Through the Looking Glass: Women and Mental Illness

"Who in the world am I?
Ah, that's the great puzzle"

Alice in Wonderland

______________________________

______________________________

Course Overview

In this section of Monsters and Disability, we will explore "The Monstrosity of Women and Mental Illness." Following a social constructionist approach to gender and disability, this seminar will unpack a range of genres and media for how women have been made to be figures of madness. Consequently, we will utilize affect and trauma theory to study how women are also literally made mad by the sexist and ableist roles they are made to play. Taken together, the mad woman has become a recognizable monster in a variety of media.

In the first half of the semester, we engage in disability in print media. We begin by reading the verse of John Donne from the play (turned film) "W;t" alongside Arthur Frank's "The Wounded Storyteller" to see how illness can function as a call to stories; narratives of chaos, restitution, and questing. Next, we turn to comics to see how sexuality and madness of abuse, cancer, dying, mania and depression are expressed through the interplay of text and image. Later, we examine the prose of memoirs and novels which show how crip individuals strive use narrative to explore the construction, deconstruction, and reconstruction of their sense of self. 

In the second half of the semester, we will examine disability and film. We will explore how in fantasy films young women who just don't think like the rest are brought through trials of divergence, through rabbit holes, and left deep in the woods of depression, suicidal ideation, and undeath. In horror, women are victims who must survive the traumas of slavery, silence imposed by a threatening ableist world, and men who simultaneously desire their innocence and want to see them suffer.

______________________________

______________________________

Selections from the Reading List

Verse

• J.J. Cohen, “Monster Culture (Seven Theses)” (PDF)
• A. Frank, Wounded Storyteller (1997)
• M. Nichols (dir), Wit (2004)

Comics

• E. Forney, Marbles: Mania, Depression, Michelangelo and Me (2012)
• Jimmy Palmiotti and Amanda Conner, Harley Quinn: Joker Loves Harley (2017)
• The New Batman Adventures, 1.21, “Mad Love” (1999)
• WhatCulture Comics, “10 Worst Things The Joker Has Ever Done to Harley Quinn”
• Batman: the Animated Series, 1.56, “Harley and Ivy” (1993)
• Shippers Guide to the Galaxy, “Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy Rebirth – Update”
•  Jason Aaron, The Mighty Thor: Death of Thor (2018)

Prose 

• E. Clare, Exile and Pride (1999) 
• M. Haddon, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night (2004) 
• M. Russo, If I Was Your Girl (2016) 
• J. Mangold, Girl, Interrupted (1999) 
• Garland-Thompson, How We Look, “Social Relationship” & “Beholding”

Fantasy Film

• N. Burger (dir.), Divergent (2014) 
• R. Schwentke (dir.), Allegiant (2016)
• T. Solomon, Far From the Tree, “Son” (AW) 
• Snyder & Mitchell, Cultural Locations of Disability, “the Eugenic Atlantic"

• Disney, Alice in Wonderland (1951)
• N. Willing (dir), Alice (2009) 
• T. Solomon, Far From the Tree, “Schizophrenia” (AW) 

• S. Myer, Twilight: New Moon (2009)

Horror Film

• J. Demme (dir.), Beloved (1998) (AW)
• J.B. Bouson, “The Dirtied and Traumatized Self of Slavery in Beloved” (2000)
• A. Cvetkovich, Depression: A Public Feeling

• M. Night Shyamalan, Split (2017)
• T. Solomon, Far From the Tree, “Disability” (AW) 
• T. Solomon, Far From the Tree, “Crime” (AW)

• J. Krasinski, A Quiet Place (2018)
• T. de Cartagena, Grove of the Infirm

______________________________

______________________________

A Day in the Life: A Mental Health Care Regimen

"I keep my spirits high, find happiness by and by,
if it takes a life time"

Jason Isbell

______________________________

______________________________

The Reverend (my husbutch, spouse, partner, best friend) regularly comments how I have the most intentional mental health regimen and personal boundaries she knows. Other people have also asked me to explain what those look like. To give a brief example, I have included a normal (or rather ideal) schedule of my work week, Monday-Friday, when I am home. When I am away from home, my schedule varies with more time given to things like writing, teaching, or networking in place of time with the family. But when I am away, these times for connection often still occur through Skype, FaceTime, and phone calls. I have also included some thoughts about my personal boundaries, in regards to focus, time, space, and energy.

My generally approach to mental health puts an emphasis on the domestic over the medical. I make time for cooking food that makes my body feel good, exercising, resting, praying, and connecting with my family. On the face of it, these things may not seem very exceptional. They may seem downright conventional or cliche. But I've found that most people don't spend the time or aren't allowed to spend the time on such cliche things like going for a daily jog or wrestling with an eight-year old. I get into periods when I am working so hard that these boundaries and routines are abandoned in favor of getting things done. But my mental and physical health tends to suffer almost immediately. By years of managing myself and my health, I have learned how much I really do need to maintain certain practices and boundaries to be more effective, more charitable in my disposition, and more joyful.

It is worth stating that these are things that work for me. I share them because I was asked. Also it was a bit fun to reflect and record them. They are descriptive of what I do for reasons that make sense to and for me, I do not offer them to be prescriptive for anyone else. Opening up up a window into a day in my life is an act that makes me vulnerable to criticism. What I do may not work or make sense to you. I eat meat. Many many people I respect and love do not eat meat. I don't drink alcohol (or very rarely). Many many people I respect and love to drink lots of yummy things. I jog. Many many people I respect and love don't or can't jog regularly. I pray. Many many people I respect and love don't pray or pray differently. Likewise, my boundaries make sense for how my mind and body work as well as how society tends to engage me. For others, my boundaries may seem insufficient or too limiting. In the end, I share this because I believe that honestly and openly being me will help others to honestly and openly be them. There might be some things here that inspire you and they might prompt you to realize or share some of the helpful things you do. In the ongoing conversation around mental health, let's be charitable and tender with one another! Thank you for reading.

______________________________

______________________________

Normal (Ideal) Schedule
Monday-Friday

5:45 AM - Wake Up. Drive oldest child to bus stop at library.

• Husbutch and I will take turns waking up or sleeping.

8:15 AM - Walk youngest child to bus stop at street corner.

• Husbutch and I will take turns.

9:00 AM - Cook and eat breakfast 

• Protein and peppers. I tend to avoid carbs for reasons of health and personal taste. Over easy eggs or occasionally sausage with various vegetables, especially poblano peppers, banana peppers, jalapeno peppers, onions, celery, carrots.
• Recommended spice: salt, black pepper, smoked paprika, turmeric.

10:00 AM - Work

• Write, read, lesson plan, respond to e-mails, grade.
• Take breaks every 20-30 minutes to clean or organize.

12:00 PM - Pray

• Daily Mass at a progressive Catholic Church on Tuesday and/or Thursday
• Book of Hours, especially during Lent, Advent, Pentecost, Christmas, and Easter.
• Going for a walk is a good informal alternative.

