The show must go on

Seeing the cast of characters inside of us.

I recently participated in a writer’s event, hosted by Molly Caro May, on the invitation of my dearest friend. The exercise was vulnerable and revealing; what I wrote wasn’t something I would have normally shared, but it seemed to resonate. I decided to share the prompts and my answers with you, and invite you to add any of your own reflections in the comments, if you feel called.

We all contain multitudes. Let’s get curious about them.

Who are you today?

A frustrated artist, Toulouse Lautrec, crippled and half-crazed on mind-altering substances, locking myself up in the Moulin Rouge. Feeling put-upon yet needing help. I’m a creature of the night, deformed and decrepit, letting the dark take me. Yet it’s not necessarily bad: I’m becoming the Trickster, the death, the raven, nevermore to inhabit the world of men. I live underground with the mushrooms and bones; I shut out the light. I am made of owl pellets, mouse carcasses, lichen and moss; the birds pick my bones and use my soul to build their nest.

Why are you here?

I’m here to regrow life from my carcass, for my death to inspire rebirth. To let my body become fertilizer for something else to grow. Maybe I can’t make it myself, but I can help someone else build. I’m a bridge, a nurse log that Amanita sprout from and squirrels scamper over. The life is going on around me and I let it fed but am only dwelling underneath.

“I wish I had said/done/felt…”

Followed my truth, stayed myself, run away from home; not let them win. I wish I had remembered I was Jesus; that we are all divine. I wish I hadn’t let myself get seduced by the semblances of comfort; the gilded cage; the stateroom at the whorehouse.

I wish I had gone with Christian/Christ/Ferdinand, my savior and trans self; played my own male lead.I wish my inner heroine had joined with the hero to flee instead of staying locked up, giving my body away while it turned on me, taken by consumption, and slowly died. I will not do this anymore.

I will speak the truth and dwell in the jungle; I will commit to the self that resurrected after that good Friday, the one I always was. For I contain all of them: I am Satine and Christian, Toulouse and the Green Fairy, the Duke and the pimp. I even had the mustache and jacket, because I steal myself away. I keep myself from my inner artist, romantic, entrepreneur, and explorer by convincing myself to stay small and victimized; to fall for material trappings and the appearance of safety. My internal cast of characters, keeping me safe, or so they think.

But the show must go on, and we all have to work together to pull off the Spectacular Spectacular. How wonderful life is with all of you in the world.

Let us break free from the stories our original casts have been endlessly replaying. Let us question old narratives and make edits. Let us remix, reinterpret, reinvent. We fall into archetypal roles, enacting ancestral productions, and forget that we are the directors and producers, too. But it’s never too late for an encore.

Happy winter, y’all.