Sister Outsider by Audre Lorde– a #UU reflection #AudreLorde #LGBT #amreading

This past week, I participated in a Unitarian Universalist service for women’s history month. The service gave me pause and cause to revisit the work Sister Outsider by Audre Lorde. My reflection is on video below and under that is the text. Thank you.

I was fortunate to hear the poet Audre Lorde speak and read several times when I was in my twenties. Lorde was an important figure to me – as a budding writer and as a young adult looking inward and outward and making sense of life.

Lorde was born in 1934 and died in 1992, having been cut down by breast cancer in the prime of her life.

Recently, I reread Sister Outsider, essays and speeches by Audre Lorde, first published in 1984 by The Crossing Press. It was interesting to read this book which I had last read close to the date of publication and to see the places where I had highlighted Lorde’s words.

Her essay “The Master’s Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master’s House” was written as a response to the organizers of an academic panel that had invited Audre Lorde to speak but otherwise failed in their representation of women of color – sadly something that happened frequently.

In her essay Lorde writes:

“What this says about the vision of this conference is sad, in a country where racism, sexism, and homophobia are inseparable. To read this program is to assume that lesbian and Black women have nothing to say about existentialism, the erotic, women’s culture and silence, developing feminist theory, or heterosexuality and power.”

….

She goes on to write:

“For women, the need and desire to nurture each other is not pathological but redemptive, and it is within that knowledge that our real power is rediscovered. It is this real connection which is so feared by a patriarchal world. Only within a patriarchal structure is maternity the only social power open to women.

“Interdependency between women is the way to a freedom which allows the I to be, not in order to be used, but in order to be creative. This is a difference between the passive be and the active being.”

And

“As women, we have been taught either to ignore our differences, or to view them as causes for separation and suspicion rather than as forces for change.”

She also writes in this essay:

“Those of us who stand outside the circle of this society’s definition of acceptable women; those of us who have been forged in the crucibles of difference — those of us who are poor, who are lesbians, who are Black, who are older — know that survival is not an academic skill. It is learning how to take our differences and make them strengths. For the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house. They may allow us temporarily to beat him at his own game, but they will never enable us to bring about genuine change. And this fact is only threatening to those women who still define the master’s house as their only source of support….Racism and homophobia are real conditions of all our lives in this place and time.”

And she invites us to action:

“I urge each one of us here to reach down into that deep place of knowledge inside herself and touch that terror and loathing of any difference that lives there. See whose face it wears. Then the personal as the political can begin to illuminate all our choices.”

In this collection of writing, Lorde writes about the importance of knowing yourself, speaking your truth, being all parts of yourself, accepting difference, and being unafraid to feel.

In her essay “Poetry is Not a Luxury,” she explains:

“The white fathers told us: I think, therefore I am. The Black mother within each of us  — the poet – whispers in our dreams: I feel, therefore I can be free.”

–Namaste

For more information on my most recent novel Loving Artemis, an endearing tale of revolution, love, and marriage, click here:

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The Influence of Sappho on Loving Artemis — #Sappho #LesFic #amreading

I am delighted to bring you this excerpt from my novel Loving Artemis, an endearing tale of revolution, love and marriage (published in 2022 by Thorned Heart Press) that was recently published in the anthology Favorite Scenes From Favorite Authors, from I Heart Sapphic Books. I am particularly enthusiastic about this excerpt because it was inspired by the Lesbian poet Sappho. The excerpt is called “The trees blushing”

“Blurb:

      Artemis found the love of her life when she met Linda, but their passionate relationship fizzles when Artemis lands herself on the other side of the law. Pulling the pieces of her life together, Artemis rekindles her relationship with Linda, and together they raise a daughter.

      Meanwhile, Grace, running from her past, starts a life with Thalia. At a pride parade, Grace spots someone who reminds her of Artemis, who she was briefly involved with in her youth. Old feelings are rekindled. A lifetime of rejection, abandonment, and fleeing rears its head. Now she must come to terms with her past, put her relationship with Artemis to rest–or risk losing everything.

