Ray’s Rays, Number 27

Living with Compassion

by

Radiance Angelina Petro

There are those who only read the title.

There are those who only read the headlines.

There are those who see what they want to see.

There are those who project their shadows onto others.

There are those who judge quickly without really

looking into things. And I’ve done all of the above.

Trying not to anymore though.

Perception is a funny, fickle thing. We

look at the world, and see what we want to see

using the lenses of our past and present selves,

and with the lenses of our fears, our expectations,

our limited information, and our misinformation,

as well as our preconceived notions, especially about things

we don’t understand or “approve,” of.

Sometimes the lenses are clouded—clouded with trauma–

whether conscious or unconscious, or with the afore mentioned

misinformation. Sometimes we look through the lenses of

“whatever I see is right. I am a savior, and what I see matters more

than what other people see.” I get all of that too.

I am growing though. I am more and more able

to look past my own prejudiced perceptions and fears,

and also to acknowledge, and be accountable for,

when those perceptions are wrong or inaccurate, or worse, harmful.

I am more able to look for the good, and to know

I am not here to save the world with how I look at things

and the conclusions I come to—usually without the whole

picture in view. I am more and more able to engage

and have conversations—even difficult ones—with people

who perceive me as a threat because I’m trans.

Sometimes I can’t have such conversations, but when I do,

it often yields surprising results. I see that most people’s hatred

towards people like me is rooted in fear and their own shadows,

and for me that calls up compassion. I’m still not sure how.

I have been treated so terribly these last seven years

since coming out—I can’t even begin to describe how cruel

and violent some people can be towards trans people–

and most often while using their faith traditions as shields

of hate. Surprisingly though, I have been able

to cross over bridges of mutual kindness,

and make friends with “haters.” But today I’m feeling tired.

There is more anti-trans legislation on the books than ever before in history.

It would seem the far-right will stop at nothing

short of genocide of people like me. Well, today,

as tired as I am, I am still feeling—through all the rage,

fear, and grieving—some level of compassion

for those people. Sometimes I wish I didn’t. Sometimes

I wish I could return hate for hate. But that’s just not me.

I suffer inside. I turn the rage inwards, or sometimes

express it in my writing. Mostly it’s turned inwards

and the depression deepens into dangerous depth.

If you’re like this—please be gentle with yourself

and seek support. If you’re one of the people

who look through the lenses of hate, fear, and don’t

pause to get to know me, then I wish you compassion.

I wish your god to be merciful unto you, for god knows

whatever god is out there, is one of love and kindness,

and with a heart as wide as the world.

Ray’s Rays: Number 25

The Finger Matters

by

Radiance Angelina Petro

In certain circles, the phrase: “Don’t focus

on the finger. The moon is the goal.”

In other words, “enlightenment,” is a “goal,”

and only the goal matters. Don’t focus on the way,

and, in this case, on the pointers along the way,

and, to bring it closer to this phrase—don’t focus

on the finger. Why always this instance that the body

isn’t a way to its own kind of enlightenment? Why

this idea that the body is something to be shed

if one wants to reach some faraway, spiritual goal?

Go ahead—focus on the goddamn finger. Fingers are amazing!

Focus on the hand—how it can do a myriad of creative

(and destructive) things. By extension—focus

on the body. Focus on the pointers—the little (and big)

signs along the way. Moreover—fuck the idea that there is

a goal. In my own practice of spiritual anarchy,

I resist the idea that meditation, spiritual practice, or anything

of that nature and notion has to have a goal–

that it has to be a competition. Because, of course,

once someone says they’ve reached “enlightenment,”

they suddenly claim (conscious or unconsciously)

some sort of power—some one-up-man-ship over others,

and suddenly there’s a twisted colonization of spiritual ideas

and the “teacher,” takes over a little group of forced,

perhaps coerced territory of people, where there are consequences

for not doing things, “the right way,” or for questioning,

or for leaving for a different group or teaching. This may all

sound extreme. I’ve seen it happen over and over though. If you

haven’t—good. For this Ray—perhaps practice focusing

on the body and the pointers. Perhaps forgo the notion

that the goal is high-away-somewhere that you can’t reach

unless you give up the body. Instead, practice loving the body

as its own form of holiness and embodied-body of light.

