Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Remembering Our Fallen Trans Family

Tonight was the beginning of the Transgendered Right of Ancestor Elevation.

Today was also my testosterone shot.

Tonight I carefully made sure of my materials, my words, and then I showered. I showered physically and did more than a little spiritual cleansing. I grounded and centered. I shaved, so I would be smooth faced as I walked into this rite. I washed my hands, loaded up my syringe, and pumped testosterone into my body. It went in smooth, none leaked, no blood spilled. I felt my dead with me then.

My injections are weekly, and after almost five years I am remarkably bad at them. I have always injected myself. Initially, I had no problem. But these days, I usually bleed. I try not to bleed all over my bathroom floor, but it's my floor so I worry less than I would have when I did not live alone. I bleed, and they hurt. Not all the T gets into me.

Tonight's shot was not lined up perfectly, but it went smoothly. No blood. No minor seepage of my testosterone oil to wipe up even. Nothing. My dead were with me, celebrating in the glory of my injection.

I gathered things together, a white cloth for the alter cloth. A fabulous purple, sequined cloth from a lesbian wedding to go with it. A white candle I had on hand for ancestor work. Handmade incense to carry my words. Matches. A large cool glass of clean water.

The first night of elevation, and I was overwhelmed. Eight more glorious nights of specific attention. Of remembering. Of love and touch. Of comfort. Of carrying their tears and anger.

Hail to all those Fallen Trans Dead. May you drink deep. May you never thirst. May you find what you seek, and know that you are remembered. We miss you. Hail to our Fallen.