12:30 PM - Eat Lunch

• At home: protein and salad. I prefer arugula and kale. Spinach is nice. Olive oil with balsamic vinegar, and salt to dress. Nuts and dried fruit if available. Cut onion. If meat was absent or light for breakfast, will prepare chicken or small lean steak.
• Chicken recommended spice: turmeric, non-smoked paprika, granulized onion, granulized garlic. Serve with fruity and spicy hot sauce on the side.
• Steak recommended spice: cumin, salt, black pepper, chili powder, diced onion. Serve with earthy and mid-range hot sauce on the side.
• Left-overs from previous night's dinner are common replacements.
• Sushi on Wednesday for Lunch Special Discount.
• Polish Food on Friday with Husbutch.
• Watch cooking show or talk show while eating.

1:00 PM - Work

• Write (or revise morning writing), read, lesson plan (different class), respond to e-mails, grade (different class).
• Try to shift to different form of work from the morning if possible.
• Take breaks every 20-30 minutes to clean or organize.

3:00 PM - Jog

• On high work days: listen to music. Allows for relaxation and creativity.
• On low work days: listen to audiobook.

3:45 PM - Shower

• Kids will arrive home from school during this time.

4:00 PM - Spend time with Kids

• Kids will need about 30 min down time after school.
• N. Bahr will want physical games. Tuesday and Thursday are Karate.
• C. Bahr will want pop culture or art project engagement.

6:00 PM - Cook dinner

• Kids will want carbs. Rice with beans or pasta.
• Husbutch will want protein with no carbs. Dry rubbed chicken drum sticks, steak with minimal seasoning, or chili.
• Include vegetables in creative forms. Family favorite is curried peas.
• Cook larger amount if Uncle Mike will also join meal.
• Light work while cooking: editing, reviewing work, reading posts or e-mails. Nothing that requires very much attention or else burned food will occur. 

7:00 PM - Eat Dinner

• Bless food. Husbutch does it best but kids do it the most adorably.
• Do "best parts of the day" with everyone present.
• If no other adults are present, kids will ask me to watch a show for the later part of dinner. An episodes in our ongoing Power Rangers run is generally chosen.

8:00 PM - 9:00 PM - Bed Time

• N. Bahr (the youngest) has an earlier bedtime and takes longer to get ready.
• C. Bahr (the oldest) has a later bedtime and is quicker getting ready.
• Read a book to the children. Selections include: Mama Gabby re-tells medieval literature with a queer feminist twist, Being Jazz, This Book is Gay, Animorphs, Twilight Saga, Wonder, Harry Potter, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children.
• Tell kids how much we love them.
• Answer N. Bahr's late night musings about life, the universe, and everything.

9:00 - 10:00 PM - Work (Finish Up)

• Review and revise writing, don't write anything new. Read light and short material. Don't grade at this point of the day. Avoid sending e-mails unless urgent.

10:00 PM - Midnight - Time with Spouse

• Husbutch is usually home from meetings, work, or other activities at this point.
• Husbutch will want to watch action or drama. Watch this earliest because otherwise they will pass out and I will be left unable to sleep.
• I will recommend a comedy. Watching this later will often involve husbutch passing out midway and me laughing myself into rest.

______________________________

______________________________

Boundaries

Focus

• Work: When I sit down for a project, I devote a massive amount of attention and multiple levels of consciousness to it. On lower level tasks, keeping several tasks going at once will keep something small from becoming more complex than it needs to be. On higher level tasks, devote time and energy specifically for working on the one project to allow for some likely fixation. This fixation will take the form of endless revisions or alternative approaches. 
• Family: I tend towards OCD and my family tends towards ADD. I will want to stay on a topic or project until it is complete, while my family will want to run multiple projects at the same time which often results in incomplete tasks. Breaking up family activities into small chunks allows for a sense of completion amidst the inevitable change in the weather of interest.
• Friends: everyone has different needs and energies during social engagements. Being able to be intentional both about the focus I give and when it is time to change the subject or walk away will often result in better quality attention and less burnout. Often, when my husbutch is applauding me for taking care of my mental health is it because of witnessing my ability to limit engagement or to tactfully disengage from social situations in which I have hit my limit or which are taxing my energy and focus at an unsustainable rate. I am a believer in giving enough energy to people but not more than I know I can healthfully give.

Time

• More time is better. Rushing results in poorer work and health. Crip time is slow in my viewpoint not because all forms of embodiment are necessarily sluggish but because allowing for many possible contingencies, revisions, and accessibility demands a greater amount of flex time. Rushing tends to result in less accessibility and care.
• Be willing to say "no" or "not right now" to requests. If requests will create a time crunch that results in poorer quality work and working conditions then be willing to refuse them, withdraw from non-essential projects, or to push back deadlines.
• Break up longer tasks into shorter goals. This will allow for flexibility in an uncertain future, making it easier to adjust as conditions, resources, interests, or feedback changes.
• Rhythm is key. The body (including mind and emotions) is a living thing full of beats, compressions, releases, spikes, and dips. Being able to create an environment and workload that follows regular pacing helps to make harder tasks more manageable and boring tasks more interesting. 

Place

• Work: because I tend to be more OCD and anxious, I need a work environment that has sufficient distractions and entertainment. This will interrupt the cycles of work or stress. Collectibles, non-work related books, pictures of family trips, and music or podcasts can help maintain a productive mood.
• Outside of Work: because I am transgender, spaces can be dangerous for me. To create real and imagined safety, I tend to go to the same places on a regular basis. I eat at the restaurants, shop at the same stores, go for walks around the same routes. Over time, the population and staff of these areas get used to me. This acclimatization reduces conflict and may even result in unexpected allies, friends, or safe zones if danger arises.
• Travel: because I cannot control a lot of the safety or comfort within places I travel, it is critical to find touchstones of both when I am away from home or work. People tend to stare or behave with increased rudeness towards me in places of public transit. I tend to prefer better ranked hotels because the staff is often better trained to deal with non-normative guests. Spending more for a taxi or hotel, and spending more time to walk or rest are worth while investments in places that can be dangerous and/or exhausting. Traveling with a friend or colleague can help with both safety and comfort.

Energy (Intellectual)

• Don't feel like you need to give an opinion on everything. Thinking deeply and critically is work. Consider social media and small talk another form of work, so avoid the unnecessary or unproductive variety. Other people will often say something better or be the better person to say something. Know when to speak and when to sit back to instead support other voices.
• The majority of the time, most people just want to feel like someone hears them. Giving affirmations that you are listening and that someones words are valuable is key. People too often do not state or affirm they heard statements because they seem obvious. Too often obvious solutions to problems are missed because people do not say or listen to them.

Energy (Emotional)

• Listening to, being present to, or witnessing to human emotion is labor. Feeling things is like working a muscle. I wouldn't sprint for 20 minutes without slowing down or taking breaks to walk and stretch, likewise emotional labor should be balanced with time alone or alternated with other emotions. A well timed joke, a sobering comment, an intermission to discuss another topic are all effective at maintaining and enduring longer emotional labor.
• Time alone nearby trusted people is key. People exhaust me and I find it difficult to not notice the million emotional, intellectual, physical, and social signals people send off. As such, a space where I don't see or hear the many subtle signals allows me to disconnect and recover. However, I do not like being isolated or totally alone. An office space or neighboring room in which I can settle will allow me to recenter myself while still being within reach.

