usually have.

So went my dream-time 'afternoon on the beach' with the woman I could have been. She was born Elizabeth Anne _______ (my last name, of course) on my own birthday (of course). Telling her my own history, she accepted the situation in a way I thought only I could, but the books we were currently reading and discussions of other books, both fiction and non-fiction we both read over the years revealed how alike we truly are in spite of different life experiences. We showed each other photos of our children (two daughters and one granddaughter in her case) and brought each other up to speed on an alternate lifetime.

She had been a professional dancer just like mom, doing lots of stage shows, but had gone to university too, creating a successful career as a physiotherapist. She was so jealous that in my world dad was still alive, but very disappointed that I had never had a positive relationship with the man she idolized up to and obviously since his death, a man who had accepted, encouraged and cherished her. She was now using my father's home that I never visit any more as her summer get-away.

Beth was as fascinated at the choices we had made as a man as I was hers. She looked so sad when I answered her question "Didn't you want to be a dancer?" with a description of how mom had told me no when I told her how much I wanted to learn to dance. Of course, when I told her of my own musical endeavours, she brightened. "I have always thought it would be wonderful to play an instrument of some sort." "You should start now." I told her and she gave me the answer so many do at our age; "It is too late to try something so different, isn't it?" To which I replied (physician heal thyself) "it is never too late to learn and grow."

Her logical organized side immediately latched onto my love of teaching and she admitted a flirtation with setting up a dance school had never got off the ground. "There was always something else that we needed money for as the kids grew up, went off to university and got started in the working world." I remembered how quickly my own middle years had flown by with needs and dreams being put on hold until they seemed of little importance and then it felt as though it was too late for them.

The afternoon stretched on and on. Finally, I asked the question that had brought me to her here in dream-time. "Beth, have you ever wondered what your life would have been like if you had been born a man?" "No, never, but it seems I have got to know the answer to that today anyway haven't I!?" she replied with a glowing smile and a squeeze of my hands. Looking serious all of a sudden, she quietly observed, "I am guessing you have wondered about life as a woman. Tell me why this matters to you."

As I explained as best I could about my struggles, she nodded to encourage me, gave me puzzled looks to get me to explain more, but did not interrupt once. My what a good listener she is; so much like mom. Her eyes looking straight into mine told me there was no need and no point in holding back from this person. When I decided she was at the point of overload, holding both of her hands and sitting quiet finally, I looked at her, and waited for her comments or questions to come. She shook her head and looked down,
"I so wish there was something magical to tell you about womanhood that you don't already know. I get up in the morning and never have anything like these thoughts you talk about having each day. I am who I am and have done my best to be a good person for sixty years. I worked hard most of my life. Being a working mother wasn't easy. My kids have been my greatest joy; the centre of my life, especially after Jeff and I separated. Now, finally there is time to relax and take some time for myself. I love golfing with my girlfriends down here, and we travel together in the winter months. I take my granddaughter Tess on outings and of course my girls and I get together as often as they will have me!" We talked then for what seemed like hours about family and friends and life.

As the sun hung low on the horizon, I helped her pack up her things and we walked back to the old tin boat tucked into the reeds right where I remember dad always left it. We hugged for all our might. Tears of joy came easily as I woke and said goodbye to a bright summer afternoon with Beth.