      Artemis and Grace embark on a journey of revolution, love, and marriage and discover that love finds us when we least expect it.

      Tell us about this scene:

      Art (Artemis) and the love of her life Linda take a motorcycle ride to the nearby quarry where they make love for the first time.

      Why did you choose this scene as your favorite?

      This scene is heavily influenced by my reading of the ancient Greek poet Sappho (who lived on the Island of Lesvos).

        * * *

      Excerpt:

     

(from chapter ten)

They got back on the bike. Art turned the key in the ignition and pulled forward slowly. This was where Art had come with her old girlfriend Allison. They had been on foot then, that first time when they hid behind the trees and called out to each other with lines from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Art remembered the light shining through the trees, the way it did now as it danced on the ground around them. It was summer then. Now, red, orange, and brown leaves covered the path. Art felt the bump of tree roots under the tires. She brought the bike to a halt. She sat there for a minute, feeling the warmth of Linda behind her: the inside of Linda’s thighs cupping her ass; Linda’s arms hugging her waist. Art had been thinking that it didn’t get better than this. But now she knew it did — and it would. The difference between the time that she first came here with Allison and now, coming here with Linda, was that Art had been here before. She knew what she was doing. But she wanted it to be Linda’s idea. Linda got off the bike first. She walked to a log next to the path and sat down.

“I can see the lake from here,” said Linda. The back of her head was toward Art. Her windswept hair fell over her jacket collar.

“Come on over.” Art swung her leg over the bike. She put down the kickstand and stood there for a moment, holding the handlebars until she made sure that the bike was on steady ground. Then she walked the bike to the side of the path — beyond the log where Linda was sitting.

A narrow trail shot off from the path. It looked familiar. Art walked over to the log. “You can see the lake from here,” Art said. “I never realized that before.”

Linda scooted closer to Art. “You know the first time I walked into school with you, the girl sitting next to me in homeroom asked, ‘Who’s that cute guy with the motorcycle?'”

Art looked at her.

“Art is a guy’s name,” Linda explained.

 “It’s short for Artemis,” answered Art. “My mother’s Greek. Artemis is a goddess from Greek mythology.”

“Yeah, the goddess of the hunt. She was always my favorite,” replied Linda, looking at Art perceptively. “I think it’s cool that you’re Greek.”

Art looked into Linda’s green eyes. The woods were shady. Afternoon light filtered through red and orange leaves. Linda’s eyes blazed into Art’s.

“You would make a cute guy,” Linda continued.

Art was drawn into the green vortex of Linda’s eyes. Art’s arms and legs trembled and tiny flames scorched her skin. She opened her mouth slightly to say something, but speech eluded her. Linda leaned in and kissed her. Art kissed her back. Linda’s lips felt as soft as moist rose petals and she smelled like musk oil. Art didn’t know if Linda wore perfume or if the scent came from her own body. A breeze rustled the leaves. Art’s heart trembled. This wasn’t the first time she kissed a girl, but this kiss felt different. A universe opened between them. Their tongues found new language. Soon, Art drew back. Linda looked radiant, as if the moon and stars were glowing inside of her. Still speechless, Art remembered that there was something she wanted to say.

Words formed on her lips: “But I’m not a boy. I’m a girl.”

“A smart girl,” whispered Linda. “I like that.”

This time, Art leaned in and kissed Linda. Their hands were everywhere. They came up for air, stood, and stumbled ahead on the path. They turned down a narrow path and found a large mossy patch that looked inviting. Art thought she had been here before with Allison, but she wasn’t sure if this was the exact place. Now, here with Linda, it was new. They were standing, kneeling, lying on the ground, rolling, touching. It was too cool a day to take off their clothes, but, as it turned out, it didn’t matter. There would be plenty of time for that later.