Energy (Physical)

• Too much energy will result in higher anxiety. Increasing the amount of exercise helps with this. Solitude will help burn off extra physical energy that results from excessive emotional or intellectual conflict. Ironically, fast paced music will help organize the extra energy by acknowledging the surge rather than trying to ignore or eschew it.
• Too little energy will result in a more depressive and sluggish state. Eating better or more often and sleeping more will help. Be aware that sleep is an investment. More efficient work and socializing can be done with better rest. Overtired or slugging work or socializing will take longer and be less effective.
• C. Bahr and husbutch prefers lower energy activities for longer periods.
• N. Bahr prefers higher energy activities for shorter periods.

My Body

• This is a whole post to itself, given how people can have varyingly healthy and unhealthy attitudes towards trans women's bodies.

______________________________

______________________________

Trans Saints: Imitatio Christi in The Last Time I Wore A Dress

“The more I talked to Jesus, the more I liked him, 
and the less crazy he seemed. ”

Dylan Scholinski
The Last Time I Wore A Dress

______________________________

______________________________

Imitation as Counter-Reality

Imitation is not only a matter of performance but embodiment and circumstances. In "Body Talk: Gestures of Emotion in Late Medieval England," Paul Murphy writes on how Christ fashioned the model by which the Imitatio Christi would follow in later generations. For Christ too, this was a process of engaging with and reacting to the world, to the point of suffering and death. "The cross forces Jesus to take on the shape of the cross," observes Murphy, "and as such, humankind are to be considered exemplars of that shape just as they are to imitate Christ's example" (Murphy 2016). Our bodies take on the shape of our sufferings. Imitatio Christi then is not only how we respond to God but how we respond to the world. The figurative cross-section is visible in how the Imago Tranvesti can move toward the Imago Dei at the same time that it is set apart and marginalized by the Imago Mundi. As a result, while postmedieval generations of trans persons may find themselves living outside of Christian community and faith, nonetheless they can come to share in the suffering of Christ (or Christ figures). In this way, while occupying a point in the modern era, trans persons can find themselves within a living narrative of medieval continuity. Murphy observes that for late medieval Christians, "It did not suffice to imitate Christ in his moral teachings, but rather it was demanded that a sensual and emotional activity be completed to better understand the sufferings of the Passion" (Murphy 2016). Unlike models of Christianity that emphasizes otherworldly purity, the Imitatio Christi of saints emphasize sharing a lived position of suffering and opposition to an unjust world. In this vein, one does not become a saint by excelling in worldly virtue but by opposing the norms of the world in ways that bring one closer to the suffering of others, particularly the suffering of Christ. Following this tradition within the hagiographic genre, Dylan Scholinski's memoir, the Last Time I Wore A Dress, surprisingly makes an overt move toward affirming an Imitatio Christi from within the secular circumstances of the mental hospital. For Scholinski is gifted with a chance to relate to a living Christ figure in the form of a fellow mental patient who believes himself to be Jesus Christ himself. Through their shared sufferings by a world that rejects them, the two form a conjoined Imitatio Christi and Imiatio Transvesti that gestures back toward a medieval tradition of imitation even as it responds to very modern circumstances.

Imitation gives a sense of counter-reality or non-reality. The madness of a man who claims to be Jesus Christ is diagnosed as disordered in this sense. It is not-real that he is Christ, therefore to live as though he is Christ is sick. Likewise, the "girl" who lives like a "man" is regarded as imitation of the same non-reality. Imitation as a form of fakeness is then the justification for the asylum locking up youths. Scholinski's memoir however argues against this understanding and argument on imitation. "Even if we'd looked up Gender Identity Disorder, I don't think anyone would have tried to fake it," Scholinski writes. "We knew the rules: pacing, screaming, hallucinating and vomiting were okay. Not okay was walking around with a scarf in your hair, for a boy, or being like me, a girl who never felt comfortable in a dress" (24). A man knows that he is not to say he is Jesus Christ unless he is Jesus Christ. A youth knows that he is not to live like a man unless he is a man. The rules are evident and understood. The other things Scholinski lists are also understood as unacceptable but for different and related reasons. Pacing, screaming, living out visions or fashion statements, even vomiting are all forms of resistance. They are ways that those incarcerated for being fake and unreal assert the reality and transgressive power. In screaming and vomiting the body literally unleashes their internal disgust with the reality being shoved down their throats. In pacing, as will explore shortly, the body walks and may even cross the limits of freedom. Imitation may be counter-real in another sense than non-real. Imitation may be a way of changing reality, asserting alternative ways of being, living, and relating.

The movement of people within the mental hospital causes unexpected relations to occur and over time patients and staff began to imitate one another. Indeed, at first Scholinski tried to assert a level of superiority and distance between himself and other patients. In this way, in his first encounters he imitated the role of staff more than fellow patient. "Being in a mental hospital was a boon for my counseling skills," writes Scholinski, "although after a while I got confused." Over time of meeting the personalities of the hospital, Scholinski began to like them and even began to question how alike they were or could be. A trans youth incarcerated with persons with different diagnoses put them all into similar positions, made similar demands, and forced them into similar routines. Likewise, as with many friendships, relationships with the other patients as peers brought Scholinski to regard himself more as an equal with them. Yet the more he began to associate and imitate other patients, the more the divide between himself and others, trans and mad, began to dissolve. He began asking how he appeared to others. "Maybe I don't know I'm insane," Scholinski wondered. "They don't know they're insane, so why should I know?" (20). After reflecting how life in a mad house made him question what madness actually is, Scholinski describes how the system reacted to such discussions arising between patients like him and Jesus. "The staff discourage this sort of questioning," writes Scholinski. "They liked the line between sane and insane to be perfectly clear" (19). The act of turning someone into a saint can be a transgressive move. In the eye of society, those who have been set apart are marginalized because they resist normative traits and values. The work of re-narrating the mad house into a place where one may meet Jesus Christ (or one representation of Him) and the mad as perhaps worthy of imitation turns the system of madness inside out. 

______________________________

______________________________

Imitation as Solidarity

"'I am Jesus,' he said. 'I Know it's hard to believe, but I am Jesus.'" What draws Jesus and Scholinski together is that both of them believe themselves to be persons that other people do not believe them to be. In the case of Scholinski, the butch soon-to-be trans man is isolated by a world that insists that he is (and should be) a girly girl. Jesus's case is more specific. Jesus is isolated by the world because they deny he is Christ. Ironically, the world also denied that Jesus Christ was who he said he was. In both cases, it is as much the belief of the patient as much as the disbelief (or alternative belief) of the doctors that set them apart from the rest of society. Despite the differences between Scholinski and this modern Jesus (or the biblical Jesus for that matter) there is a shared subject position: men who believe they are other than the world believes. Over time, this shared physical and social position turns into a shared ethos of resistance and support. They began to believe in each other. Scholinski writes, "the more I talked to Jesus, the more I liked him, and the less crazy he seemed. Zealous, but not dangerous. I could imagine him in the outside world, preaching. He'd probably help some people." The argument that Scholinski employs here is a traditional one in the transgender community as well as Christianity: 'so what if you don't believe what I believe? If it makes my life better and doesn't hurt others, what harm is it in letting me be?' Jesus offers the trans youth a way of believing in themselves and affirming others. Beyond their ontological claims, these assertions for alternative networks of care and support when the authorized system turns against those under its care. If the world regards them as disordered sinners, they will be saints for one another.

