Pope

Well, I have known my share of crispy nurses. Found this over at Arbroath.



Not lovely, but oh so much less red. No longer vaguely afraid my face will explode off in a puff of dry, itchy skin. Not cheap, even with insurance, but think how much I've saved not wearing cosmetics all these years, and it evens out. Really remarkable improvement, even if the photo doesn't show it.

Watching a show about Pope Joan last night. I'd thought it pretty much debunked, but apparently there still seems to be ambiguity, which feels right. The story as told is almost certainly urban* legend, so pat and with a twist at the end. But that women got into church positions, over two millennia, seems inevitable. That one made it to pope is also rather likely, although not as the tale goes. More like James Barry, a British Army Surgeon who lived male, but who's body was at least technically female.

What I suspect is that s/he was not clearly male or female, not wholly either. Most cultures don't have a tick box for Other. Or, A Bit of Both. No matter how much needed. Pope Joan the story, expressed the anxieties of a female hating institution. Pope Joan the real person may have been ambiguous, passing even in her/his own mind, only 'discovered' after death. Perhaps more than one. The odd bishop and cardinal as well. More than a few monks and priests in every generation, I would think, although kept quiet and hidden.

And most of us, perhaps all of us, are not at those extreme ends in all ways. Good, because there is no balance out there. Humans are both, in order to be full human. We don't belong in boxes with clear labels, no escape. Trapping both the jailor and prisoner, inside and out.

I have a female body, no question. I am only attracted to men, although I had mild, vague crushes on a couple of women when I was younger and in love with the world. I have the weak and feeble spacial skills of a female, sadly. Never had any use for dolls, although I adored stuffed animals. Hated pink, and had no interest in most of the girl-toy aisle, preferring the baby toys, games, or building blocks and balls. The boy aisle, all OD green and brown with explosions and war scenes and models in dull colors, held even less appeal, save for the cars and train sets.

I can talk squishy emotions with the best of 'em, (how else could I have made it through much of nursing school?) but I prefer talk with content. This is, I'm sure, why I don't get chatting about food and babies, nor sports for that matter. It's bonding talk, making sounds to join in. I get that, can only stand so much before I want to add that what they are talking about it actually an urban legend… or somehow misunderstood. Sometimes, I manage to resist.

We are all such mixes, what else would we be? Both parents, and whatever siblings had that womb before us left traces, antibodies, graffiti on the walls. To be fully human is to be both, and neither, swirled together as uniquely as our strands of genes. Bespoke.

All this in response to several insightful and intelligent posts over at flask's place.


Anyway, each one of us is a true and genuine pope.



(Yes, I do carry one of these.)



*Vatican City is certainly urban.