Art rolled on top of Linda. Excitement sparked in her groin and danced throughout her body. Her fingers tingled. Her tongue entwined with Linda’s. When they were done kissing, Art drew back and looked at Linda. Her hair was the deep red of autumn apples. Her skin was radiant. Shifting her weight, Art thrust her thigh against Linda’s crotch.

Linda groaned. “I’ve wanted to do this ever since I got on your bike with you,” she whispered.

Art had wanted to do this ever since she set eyes on Linda. She wanted the bike more than anything, but she wanted Linda just as much. Maybe Linda was the reason she bought the bike. Yiayia (her Greek grandmother)would have understood. The wind blew harder and the leaves rustled. A distant roaring filled Art’s ears. Linda moaned and writhed under Art, as Art rubbed her crotch in a circular motion on Linda’s thigh. Cries overflowed from her throat. A humming filled her ears. The moss felt like moist velvet under her fingertips. It was chilly, but Art was filled with warmth. She rolled to the side.

As she lay there, her arms circling Linda, she imagined that the red and orange leaves looking down at them were the trees blushing.

Here is the link to the free anthology on BookFunnel:

https://dl.bookfunnel.com/ck3pqiiavx

For more information on my most recent novel Loving Artemis, an endearing tale of revolution, love, and marriage, click here:

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Reflecting on the old days: #MarriageEquality #amreading #LGBTQ

I was (and still am) so happy that this essay was published in the Harvard Gay and Lesbian Review that I immediately wanted to bring it to you. The world is changing and I’m so glad to be changing with it!

Enjoy the essay!

A Marriage Skeptic’s Road to Marriage

By Janet Mason on March 2, 2023

   Janet Mason (right) and her partner Barbara (left)  in 2014.

In the old days, I thought of the marriages of people of the same sex (usually older lesbians) in our circle as “quaint.” My partner Barbara and I were new lovers. This was in the early 1980s, long before marriage equality was legally recognized. As one older former acquaintance wrote to me in 2015, “we never thought we’d see the day when it would be legal.”

We knew them as Pat and Carol and met them through the women’s liberation movement circles that made up our community at the time. We called it “The Women’s Community.” I don’t remember Carol’s last name, but I remember them getting married in the early 1980s at a mutual friend’s home. They both wore tuxes. Pat’s was black and Carol’s was white. I found their choice of wardrobe to be memorable, even if my partner and I did think they were imitating an outmoded patriarchal institution. They were probably about 25 years older than us.

Carol wrote to me in 2015. Her partner Pat had died about a decade before that. Same-sex marriage may not have been legal when they got married in the 1980s, but in their eyes, they were married. Even if not legally, they were at least committed to each other, and even had the ceremony with friends witnessing their union. However, Pat never got to see the day when same-sex marriage became legal.

Maybe it was a case of not wanting what we thought we’d never have, but both my partner and I didn’t think that marriage was for us. Like two of the characters in my novel Loving Artemis, an endearing tale of revolution, love, and marriage, we thought marriage had too much baggage and history as a patriarchal institution.

Every now and then, friends would have commitment ceremonies, and we even went to a few, but stubbornly maintained that there was no point to it unless same-sex marriage were legal. It still wasn’t something that we ever thought we’d see, so mostly we didn’t think about it. My relationship with marriage was complicated to say the least. I grew up in a time and place where it was expected that all females should find a man, settle down, and have children. Once I came out in the early 1980s, I was extremely happy to have escaped the heterosexual yoke of marriage and children. My partner had been married to a man before we got together. That was common in those days, since it was expected of us. The lesbian poet Adrienne Rich called it “compulsory heterosexuality.”

Then, when I was around forty, a lesbian baby boom started happening all around us. It probably felt like more lesbians were having babies than actually were, but it seemed like having children was another expectation from which I managed to escape. My partner and I certainly supported the right of lesbian women and gay men to have children, but we always said that “having children was the best thing we never did.”

