Two Thoughts on Marriage

My best friend Ramona and I were lucky enough to meet and fall in love with wonderful people within weeks of each other.  It really was a fabulous stroke of luck, because for the previous several years, through Ramona’s unwilling celibacy and my promiscuous-without-attachment days, Ramona and I had been near inseparable.  We spent huge chunks of our spare time together, we helped each other shift, we rang each other if we’d had a shit day, we were each others plus-ones at weddings.  In a whole lot of ways, we were like a couple – just without the sex.  Our friends even referred to us as each other’s “wives”.  So I think that if one of us had fallen head-over-heels in love and the other hadn’t, it would have been difficult on our friendship.  As it stands, the anniversaries of our respective relationships are just over a month apart.  We are still extremely important parts of each other’s lives, but we’re not the inseparable twosome we once were.

Because Ramona fell in love with a woman and I fell in love with a man, only one of us is allowed to marry our partner.

Although opponents of marriage equality would like to pretend it is, it’s not a damn thing to do with Christianity or the Bible: marriage is not and has never been the exclusive domain of the church.  It’s not a damn thing to do with children or the family unit: my love and I have no intention of having babies or raising a family; Ramona is already acting as a step-parent to her partner’s children.  They can twist it whichever way they like, what they’re essentially saying – in either weasel words or outright – is that same-sex couples are not worthy of marriage.

The thought that ANYONE would think that my relationship is somehow more worthy, more important, more real than Ramona’s infuriates and sickens me.  It makes me quiver with rage.  It makes me wonder at whether their hearts and minds are fully functional.  To see two people in love who want to be married and to deny them that right requires an incredible lack of heart.  To think that gender of the people involved makes any difference to the quality of the love requires, yes, a lack of intelligence.


This notion that marriage is a purely heterosexual institution because heterosexual relationships are more important than homosexual relationships makes marriage less relevant to me.  Not just because it excludes Ramona and many other people I love, but because it excludes a huge chunk of my history.  I have dated women, loved women, contemplated living happily-ever-after with women.  I was banned from taken my girlfriend to my high school formal (but did so anyway, daring the chaperones to make a scene).  I’ve seen the disappointment on my mother’s face when I told her I was a lesbian (clearly I’m not any more. It’s a long story which you can find elsewhere on my blog).   I’ve been spat on in the street and called a pussylicker (it took me several moments to click that it was supposed to be an insult).  Frozen in shock, I watched my sister chase the woman who spat at me down the street, screaming at her in defence of me.  I’ve shagged women in the toilets at gay clubs, attended queer youth groups, played in a lesbian sports team, held my girlfriend’s hand walking down the street after dark in mid-90s small-town New Zealand, scared but full of “fuck you” bravado.

For me marry as marriage stands, as the so-called defendants of marriage want it to be, denies all this history.  It says it is not worthy, just like Ramona’s relationship is not worthy and thousands of other same-sex relationships are not worthy.

And to that I say, where is your heart and where is your mind?


Dianic Wicca and Women Without Wombs

To be honest, although it sounds lame, my spiritual “aha!” moment came reading The Mists of Avalon at 13.  That was literally when I realised that Christianity was not in fact the only spiritual option (Yeah, the city I grew up in was pretty monocultural).  As far back as I can remember, I had tried to engage with spirituality.  I’d tried praying on my knees before bed like they did in the picture books.  I’d tried reading the Bible, tried talking to Jesus.  It all just left me cold.  But The Mists of Avalon opened up a whole other world of possiblities for me.

That was in the early ’90s.  Back then, I’d never heard of the terms “wicca” or “pagan”.  There had been no Willow from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, no Charmed, no entire shelf in every bookshop filled with everything from How to be a Teenage Witch to The Dark Goddess and the New Mythologies.  There was no internet (now, that’s showing my age!).  OK, the internet existed when I was 13, but I had no access to it and didn’t know anyone who did.  What there was was two books in the local independent bookstore: Starhawk’s The Spiral Dance and Zsuzsanna Budapest’s The Holy Book of Women’s Mysteries.  I saved up my pocket monies and bought them both.  The Spiral Dance made a lot of sense to me, but it was The Holy Book of Women’s Mysteries which really resonated deeply.  Zsuzsanna Budapest’s woman-centric Dianic wicca was the spiritual framework I had been looking for. (A little Wikipedic overview for those with no blessed idea what I’m talking about.)