Sharing in the discourse of Jesus, the trans youth begins to imitate him in various ways, forming a unique kind of Imitatio Christi. A signature feature of this Jesus (much like the Jesus of the Bible) was that he was an unstopping walker. Jesus would walk the halls to the limit of his capacities. In this walking, Scholinski followed Jesus. "A couple times I paced with him, down the long corridor and back, for exercise," recalls Scholinski. "I wanted to help him. I was always this way, helping my friends. I thought of myself as a roving counselor. It kept people a nice distance away from my problems." Scholinski finds that by helping others he is helping himself. Maybe by saving others (in a way) from the harm of this place, he could save himself. Regardless of why he did it, the walking itself taught the trans youth a valuable way of liberation. The walking was a sign of transgression against beging caged. It helped them imagine and prepare themselves for the day that those walls would not be able to contain them. "Escape was something we all talked about," admits Scholinski. "It was a sign of sanity; it was a statement, I am not one of these people, I am not a mental patient" (51). By imitating this mad Christ's physical actions, the mad trans youth imitated his mental actions as well. In the walking was the statement that they could not be contained. They could not be contained forever by physical walls, nor could they be contained by the walls of diagnosis and marginalization. Like a form of prayer, even if this habit did not magically give them what they wanted instantly, it did prepare them and instill in them a form of resistance. The walls and staff kept them bordered yet within these restrictions they could exercise a degree of freedom and life. Set apart from the world, they could create their own world and walk every square inch of it. While they could not cross the boundaries that separated them from those outside, they could at least cross the boundaries that separated them from each other.

The saner Jesus seems to Scholinski, the more mad he fears he has become. Scholinski considers this dillemna without coming to a firm conclusion. He asks, "If I thought he was sane what did that make me? Mental hospitals are rife with this kind of debate. Are people like Bob [a.k.a. Jesus] simply more sensative than the rest of us? Bombarded with information, the delusioned find it hard to function in the world, but is that their fault or the world's?" Deconstructing the definitions and boundaries of madness, the trans youth becomes habituated to skills that will indispensible in preserving his own sense of truth. Are transgender persons insane and disordered or are they simply more sensitive than the rest of us? Bombarded with information, the dysphoric find it hard to function in a world of fixed and binary genders. But is that the fault of the trans youths or the world? This alternative way of thinking and living is attractive for those set apart by society. Scholinski admits to imitating Jesus even to the extent of claiming to sharing in his visions. "I used to hear voices," Scholinski told him. "That wasn't true, but I didn't want him to feel alone. Plus, I wanted to fit in" (19). Rather than making fun of him through sarcasm or trickery which assert the non-reality of Christ's understanding of himself, Scholinski's claim of sharing in the visions of Jesus is rather an attempt at solidarity. The trans youth wants Jesus to know he is on his side; and, he admits, to try to get Jesus on his side. By reaching out to Jesus, Jesus reaches back towards Scholinski. Much like the Jesus Christ of the Bible, the Jesus Christ of the Mad House challenges others to cross borders and identify with the isolated and marginalized. Whether either Jesus was right about their personal ontological or metaphysical claims, this does not mean that their ethical and social critiques are not valid. The Jesus that Scholinski meets offers him a way of life to imitate that could lead him to make the world a more sensitive and just place.

______________________________

______________________________

Imitation as Resistance

Whereas the Imago Dei affirm the diverse creative power of God, the Imitatio Christi affirm the agency among persons to transform their lives and that of their community. The work of imitation brings alternative forms of life and community together, the authorized systems will exert the supremacy of their definitions and boundaries. By affirming the same in the other, imitation can be an act of solidarity and resistance. While often tolerated, the subversive defiance of Jesus's continuous walking was did not go unnoticed by the hospital workers. Scholinski recounts one night when the conflict between patients and staff burst into violence, challenging the contingent alliance established between Jesus and the trans youth. Scholinski explains, "they went after after Jesus because he wouldn't go into his room at bedtime. He kept pacing" (33). The physical control and isolation of patients was an exercise of power whereby the normitizing establishment worked to control and isolate disruptive spirits. "Three guards held him down on the floor and Jesus whipped his body around, screaming and crying. This guards swore at him. It was nasty," recounts Scholinski (33). Each movement of Jesus's body was an material act of resistance much like his continued assertion of the man he is was an internal act of defiance. Yet the force of putting him on the ground as well as the shoving around his body showed how the medical system could curtail even these movements. The dangerous persistence of the system was that it could be in one moment fixed and in another moment fluid while retaining a degree of control on the body being disciplined. Jesus could yell and twist but we could not escape the firm hands of the hospital. The battle to put Jesus into his room was an assertion that the staff could put the man in his place in a variety of ways and senses. The momentary restricting of Jesus relates to the logic of the asylum as a whole: the hospital has a right to hold the bodies of patients and to assert ever more isolated control. The time specific enforcement of power (asserting a bedtime) likewise related to the overall authority of the hospital to remove the patients from the general population for a given amount of time. The removal from public time and community is imitated in the removal from the time and community within the hospital between patients such as Jesus and Scholinski.

The attempt to isolate and divide Jesus and Scholinski from each other are met by resistance between the bond formed during the regular walks prompts the trans youth to stand in solidarity with his companion. "Another patient, I don't remember who, ran over with me to help Jesus. We yelled, Leave him alone, he's not hurting anyone," recalls Scholinski (33). Ironically, the demand to "Leave him alone" reflects the goal of the staff in one way. The hospital intends on isolating Jesus from the others, inhibiting his ability to walk and talk with them and inspire their imitation of his transgressive spirit. Yet in another way Scholinski's demand inverts the meaning of the isolation. While the hospital removed Jesus and the trans youth from the general population, setting them apart, it also allowed for them to form an alternative community and become saints for one another. Indeed, this night, they would become momentary martyrs for Jesus. "A guard with huge arms wrestled me to the floor and put his black leather boot on my head," recounts Scholinski (33). Because the imitation of Jesus did not stop at walking and talking together, the trans youth's decision to stand by his friend results in him receiving similar punishment. While subdued, the act of resistance forced the hospital to extend their energy threefold.  Scholinski admits that the hospital staff spoke their message louder. "He stood over me for a long moment to make sure I understood who held the power," Scholinski recounts. "I understood. 'Shut up, you fucking crazy queer,' he said" (33). Much like the tradition of imitating Christ by "turning the other cheek," the act of others taking and multiplying the punishment was a way to shame the medical staff. The imitation was a message that there are alternative ways of living, understanding, and enacting power. While Jesus and the trans youth were insane by the standards of the medical staff, the staff was out of line by the standards of the patients. As Scholinski repeated several times in various ways, Jesus being Jesus, like the trans youth being a trans youth, wasn't hurting anyone. "So what if Jesus wouldn't go into his room?" Scholinski asks. "He was peaceful until they arrived" (33). In this moment that the hospital staff was asserting the supremacy of their Imago Mundi, the Imago Transvesti and Imitatio Christi worked together to offer a peaceful alternative. Who are the ones that need to be physically restrained: the ones going for a night walk or the ones beating children?