So, when President Biden signed the Respect for Marriage Act last year, and Nancy Pelosi and Chuck Schumer talked about protecting children, it made perfect sense. Children are the most vulnerable victims of hard divorces, and it is far worse when each parent does not have the legal rights that marriage provides.

Anyway, the years went on, and we were getting older. We were afraid that the surviving one would have legal problems and might even lose the house if she couldn’t pay the taxes on it. But when we did finally get married, it meant more than being protected legally. Like many other same-sex couples, we felt like legal marriage had deepened the bond between us.

By the time 2015 came along, and the U.S. Supreme Court made marriage equality the law of the land, Barbara and I were already married. Another lesbian couple—who had been together for more years than we had—suggested that we have a double wedding at a local county that was performing same-sex marriages before it was legal nationwide. Gleefully, we went off to our “protest wedding,” which was later made legal. Leaving the courthouse after we had done the deed and signed the papers, we all agreed that it felt too easy.

This was on the heels of Edie Windsor’s landmark victory, whose case in 2013, United States v. Windsor, overturned Section 3 of the Defense of Marriage Act. Two years later, in 2015, history was made when the Supreme Court in Obergefell v. Hodges made full marriage equality the law of the land.

My partner and I were both amazed on that day, and we were astounded again when the Respect for Marriage Act was signed into law. When this Act was signed into law, my partner and I were both very happy. I didn’t make the connection earlier, but even as I was joking around and calling Barbara “my bride,” I must have been channeling the happiness of Pat and Carol and all of the older LGBT+ couples that I once regarded as “quaint.”

Janet Mason is the author of the novels Loving Artemis, an endearing tale of revolution, love, and marriage (Thorned Heart Press); The Unicorn, The Mystery, and THEY, a biblical tale of secret genders (both from Adelaide Books). She is also the author of Tea Leaves, a memoir of mothers and daughters (Bella Books) for which she received a Goldie award. She has been with her partner, Barbara, for thirty-nine years. They have been legally married for nine years.

To read the article on the Harvard Gay and Lesbian Review, click here.

For more information on my most recent novel Loving Artemis, an endearing tale of revolution, love, and marriage, click here:

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The Power of Intersectionality: vegan #DragQueens; #GoVegan; #intersectionality

I was getting caught up on the news today when it hit me: the power of intersectionality. I often think that being vegan/plant-based is an advantage. My brain works better and being on a non-alkaline diet means I have a tendency to have less bone issues as I age. I am also much healthier than I was in my pre-vegan days (just three years ago).

In my case, being vegan/plant-based is an open secret. Going vegan/plant-based certainly saved my life, and I am not alone. My partner has gone vegan with me resulting in her being much healthier and the number of stories I’ve heard about people going to a plant-based diet and overcoming health issues are beyond many.

In doing research on trauma, I began to understand how the tendency toward obesity in lesbian and bisexual women makes perfect sense. We are women who don’t care about appearance–especially in regard to attracting the opposite sex. We are women who have learned to respond to inner beauty. The problem is that obesity leads to so many diseases. The problem is that we are dying.

The news of the day, the attacks on drag queens, trans people and LGBTQ rights, makes me furious. It also makes me feel determined. We are living through a very difficult period of history and it’s important to be as healthy as possible.

I was delighted to learn about vegan drag queens. It makes sense that marginalized people understand oppression. There is no denying that what is happening to the animals in unconscionable. What the Standard American Diet is doing to the human animals is unconscionable also.

This is the power of intersectionality. When we share our rage, it is contagious and powerful.

What is happening to drag queens and the trans- and the LGBTQ community is not separate from anything. It is just the beginning.

So, take a stand. Be vigilant and go vegan.

To read about vegan drag queens, click here.