And please, to the best of your ability, try not to let anyone

tell you your body isn’t beautiful, that it isn’t a radical

manifestation of pleasure, joy, and the ability to move

between ideas, weather, prayers, devotions, and dimensions.

Ray’s Rays, Number 24

Midnight Sun

by

Radiance Angelina Petro

There is something in the dark.

It’s you.

And you’re worth seeking.

And you’re worth allowing it to come forward.  It’s a kind of holy darkness

that might be filled with menace, it might be filled with tears.

It’s likely a mix of both.  First, the rage; then, the tears; or maybe

the other way around.  What is certain is that healing is there,

and a kind of unreasonable, and thrilling hope.

Whatever’s there—it is worthy of your love,

and you are worthy of the love it brings to you.

Some might say it isn’t smart to go digging in the dark.  It might

lead somewhere dangerous.  And they’re right.  It might.  And

It isn’t smart—intellectually smart, that is.  It’s genius as fuck though

where the heart is concerned—where the soul is concerned, where the imagination,

and the right to be fully alive, is concerned.  So, go.  And why not

bring someone with you.  Chances are both journeys into the darkness

cross paths or tunnels or passageways. Lift the light.

Be a lighthouse for your own shadow.  Be a light for each other. The dark light—

the midnight sun—that’s often where the magic and power is.

Go and find out.  There is no time to lose.

Ray’s Rays, Number 23

Resonances

by

Radiance Angelina Petro

When my voice settles into/with a chord on the guitar

as I’m playing by myself or for a crowd, it’s magic.

Resonance—merging with—a kind of vibrational oneness–

it rests there—thrums in that moment—radiating

into/through my heart, my whole body, and then, out into the world.

It’s moments like these that my soul longs for.

Not necessarily from/with another person—like,

in a relationship, or a friendship, but that would be

OK if it ever happened. It’s more like longing for the healing

to settle into my whole body. When past traumas ring

in unison with my present shimmers of wholeness–

when the work I’ve done and the work I do

to make something of my life after sexual assault, rape,

molestation, physical and mental abuse—blends

with my body as it is and can rejoice a little–

safe in this moment—in this song I am singing–

in these strings I am strumming—heart strings,

and songs of hope, and realizations of being alive

and worthy to be alive. When the vibrations of the truth–

lived truth, lived experience, lived hurt, lived moments

of redeeming my own life—sound and spread through

branches of bones and body. It is possible. Healing.

I know it. I’ve experienced it. Whether you play a guitar

or any other musical instrument, whether or not you sing,

settle into/with those moments when you have even one

resonance of hope. Healing can be really fucking hard.

And it is also possible. You are not too broken. You are not

too far gone. You are worthy. You are a divine being

full of all the spiraling galaxies, who deserves all good things.

Whirl in those little moments of hope—

let them spread out/through your mind, heart, spirit,

and body—and then, out/into the world. For they will never

stop ringing, and they will shine forever through/with

the future of all.

Ray’s Rays, Number 21

Lost Daze

by

Radiance Angelina Petro

For me, they happen most in summertime.

Maybe it’s lying on the bed in my room

and hearing children playing somewhere in the distance,

or a lawn mower, or a breeze that rustles the drapes, and misses me entirely.

Lost days have been happening to me since the day

the traumas began. Not everyday, of course, but some days–

some days are like one long, lost, timeless drifting–a sort of

drowsiness, a kind of loneliness that is crushing.

Sometimes it helps—the old adage: Move a muscle, change a thought.

Sometimes it helps to go for a walk. And sometimes,

this deep sense of being inside a lost day is a horrible

manifestation of my clinical depression, and no adage

or activity will help. Somehow, I have to ride the wave,

or drift with the wave, or somehow not drown in the wave.

And there are days when the wave takes me under

and I am barely alive when it spits me up on the shore

whenever it’s through with me.

Being bi-polar, there is another kind of lost day.