A good 20 years has passed since then and my spirituality has obviously grown into its own form, in some ways departing dramatically from Z Budapest’s writings, but her book will always be a significant foundation stone for me.  So I felt seriously, deeply gutted when I decided to seek her out on Twitter recently and came across this tweet:

Just recently the trannies(if they can call me names i can call them names) has disrupted and shut down a very…

(The link inexplicably leads to actually a pretty interesting Ms article on transgendered feminist bloggers.)  This truncated statement didn’t look very encouraging, I have to say, but I figured maybe there was a context.  I found the rest of her statement on her Facebook page:

Just recently the trannies(if they can call me names i can call them names) has disrupted and shut down a very important feminist gathering in London. They are a very well supported male organization in skirts and make up. The other 1 percent. (actually they are more 0.03 percent of the population)but with money and male egos driving it, they are very affective. They have hijacked our words (feminism) they “invaded” our institutions by force of lawyers, (who paid them?)but they look all innocent here, as individuals. Just a bunch of words, and plenty of blahbalhbalh.

And there was worse.  Much, much dismayingly worse.  I could fill a heartbreaking entry with her transphobic vitriol, but here are a couple of tastes:

The transies fight us like Marines with lipstick.

The trannies are powerful, foul mouthed and hating us women because they are never going to be us, but they can push us aside if we whimp out.

The core of this right wing work to silence women, take away even our name, not done by the nice ts people, but the many many more who are organized, get paid, have orders and a global plan to disrupt feminism from gathering in public places. Power over women, power over where we gather, power over to intimidate, ruin your day and progress. They act like men. If they were women they would fight like women, “bond and nourish.”Instead its burning down our institutions with their rhetoric and lawyers.

Imagine a group of males banging on the door to be allowed into a all women skyclad circle. There is no sense of decency amongts them. Its occupy, and bother naked ladies.

All [sic].  And also sick.  So, it turns out one of my heroines is a paranoid transphobe who is convinced that the Big Council of Men has ordered some of their members to become transgendered just so that they can infiltrate women’s spaces, and that men would go through gender reassignment just so that they can see skyclad titties at a women’s ritual circle.  What the actual fuck?  Wouldn’t popping down to their local strip club be a seriously easier option?  Yeah.  I was going to say it’s a bit like finding out that Santa Claus isn’t real, but it’s more like finding out that Santa Claus stole all your favourite toys and made a toasty bonfire with them while laughing manaically.  There were some vociferous dissenting comments on her page, but even more in support of her.  A lot along the lines of “they can’t know what it means to be a woman.  They don’t menstruate or nurture life in the wombs.”  If you feel so compelled, you can read them here.

What inspired me about Dianic wicca is working with feminine energy, which seems so much more powerful (to me) than masculine or neutral energy.  Being a woman is part of it.  Yes, menstruation feels spiritual to me, with its rhythm reflecting the lunar cycle.  When I sought long-term contraception recently, I eliminated the Mirena from my list of options specifically because it prevents mentruation, and that doesn’t seem right.  However, my ability to menstruate is not the seat of my spirituality.  I will not feel less spiritual after menopause.  I would not feel less spiritual if I had to have a hysterectomy*.  And the other supposedly wondrous things about my female body?  Creating life in my womb, nourishing my offspring at my breast?  I have no intention of doing any of that stuff.  Does that make me less spiritual, less Dianic?  Hells, no.

Ultimately, spirituality is just not about the bodies we happen to be born in (fucking duh!).  And I think an argument could be made that trans-women have more deeply embraced feminine energies than cis-women.  They’ve had to actively seek it and fight for it, through societal sublimation and discrimination.  We cis-women are passive in our feminine energies.  Moreover, I can see absolutely no reason why actual male-born, penis-having, testosterone-y males should be excluded from Dianic wicca.  If a bloke wants to work with feminine energies, more power to him, I say.  Plenty of women seem extremely happy to address a male-form god and his son.


* Z Budapest stated for clarity that only “women with wombs” were allowed to join her women’s ceremony.  Which makes me wonder where she stands on women who have had hysterectomies.