For more information on my most recent novel Loving Artemis, an endearing tale of revolution, love, and marriage, click here:

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The Unicorn, The Mystery featured in the Sapphic Book Bingo–#amreading #FaithfullyLGBT #LesbianNuns

In celebration of my novel The Unicorn, The Mystery being featured on Sapphic Book Bingo, I’m posting this excerpt from the book. The book was inspired by “The Unicorn Tapestries” currently housed at The Cloisters division of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Manhattan. A unicorn from the Middle Ages is speaking and has come across two lesbian nuns who also live in The Cloisters.

Chapter Thirty

I was captured because I was entranced by a patch of English daisies. The petals were tinged with pink and there was a yellow center. There was a patch of the flowers near the place in the abbey where the silent women lived. 

I was just about to approach the path, when I heard voices.

“Oh, look — a patch of Mary flowers,” said a woman.

“Shhhh. We’re not allowed to speak,” said a lower female voice.

“What does it matter, the Mother Superior is not here,” said the first woman.

I quickly hid behind a medlar bush. I suspected that these women were the ones I had left behind a short while ago. They must have finished their loving and were wandering around like me, looking at flowers.

“But we have been gone so long, that she might come looking for us and hear us,” replied the one with the lower voice.

“Maybe, the Mother Superior will think that she is delusional and hearing voices. Maybe she will think that she hears the voice of God and that She is female…” The woman with the higher voice paused. “Maybe I shouldn’t say that to you. Surely you think me blasphemous.”

She was met by silence. Finally, the woman with the lower voice spoke:

“Actually, I think you may be on to something. Maybe God is a woman. How are we to know?”

Now, it was the other woman’s turn to be silent.

Then she spoke:

“Yes, you are right, my beloved. How are we to know?  Certainly, the church fathers would cover it up if God was a woman. I bet the Mother Superior would cover it up too. If she had the time, I bet she’d wander the abbey too because it is so beautiful and when she found the Mary flower, she would pick its petals slowly, saying ‘He loves me, He loves me not.’  Or maybe she’d be saying, ‘She loves me, She loves me not.’” Then the woman with the higher voice had been speaking.  She broke into a titter.

The other one giggled so gruffly that she sounded like she was giggling reluctantly. Then she said, “I never got that impression from her. She’s probably so miserable that she never has any kind of attraction. Seriously, though, we should go back before someone comes looking for us.”

“Ok,” said the first one.  “I’ll follow you but then wait a while after I enter the convent. We don’t want anyone to think we’ve been together.”

I waited a long time behind the medlar bush. Then when the coast was clear, I retraced my steps to the English daisy, lowered my head and inhaled the spicy sweet fragrance of the succulent flower. I discovered that there was a trail of English daisies. Intoxicated by the vapors, I followed the flowers.

To see the book on Sapphic Book Bingo, click here:
https://jae-fiction.com/butch-character-who-is-shorter/

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THEY, a biblical tale of secret genders featured on #IHeartSappFic: #transpositivestories #amreading

In honor of THEY, a biblical tale of secret genders (Adelaide Books — New York; Lisbon) being featured on #IHeartSapphFic as a part of “Against All Odds Week. This piece was first published in aaduna and was nominated for a Pushcart Prize.

The Mother  

(sometime early in the first century)

In the beginning was the Mother.

In the womb, Tamar took mental notes. The heavens trembled — at least it felt like the heavens. Maybe it was just gas. The Mother shifted. At first, it was too dark to see. But Tamar could feel. At first it felt like chaos — like everything was unconnected. But then she felt something holding her. A curved wall. She was leaning into it. It was soft and warm. She felt her backbone curve behind her. She was half of a circle. Was she floating? There was a chord attached to her belly. She relaxed once she realized that she wouldn’t float away.

There were appendages coming out from her shoulders. She looked down below the chord. On the lower part of her body there was a small bump and on either side of that were two more appendages. There was liquid all around her. She felt warm and safe. She didn’t have to worry yet about breathing.