It’s the one when the mania grabs me in its jaws

and thrashes me around. It’s when I go shopping

in wild, dangerous spending sprees—spending time

and money indoors—going from place to place–

being outside only long enough to go from car to store

and store to car. I sense the day is happening—the sun,

the blue sky, the lazy bobbing dragonflies landing on the car,

and I can’t stop. The wave is pushing me—forcing me

to move and, without thinking, I lose myself, and my money,

in an empty, wasted day. When I get home I look at what I bought

and am most often like–”Why did I buy that?” Mania

does that to me, and no amount of deep breathing

or mindfulness can slow me down. It’s terrifying.

I have lost many days to depression and/or mania,

and it sucks. It is a deep hopelessness and loneliness

that hollows the bones and causes me to lose myself–

a tasteless, formless dissociation that drifts in and out of the window.

So, what do I do when depression steals my day (or days)?, or when

mania hijacks my day (days)? I do my best, as I said above–

to try and ride it out. In the case of mania—I hold on for dear life.

In depression, I sleep—let the day lift itself away.

With both mania and depression, I keep taking my meds.

I stay as close to trusted people as possible. And, it’s

not easy—and often seems impossible. Somehow,

I am still here. I hope you are too. Ride out the wave.

No matter the existential feelings, you’ll be glad you did.

You are strong, even in weakness. You have rode many waves

and made it to the shore. This one will be no different.

You will survive, and perhaps, riding the waves will become

closer to surfing.

Ray’s Rays, Number 20

Living With PTSD

by

Radiance Angelina Petro

What does it mean to feel safe in this world? What does it

mean to you? How does it feel for/in you?

Have you ever felt safe? Felt safe for long periods of time

and/or just brief glimpses? What do you do

when you feel safe or unsafe?

I can say for myself I have yet to feel utterly

and truly safe—ever–no matter the situation,

circumstances, or company. My body/mind/spirit/heart

is so hypervigilant, so on the look-out to be hurt again,

so ready for something horrible to happen–

some form of violence, some shaming, some rejection–

it’s ingrained in me. Something is about to happen–

something bad, something scary, something really, really

wrong. How do I live with this sort of deep trauma?

It’s day-to-day. I don’t describe myself as “healing,” so much

as being able to exist in this world in a somewhat

present, compassionate, creative way. I have wounds

that may not ever heal. Certainly there are scars

that won’t ever go away. There are memories

and visceral experiences inside that may not ever fully

drift into the void. How do I keep moving?

I try to build little glimmers of safety—moments

when I feel relatively safe. Who am I with when I feel

a tiny bit safe? What am I doing, or not doing?

Where am I? What time of day is it? Again,

no matter how safe a situation and certain people

may feel safe to me, there is always the impending

terrible thing that’s about to happen—usually

of a violent variety—something horrible happening

to my kids and loved ones, some sort of accident

happening to me or those I love. But that being said, there are times

I can gently, tentatively sink into a sense of safety,

and I am learning to be deeply grateful for those moments,

to help create more of them for myself as well as others.

They help me remember safety is more or less possible

for some periods of time.

And yet, in this world of terrorist capitalism, far-right

extremists, environmental devolution, racism, violence,

viruses, and unpredictable weather extremes, it is very

difficult for me to feel truly safe, even when I’m in a “safe,”

situation. What helps me? Conscious breathing, writing,

and reading poetry, listening to a making music,

drawing, looking deeply at a flower, practicing some sort

of mindfulness and gratitude, my meds, my therapist,

being a part of healthy communities, helping others,

doing little, secret and anonymous acts of kindness, finding

funny memes and sharing them, reading, watching silly TV shows,

embodiment meditations, movement meditations,

and sometimes pleasuring myself sexually.

Living with complex PTSD sucks, and yet,

it is also livable—in the sense that I am able

to survive day-to-day. There is no finish line

to grieving or healing, or resolving, but there are

moments, little, and sometimes big, experiences

of joy. I hope you experience them too. I hope

you have safe places and people, and things to do

when it all gets too scary. They say, “this too, shall pass,”

and it’s true. And sometimes knowing that

doesn’t help a goddamn bit. In this moment–

the one in which you’re reading this right now–

may you feel safe, held, and able to seek, and receive,

and share support. It may totally suck. But you got this.

It may or may not, get better, and yet–here you are.