The scene demonstrates the way and the cost of Imitatio Christi for transgender saints. Yet it the narrative also opens up for others to join in the imitative act of solidarity. The invocation of a nameless other person, "Another patient, I don't remember who, ran over with me to help Jesus," works much like the unnamed "Beloved Disciple in the Gospel of John" wherein the reader can imagine themselves running to Jesus's aid (33). The Imitatio Christi of Dylan Scholinski is not without dangers nor is it normatizing in the way the Christ of his wider society has become. Standing beside one another can be taking blows meant for another. "The next day my neck and shoulder were so sore the nurse gave my Tylenol," recalls Scholinski (33). In a hospital where medicine is regulated, especially for those with recorded drug transgressions, the gift of pain killers is both an act of care and erasure. The medicine is an act of forgiveness but also a reward for a patient who has returned to following the rules. Just as how the removal of pain smoothes over the materials consequence of the defiance, the act of care works to reassert relations between patient and hospital, oppressed and oppressor, after a swift blow to divide the relations between patient and patient. The immediate force of the violence followed by the lingering memory of the pain can secure the system in silence. "In the meeting we didn't mention Jesus being beaten up" remembers Scholinski (33). Nonetheless, Tylenol is not a very powerful drug. Nor is the act of care able to make all things right and peaceful again. The pains will persist and the memory will be retained until a time that voice can be given to both of them. In this way, through the trans hagiography the veil of silence is lifted. Old wounds are reopened and at last the pain is able to speak. Years after Jesus and Scholinski were divided, the pattern of their relationship continues, offering a model of imitation for other oppressed groups to follow. Even if one is not Christ or a trans man, one can embody the same form of resistance and community through a shared suffering in the Imitatio Christi.

______________________________

______________________________

Click here for more information 

on Transgender Saints

______________________________

______________________________

How We Live: Words from a Suicidal Transgender Community

"Trans folks are doing their part to hold 
their community together and we've never been 
more proud of the work we are doing."

The Trans Lifeline
(877) 565-8860

______________________________

______________________________

Once when I was being considered for a job, I was told the committee was hesitating because I wore "too much black." I told them that is why I was valuable. In a community care job where most people wore pastels, there are people (maybe even the pastel wearers) who need to see someone who looks like me. I need to see someone like me. I need to see someone like you. That's how those who already feel excluded feel like they have a chance. That's how we survive. That's how we live.

The transgender community continues to fall victim to suicide at an alarming rate. Studies show that 41% to 50% of transgender persons will attempt suicide. Those who leave notes cite an unlivable life in an antagonistic and oppressive world. Today, after the election of Donald Trump to President of the United States, the Trans Lifelife, a support system for the suicidal trans community, reports 288 calls within the first 24 hours. Transgender issues has been a target for most of the Republican candidates and the election of the new President leaves many trans persons fearful and despairing. If the community needed a final push to confirm the collective animosity toward them, this seals it for many. Others despair because they identify or ally themselves with other communities targeted by the Trump campaign. The saying "It Gets Better" aimed to support LGBTQ youth and encourage them not to take their lives seems hallow today for much of the community. It gets worse it seems. This is a hard reality that many knew all too well already. Yet here we are: queer crip trans women of color, members of the Jewish or Muslim faith, immigrants and refugees. We have lived and died before through hardships. We die and live now.

I don't have convincing words for those intent in dying. Life is too big and too hard, like death is too big and too hard. I can't tell someone who feels betrayed by their job, community, or country that it gets better. I don't know what better looks like for you and I can't promise that image of the world will ever materialize. I can't argue with you but I can keep on living. You can see that. And that is a real thing. If you can keep on living, we can see it together. And that will be a real thing. When I feel so overwhelmed by the world that I am disoriented by disbelief, my partner and I play a game from the book, the Hunger Games. We take turns listing things that are real. First and foremost, you and me, us, we are alive right now. That is real. The country may vote despite us or against us. In their game, we may lose. But by living, we win at a more important game. That is real.

______________________________

______________________________

I've seen impossible and irrational things. I've seen the bad. And that is too real. It can seem so real one does not need to talk about or believe it. It can feel more big and more real than us. But in the face of that certitude of badness, the impossible happens: we live. People look at us and yell things at us. People pull weapons on us, they have on me. People make it clear we are not welcome or reject us for a job; however our value and qualifications. We make them uncomfortable and they make us feel afraid, ashamed, even suicidal. The image of world we are given is one that would rather not include us. That is a real thing. We may feel we should give that image of the world a favor by removing ourselves. But that is not the only world we can see. I've seen impossible and irrational things.

I've seen trans women not get the job either and have nowhere to call home. I've talked to those who have worked the streets and lived on the streets. Some people look at them with pity or condescension. But those women are living a life the world says shouldn't exist. I've read the words of trans men incarcerated in mental hospitals and forced to embody an unlivable life. They attempted suicide. They failed. And the confess they failed on purpose. Their mind, body, and heart chose death. But some impossible part of them kept them alive. Then there are those autistic, trans, queer, people of color shot down in the streets. Then there are those children who walk into oncoming traffic. Even those killed by their own hands seemed killed by the world and under the flag emblazoned with the image of their exclusion. Yet even then, they lived. That is a real thing.

The story of Dylan Scholinski is real. "Suicide is a selfish act," said one of the medical staff after Dylan Scholinski's suicide attempt, "Do you know that?" (The Last Time I Wore A Dress 73). They called him selfish but it they who isolated him. Scholinski grew up in the next town over from me in the same Polish community. He would have attended my high school if he hadn't been committed to a mental asylum for being transgender. In his memoir, he recounts being isolated from the public and then the small community in the hospital. Alone may be a better word than selfish. In her suicide note, Leelach Alcorn also recounts being isolated before her successful attempt. “I was completely alone for 5 months,” Alcorn writes, “No friends, no support, no love.” If isolation, exclusion, and loneliness is how we die, being present and real for one another is how we live.

______________________________

______________________________

There are no words to promise you life or a better world. That is impossible. But I can show you impossible lives and worlds that exist all around us; in our jobs, our communities, and our country. By witnessing to the impossible we can hold on to the life it materializes and envisions. We can live it, become it, and it can be real. There are those who believe that the most valuable Life and those like it have been killed in the most merciless ways, yet they become images of resurrection and hope. There are those who believe that the most valuable persons have been rejected in the most hateful way, yet they become images of consolation and recommitment. There are those whose valuable bodies and minds and spirits turn against them in the most unlivable way, yet they become images of life and reality.

I do wear more colors today but I wear other things as well. I wear "I Will Go With You Buttons" to protest anti-transgender bathroom laws. I wear a tank top that reads, "This is What A Feminist Medievalist Looks Like." I wear black because too many, friends and family I know and you know, then too many we don't know, feel isolated, angry, and suicidal. We need to be able to mourn the lives that were and will not be. Others need to see that. We need to see that. Because that is real. But beyond the fabric thin messages, who I march and stand beside is what makes me visible in certain ways and a witness others. There are times that brings victories and there are times when it feels like it does little. Yet in these times, to live would be enough. To help one another live is more than enough - for now.

In an irrationally bad world, we can irrationally live. That is how we live. That is what you see, what I see, and what those we don't believe in us see. Today I don't work for that job but I serve a wider community. I get up in the morning and I see my children to school. I get on clothes and see my partner to an appointment. I go to class and I see the next generation of minds. They see me and I see them. I write this and you see me and I see you. That is real. That is how we live.