Whoosh. She flinched. Slosh. Gurgles whizzed by. There was an abbreviated bubbling. After it repeated three times, she identified the sound as a hiccup. After a few moments, there was silence. Then there was a contented hum coming from the distance. Tamar knew it was the Mother, and it calmed her.

The darkness lifted. She saw a distant light glowing through the pink barrier. She looked down and noticed tiny extremities with red lines moving through them. They were attached to the ends of two appendages, on each side of her. She found that she could move them, as if she were trying to grasp something. She knew that these movements would come in handy later. The light went out. Darkness. Tamar felt herself in her body.

She was perfect.

When she woke again, she blinked for the first time. It felt good so she did it again. The pinkish yellow glow came back. She clenched and unclenched her fingers. She rubbed the short one across the tips of several of the others, and felt a roughness. She felt a nourishment rushing from the chord through her body. And it was good. She went back to sleep for a long while.

When she woke, she stretched and yawned. She saw a pinkish yellow glow. It was faint and came from the other side. She looked toward the light and saw the sack next to her. There was someone inside who looked like her. It even had a light glowing around its edges — just like she did — down its extremities and around its fingers and toes. She remembered now that she had entered one body of two. Her twin was beside her. There was a large, round dome attached to a small body like hers. The big round dome faced her. The eyes looked at her. One blinked and the other stayed open. The two corners of the lips went up. Somehow she knew that this was a smile. Her twin was welcoming her. She wanted to welcome him back, but something stopped her. She didn’t know who her twin was. Was her twin part of her? She wasn’t sure she wanted to be part of someone else. She definitely didn’t want to share her Mother.

There were appendages on both sides of his body. There were five fingers attached to the end of each appendage. The fingers clenched and unclenched. They seemed to wave at her. Tamar thought about waving back, but she didn’t. She wasn’t sure if the thing next to her in the translucent sack could see her. So she pretended that she didn’t see it. Then she looked down and saw something protruding. At first she thought that she was seeing a shadow. She moved her head slightly. The shadow was still there. She looked down at her own body and saw that she also had a third appendage on the lower part of her body. It was much shorter than the two other limbs. She clenched and unclenched her fingers. They were all there — five on each side, including the shorter ones at the ends. None of them had fallen off. She looked down again. Somehow she knew that this protrusion made her a boy and knowing this made her angry.

She knew her name was Tamar, but she had forgotten where it came from. She knew that Tamar was a girl’s name, and that she was a girl. She had a vague memory in her cells that she had come from a single egg, fertilized by a trail of light that had come just for her. And she remembered that another egg, fertilized with its own stream of light, was next to her and that the two eggs had merged. They crossed over and into each other, exchanging some vital information. Tamar’s egg knew that it was female. But it absorbed a sequence of information that told it that its genetic material that it would be male and female. The secret language of the cells said that each of the eggs would be XX and XY.

The thing next to her had a longer protrusion than her. She took comfort in that. Perhaps this meant that she was really a girl after all. But the thing next to her — gradually, she came to think of him as her twin — would most likely be lording his superiority over her forever.

On the sides of the protrusion were two lower appendages. She found that she could use her mind to stretch them. And once she stretched them, she realized that these were her legs and that her feet were attached to the ends of them. She kicked at the inside of the pink cushion that surrounded her.

“Ow,” said a woman’s voice. It was the voice of the Mother. Tamar knew that she had to get the Mother’s attention first. She kicked again.

This time she felt a gentle hand push down on the other side of the pink cushion. Her twin nudged the Mother back.

“What are you trying to tell me, my son?” asked Mother.

I’m a girl — a girl just like you Mother, Tamar tried to say. But speech eluded her. She had yet to utter her first cry. But she had to get Mothers attention —

to read the entire piece in aadduna, click here

To learn more about my novel THEY, a biblical tale of secret genders (published by Adelaide Books New York/Lisbon), click here.

For more information on #IHeartSapphFic as a part of “Against All Odds Week, click here: bit.ly/3SAhClO

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