The New "Follow Your Bliss." Follow your Fits.

We’re so often told what we want. For example, I’ve heard a few things about what a woman supposedly wants. A wedding. Babies. All I’ve ever been able to conclude is that either I am not actually a woman, that nest and egg is not what any women want, or the exceptional possibility that desire is a thing far more intricate than can be attributed to sex, gender, nationality, religion, or race. For that matter, that humanity is a far more intricate thing... So given the broad rainbow spectrum, the opportunity to speak what you individually want, based on nothing generic-- how do you know? How do we decipher what we individually, authentically want?
Here is a tool. Let’s call it: A Tear Theory:

Tears are clues. That the ocean inside is being stirred.
A truth unearthed from the body basement.
Going in deep, causing water displacement.
A recognition of an unknown yearning,
Or part of self left for dead, softly returning.

Tears are cues. Cues that there is something to do. You are being moved!

Tears are directives. They say Pay attention! I am instructing your destiny, play detective. We’ve all heard, to find your purpose, Follow your bliss. I think tears can be another breadcrumb for this. So here it is:

I am in a female body that is well into its thirties. It does not cry when it looks at babies. And very little at weddings.

I do cry like a baby, though…
When I contemplate the oneness of humanity.
When I witness someone forgiving an apparent enemy.

Like a gay boy who’s never heard the word "gay," witnessing "gay marriage" on TV, my heart leaping, eyes weeping, watching an ordination, only knowing my passion for that divination, not knowing it was possible to marry It before a congregation! Turning inward to Life saying, Marry me, we're free! We can COME OUT! Open my lips, that my mouth might declare
Your Glory.

I cry when I tune into the peace within my body's boundaries.
And know it to be everybody.
It’s like New York. If you can do it here, you can do it everywhere.
Actually.

So you can keep your Ok-Cupidry and your ideas on the maximum age a woman can conceive. Don’t pretend to know my dreams based on biology. While you’re at it reflect that for this earth, adoption might be key. Weaving a rainbow family that is kinder ecologically.

I am not this body, but my veins course a new destiny.

And sure, if you know another human who sings a similar song as me, send them my way.
That’s called community.
If in our song there’s harmony, the music makes people happy,
Our happiness might make us dance.
In dancing
Baby may be conceived.

And home, in a land of fellow dancers,
We will happily name it

Peace...

Peace...

Peace.