______________________________

______________________________

Pilgrimage to Lynn: Finding Fellowship with Margery Kempe

"Every evyn and morwyn 

Richard wyth the broke bak 

cam and comfortyd hir"

The Book of Margery Kempe

______________________________

______________________________

The Pilgrimage of Tears

It began in the bathroom of an queer bar in Iceland. I was in a stall, bent over crying in fits of mild panic. A few hours earlier, I had entered the club with a gaggle of LGBT medievalists here for the biannual New Chaucer Society meeting. It had become a tradition that each NCS would host some night of fun and community for its queer scholars. The club was an easy choice and easy to pick out among the buildings of Reykjavik. Covering every foot of the bar's exterior were the colors of the rainbow in their neon glory. At first, most of us stood around talking sipping drinks. I had a diet coke because of a mild alcohol allergy I had passed on to me from my Polish ancestors. As the night went on, the club filled with more locals. The room got crowded, the music loud, and the room hot. Many of us who remained shed out of our coats and piled them by the window, behind a curtain. Although I was down to a clingy black and white dress, I kept my cell and purse close to me; either in my hand or tucked into my bra. From my years in Washington DC, I knew to be careful of pick-pockets. Yet anyone who has spent time with things stashed in their bra will know, things can get very sweaty very quickly. When the digital clocks on the phone (blurry with perspiration) passed eleven, a few of us decided to shed a few articles and hand-held devices, including my phone. We stashed them in our deftly hidden clump of coats. Within the hour, we had all gotten so tired that we were ready to head back to our hotels and hostels. Putting on my jacket, the pockets felt light. I patted them. Flat. Nothing in them. I checked under the pile but even after everyone had claimed their clothing, there was nothing left. I searched the floor between the moving legs. Nothing. As the others offered their condolences or hopes that it would be found and left, I asked the bar and the DJ. They hadn't been given any lost items and warned me of what I already knew to be true. The phone was gone. Taken. In this community of queers, who I had mistakenly felt enough fellowship to drop my standard safe guards, I had been pick-pocketed. I felt betrayed by the community. I felt like a foreigner, alone in a foreign land, unable to call home for help. Left to myself, I found my way to the bathroom to cry before I hit the road. Now, as ever, I felt a kinship with Margery Kempe, a medieval woman on whom I had just given a talk earlier in the day. She too knew about feeling alone and betrayed when traveling abroad. Despite our differences, our tears brought us closer.

I was not thinking of Margery Kempe as I walked home in the cold through the streets of this Icelandic city. Clinging my coat closer to me, for comfort more than warmth, I felt vulnerable. While my phone had limited capacities in another country, it gave a sense of security while I was far from home. In a pinch I could call my partner or family, who I desperately wished to have with me now. I could distract myself by searching the internet for things to do when you lose your phone in a foreign country, except I had no phone. This sense of being cut-off from safety nets compounded the feelings of violation at having someone enter uninvited into my bubble of self, touch my things, and take something away. All this was stressful but perhaps would have felt more manageable if I didn't already have an ingrained sense of exposure and vulnerability as a transgender woman walking the streets alone at night in unfamiliar area. Similar walks at night down sidewalks close to home have gone worse, even with a way to call for help. The revealing dress I was wearing under my other things didn't feel cute anything. I felt like a walking target waiting for someone to take a shot. My coat pulled close, I walked quicker than usual across the cobblestone road back to the hostel where I was staying. Once I got in, I pulled a big sweater over my body, cocooning myself as much as I could then took my computer into the lobby. Booting up Skype and online messengers, I tried my partner. Even with the time difference, it took me a while to get her on the line. Eventually, she calmed me down but only after unleashing some rage at the situation. I vicariously got something from her anger. She left me with an assurance that I would be safe and that she couldn't wait until I got home. I talked to my mother next (who remains one of my best friends and confidants) and she gave similar sentiments. By the end of that night, however, I had come to the conclusion that next time I traveled abroad, I did not want to travel alone. I concluded much the same thing that Margery did when she felt betrayed and on her own in Jerusalem: as much freedom as one experiences striking out on your own, traveling greatly benefits from fellowship.

By the time I was invited back to NCS, next time in London, I had made my decision to find whatever means necessary to bring my fiancee alone with me. I compiled a set of plans on how it could be done, taking into account our finances and family (the kids would be staying with their father around the same time) and presented it all to her. To my relief and joy, she said yes. Then another thought occurred to us. What if we invite my mother to join us? Her and the Reverend (my fiancee) had become much closer by frequent texts, calls, and visits. We had long been discussing asking her to move in with us once we found a place big enough. When the Reverend said it was a good idea, I couldn't wait to give my mum a call. And again, I was delighted, after some back and forth on her end, when she said she would love to join us. We had a team. Three of us would take on England. Over the next two years, we planned the trip that would begin after I finished at NCS and would take us to various sites. Over the week we would visit the places authors and religious figures lived out their lives. Among those added to the list, almost last minute, was a trip to visit King's Lynn/Bishop's Lynn, the home and parish of Margery Kempe. It seemed as though everything was working in our favor, until suddenly it wasn't. A few months prior to the trip, the Reverend began to experience health trouble. It started as a complication of an existing condition but soon escalated. By a few weeks before the trip, she was in constant pain and her mobility was radically decreased. Getting out of bed or chairs, lifting, and walking were all limited greatly by how much pain she could endure. On a couple nights, we just sat together wordlessly crying. The doctors were stumped at first about what was going on or what to do. Eventually, with the advocacy of my nurse mother, we got some treatments that would give some minor relief in the long term. All figured, however, the trip seemed more and more like a plan that was quickly seeming like a fading fantasy. Yet, somehow, even when it seemed like it would be sheer torture, the Reverend showed the characteristic that time and again makes me draw on comparisons to bears and amazon warriors: she wouldn't back down in the face of pain that would stop others in their tracks. This wasn't my decision, or my mothers, or even the doctors. We all offered our help whatever the decision that was made but in the end it was my fiancee's decision to go.

And so, in a fellowship much resembling the pilgrimage of Margery Kempe and her bent back companion Richard, we set off on our pilgrimage. I arrived a week ahead of the rest, so I could attend NCS and give a talk. When the Reverend and my mother arrived, they were both exhausted and perplexed. No sooner than they had arrived, the challenge of the trip affirmed that it was not just an irresponsible worry. Rachel's medications (none of which were for pain) were lost on the plane. As I traveled to find them in the hotel we would be sharing, they were occupied with finding an urgent care that would give us a refill. This is to say that once we got settled, we had to cancel some plans just to give everyone some time to care for ourselves and each other. The whole of the trip lay ahead of us and more or less in tact but come Saturday, while my mother swam and the Reverend rested I was sent off to complete at least one of the objectives set for the day. The destination was largely symbolic but would frame the ethos of the whole trip. I was to visit a museum currently showing two treasures that had inspired the whole map of the latter part of the trip. Getting off the Tube underground rail nearby the museum, I exited onto Gower Street. Seeing the favorite medieval poet's name gave me some sense that whatever the challenges, we would see ourselves through them like the pilgrims of the fourteenth and fifteenth century. Turning off of Gower Street, I entered the museum and found the exhibit hall. Navigating through a maze of video, audio, and tactile installations I arrived at my target: the lone manuscript of the Book of Margery Kempe, resting beside a manuscript of the Showings of Julian of Norwich. These women formed an unlikely coupling centuries ago when Margery set off on her own pilgrimage through England. Together, they found comfort in a world not built for them and often antagonistic. They navigated challenges of the body, society, and country through the comfort and strength their unlikely fellowships offered. Their homes and places of worship would close out our trip and their books, displayed in front of me, had in part inspired the trip. They were the reason I had gone to Iceland and why the three of us were together in England. I said a silent prayer of thanks to these extraordinary women who would offer us a model of pilgrimage on our journey.

______________________________

______________________________

The Pilgrimage of Margery Kempe

While pain and abandonment can force us apart, by making ourselves vulnerable our struggles can be points of connection with others who like us crave fellowship. When abandoned on pilgrimage in Jerusalem, Margery Kempe prays to God for assistance. God responds by turning Kempe from normate society to the disabled on the margins. “Than anon, as sche lokyd on the on syde, sche sey a powyr man sittyng whech had a gret cowche on hys bakke,” records the Book, “He seyd hys name was Richard and he was of Erlond” (30.1769-87). The bent man, “brokyn in a sekenes,” is alienated from society for his body as Kempe is for her mind. Deeming them unproductive, the forces that put Kempe and Richard on the side of the road did not expect them to leave their place. The placement of non-normate bodies on the margins of public space, “on the on syde,” gives a shared experience of disability not as something innate to their lives but impose when a social environment does not regard them as not central to its cultural production. One may not regard fellowship with Kempe or Richard without making a mad turn into the margins and making community there. The partnering of Kempe and Richard is a mad-thought and mad-made relation that defies the social meanings and positions assigned to them. The creature tells him, “ledith me to Rome” (30.1778). "Nay," he responds (30.1779). Richard is aware of the dangers of the road, especially for a mad-thought woman and a man mad-made disabled by social dangers and erasures imposed on him due to his a bent back. “I drede me that myn enmys schul robbyn me and peraventur takyn the awey fro me and defowlyn thy body,” he admits (30.1782-3).  In addition to being mad-made physically and socially vulnerable, they fight an internalized belief of disabled peoples’ unproductivity. By grace, Kempe moves him to her side. Beyond material gifts, the social support they share is critical. The Book of Margery Kempe records, “every evyn and morwyn Richard wyth the broke bak cam and comfortyd hir as he had promysed” (30.1795). This coming together and comforting of one another is integral to the work of mad-making associations and fellowship in the Book that empower mutual a liberation from the margins. 

The pilgrimage with Richard to Rome marks a turn in the Book, especially the narratives following Kempe’s travels, where she moves from fellowship with ablebodied companies to making partnerships with the disabled and marginalized. Richard and Kempe were primed to replace the previous fellowship not only by sharing a similar language, English, but also similar cultural experience. By the time that Kempe uses the word fellowship in the Book, there already existed a sense of sharing similar conflicts, from the Middle English of fellow, “felaȝe-,” meaning “ One who shares with another in a possession, official dignity, or in the performance of any work, ” and -ship, meaning “the state or condition,” “office, position, dignity, or rank,” as well as “skill” or “power.” Together the word means, “[p]articipation, sharing (in an action, condition, etc.); ‘something in common’, community of interest, sentiment, nature.” While Richard and Kempe are distinct people, their experiences are of the same kind and facilitate fellowship making between them. This fellowship also alters their condition, quality, and power once formed. The word’s Old Norse origins develop this sense of collective merging and bargaining of abilities, from “feoh-”, meaning “property, money,” and “–lęcgan”, meaning “lay,” together meaning, “one who lays down money in a joint undertaking with others.” While Richard fears he is unable to protect Kempe, or himself, by laying their capacities together they are able to do more than they can individually. This is another way that fellowship making is really a kind of creation: something exists that did not exist before with powers greater than the sum of its parts. This fellowship has qualities all of its own that has the ability to strengthen and change those of its members. Part of this collectivity is to use the traits that those in the fellowship share to function as catalysts for the communication of capacities that are distinct to one member and not another.

Margery and Richard are bound together by the struggles they share but move forward because they can offer one another abilities that the other does not or would not possess. Beyond the supernatural element of their union being foretold, the convenience of Richard’s country of origin, “Erlond” (30.1769-87) was a miracle for a woman who often has trouble understanding and being understood by others. Richard understands Kempe’s language and can give her a comfort that other travelers cannot. Literacy and language ability is a running theme throughout the Book as it plays with the significance of Kempe’s madness. Being set apart by her disability, normate society can have trouble understanding her. There is a certain fluency and comfort that another person with a disability, also excluded from society, can give. Mad-thought and a broken back are not identical yet are mad-made neighbors in a shared social position and discourse much like how Ireland and England have importance differences and conflicts, yet find themselves connected by experiences and narratives. While Kempe demonstrates the abilities her madness gives her to overcome these challenges, she enjoys a certain co-dependence with Richard that allows them both to move from the margins and across borders. Because of Richard’s ability to be like Kempe in some ways but not in others, he is able to translate and advocate for her in social situations. When the two are traveling to Rome, the encounter a wealthy woman traveling with a company of knights who might as well passed by the mad woman and broke back man on their way. Yet by making a relationship with Richard, Kempe is able to make relations with this group, “the brokebakkyd man, went to hir, preyng hir that this creatur mygth gon wyth hir to Rome and himself also for to be kept fro perel of thevys” (31.1846-48). Fear of assaulters and thieves was one of the great anxieties that Richard names before Kempe and him set off. Although Richard fears he could not defend them against such threats physically, he as an ability to reason with others in order to get them protection in another way.

Fellowships can the ability to reshape how we live and how others engage with us. We come to defy the expectations of society, expectations that we may come to believe. In the end, the accomplishments of a fellowship may not be ours alone but by allowing for our own vulnerabilities and dependencies, the equation of power changes. We become more by rejecting demands that we be all. By making a mad relation with a broke-back man, Kempe is able to recreate a fellowship and a mode of travel that she had lost among a more able bodied company. This point and counterpoint is made explicit when Richard and Kempe arrive in Rome. “Whan the forseyd creatur was comyn into Rome,” records the Book, “and thei that weryn hir felaws beforntyme and put hir owt of her cumpany weryn in Rome also and herd tellyn of swech a woman was come thedyr, thei had gret wondir how sche cam ther in safté” (31.1849-52). This passage is a moment of vindication for a disabled woman before an ableist community that thought her madness was an impediment to their travels. Evidently, ableism likewise led the old party to believe that a mad woman could not have made it to Rome at all. By encountering them, without words Kempe is able to demonstrate the alternative forms of community and power the mad and disabled can muster through the making of mad relations. From chapter thirty to thirty three, the various things that are describes as mad in the Book all work to turn the normate towards the disabled, form new relations, in order to derive more love, comfort, and understanding. While Kempe and Richard’s pilgrimage from Jerusalem to Rome occurs many chapters in the Book before the creature’s mission to the Lazars, this bent narrative demonstrates the recursive nature of madness making more madness. Far from being a rational close circle, Kempe’s mad recursion brings more and more people into her network and through her into God’s network of Creation. Encountering the Imago Dei in her visions and prayers, Kempe is being made by what she sees and through imitation becomes an Image of God that fashions new things by turning them away from their rational course, draws them to cross boundaries of embodiment and even time period (as we will see), to go to the margins, and bring people back into relationship.

______________________________

______________________________

The Pilgrimage of Fellowship

The journey had taken another unexpected turn. We were pulling out of Marylebone Station on a train north. Months ago, the three of us debated how we would get around once we got out of London. Trains had won out because of their relative simplicity. My mother stacked up the luggage around her making a kind of fort. The Reverend gingerly sat across from her and started to sleep. Soon our peace was unsettled. As we were halfway to our next stop, the conductor came by announcing that the line would be ending and we would have to travel by a series of buses for the remainder of the trip. Besides having to wake up and prematurely take apart my mother's fort, as we lugged ourselves onto the bus we discovered that it did not have any sort of fan or air conditioning. England was experiencing an unusual heat wave, turning the bus into a giant oven and us into roasts. Worst off, the heat was triggering the Reverend's condition and increasing the pain she was already managing. By the time we piled out at our next destination, a few hours south of King's Lynn, we had all come to the conclusion that there would be no more buses and as few trains as we could manage. At the hotel, we consulted our contingency plan. Renting a car had been proposed some time ago but had been over-ridden. Now it was back on the table. Unfortunately, because we hadn't explored the option further, we had neglected to account for the fact that all the available rental cars were manual transmissions. On the phone, my face went pale. Driving on the other side of the road was odd enough but I had clue how to begin to work an non-automatic. All of us didn't want to get back on a bus, however, and least of all put the Reverend back in one. After I announced the situation to the others, my fiancee looked around at my mother's and my down-trodden faces with nonchalance. So? She asked. I know how to drive manual transmissions! And with that, suddenly, the road north was back on the table.

I can confidently admit that the rest of the trip could not have been completed without the Reverend's unexpected abilities. Now, when we squeezed into the little blue car and fought to find room for the luggage, I was sufficiently nervous. Already the more nervous rider, my fiancee put me in charge of making sure she did not turn into the other lane at intersections and roundabouts. I would remind her of this request when I would call out "left side! left side!" with modulated anxiety. Eventually the roundabouts were more of an annoyance than a worry. We had invested in a GPS that would take us the rest of the way to King's Lynn and onward but with roundabouts every few miles the electronic voice repeated the instruction to "turn into the roundabout," "exit the roundabout," and "continue for 2 KM until the next roundabout," with a frequent rhythm. To drown out this necessary but grating voice, we engaged in other traditional pilgrim activities: talking, storytelling, and song. The storytelling was a bit different than the sort Chaucer's pilgrims would have known, as audible played the "Angels and Demons" audiobook from my two-year old cell phone; although playing out tension between the Church and science, would have been understood. Likewise, the musical "Hamilton" is not likely to be sung by the Prioress but we did chant along as a group as those in Chaucer's company most likely would have. More than anyone, perhaps, the plot if not the form of our journey would have been readily understood by Margery Kempe. In her pilgrimage with Richard, she knew the value of a diverse fellowship. When a dramatic turn set things off course or one of the members ran up against a personal limitation, the various gifts of a diverse community rise to the surface. Without the research I had done, without my mother's even temper and nurse's care, and without the Reverend's perseverance and driving acumen we may not have made it all the way to King's Lynn. What's more, without the comfort and fun we made together, the pilgrimage would have been a lot less enjoyable. Against some tricky challenges, just as we arrived at the coastal town and saw a blanket of rain come rolling towards us, we pulled into our destination.

Walking up to St. Margaret's Church, the very place Margery Kempe attended services, we were weary yet relieved. Coming out of the small car, all of us felt achey and some more than others. We were hungry, a little dehydrated, and needing to use the bathroom but once we saw the Church looming over the surrounding buildings we didn't want to stop. Once again, we fumbled over cobblestones and turned the corner to see the courtyard and cemetery in front of the church. Before we could enter, however, we were stopped by something we hadn't planned. A group of about three police officers were surrounding a man in drab clothing, slumped against the gate into the courtyard. As we maneuvered around them, we heard a bit of the conversation. The police were asking the man about his health. How was he feeling? Could he walk? Compared to some of the antagonistic conversations I have overheard between cops and the homeless in the States, this dialog seemed a lot more subdued. As we passed them, we heard the man say that he felt fine but could go for some food. Going into the church, we did not hear any more of the conversation for some time. On the way out, the four of them were still standing around the man but now the man slumped against the gate was enjoying a sandwich. A lot could be said about this exchange but within the context of our travels, this felt like a fitting welcome to Margery's home parish. This was the home who struggled to accept and affirm a woman who wailed and cried, who preached and practiced various failed businesses, who had a house full of her children and wore the garb of a virgin, and who walked across lands as a pilgrim, seeming mad and homeless to many. The word pilgrim comes from the Roman word for foreigner and signified the poor or disenfranchised; those who lacked local support networks. Police bringing a man a sandwich is hardly a solution to the problems of economic divides or  the public erasure of the most vulnerable. Most likely the man would be removed, like Margery, when he presented an unwelcome presence at the church. But in this moment, for a few minutes, there was compassion and care. As we learned throughout our journey, before we can solve systemic problems (or not) we often need to attend to the immediate needs and dignity of one another.

The immediate effect of entering the massive church was the feeling of smallness that reminded us how diminished our struggles and accomplishments seem in the grand scheme of the world or even one community. In a word, we were humbled. One can imagine how a woman in the fifteenth century could break down crying in front of everyone from an overwhelming awareness or relief. There was an experience of history here, that your life was not such an isolated thing but an interwoven thread in traditions spanning many lifetimes.  We were small but a part of something big. Our pain and anxiety was being received and shared by those who came before and those who will come after. Beginning to wander, the Reverend found the local priest who spoke to her about the current life of the church. After asking who we are and where we are from, he confessed that he found it strange that most of those who find their way to King's Lynn in search of Margery Kempe hail from the United States. While my fiancee and the priest shared their experiences as pastors, I proceeded to the choir seats near the alter. I sat for some time until my mother came over and asked if I wanted a picture. Kneeling down I performed an imitation of Margery's weeping. Getting up, I told some of the story of her life and ministry. She asked me what about her called me to come here. I didn't really have a canned answer for that. Like my encounter with her book back in London, I just stood there, looking, and feeling more than thinking. My mother accepted that and sat down next to me. A little while later, the Reverend joined us and stood next to us for a minute. Here we were. A woman who prayed, journeyed, and wrote centuries ago had brought the three of us together and all the way to King's Lynn. I rose and my fiancee took my hand, kissing me on the cheek. Pulling away, her lips were slightly damp as so was my face. Of a different sort from the mock show I enacted earlier or the anxious weeping of Iceland, these tears had a significance all there own. Even now, I don't have their full meaning. But whatever their meaning, it is one I share with my partner, my mother, and Margery Kempe.

______________________________

______________________________

Coming soon:

Pilgrimage to Norwich

Pilgrimage to Oxford

Pilgrimage to the Kilns

______________________________

______________________________