The SARS-CoV-2 pandemic, or: Reality comes with consequences

 The human brain is something amazing, especially in how it is capable of imagining and maintaining an inner fantasy world. This is an essential part of what we call 'imagination', and is what allows children to creatively play, inhabiting these fantasy worlds which they may or may not share with other children. It's often assumed that once humans grown into adults, they lose this ability, but nothing could be further from the truth.

Fact of the matter is that society, a culture and a lot of behaviour and opinions with it are a direct consequence of this very same imagination. Just that instead of a momentary whim by a child's mind as they play out a scenario, a society is the consequence of many years of such 'play acting', to the point where it becomes indistinguishable from reality for those inside the scenario. This is also why the playing of children is considered to be an essential part of growing up, allowing them to explore many scenarios and ways of interacting, even as they develop their own personalities.

This is to say that imagination is not necessarily harmful, and societies aren't necessary wrong or harmful. Much like how the fantastic dream worlds which our minds conjure up when we are asleep can turn into a variety of experiences, so too can a society turn into an oddity, something barely or instead fondly remembered, or even a nightmare. Here the imagination of a singular mind is amplified, reflected or extinguished by the other minds that make up a society.


Another property of imagination is that it isn't necessarily connected to reality. A conspiracy theory for example is a type of imagination virus, or 'meme', as in meme theory. This postulates that ideas and concepts can act like biological viruses, spreading to viable hosts, evolving and propagating to the best of their abilities. Some meme viruses can be lethal, others harmless or merely annoying. A harmless meme virus would be something like a popular widget or toy, such as the recent fidget spinner [1] craze. This saw an existing toy suddenly explode in popularity before sinking back into obscurity. This is similar in effect to a biological virus that shows explosive growth, but lack of persistence in a population.

More harmful meme viruses involve a sudden rise in popularity for certain pets, on account of a celebrity owning the same kind of pet. This can lead to the sudden surge in demand causing shortcuts to be taken by less scrupulous breeders, resulting in a massive spike in genetic defects in those 'pure-bred' (i.e. incestuous) dogs. Long-lived versions of these viruses can lead to 'cultural behaviour' that for example casts certain groups of people into a certain light. For example that of menstruating women being 'unclean' and being forced to leave the house during that period.

Finally, the most harmful virus that thrives exceptionally well in some imaginations are those involving conspiracies. This one is most insidious because these do not concern a fad or short-lived hype, or even something that can be considered to be 'relatively harmless'. In the case of a conspiracy virus, the affected person begins to lose the ability to separate fantasy from reality. Starting often with some nagging doubts, the person finds themselves slipping more and more until their thinking patterns have been reordered that no (virus-caused) dissonance occurs any more.


The fun thing about an imagination is that it's, well, imaginary. Just as a child can imagine themselves for a brief moment to be a pirate, a prince or princess, or the owner of a retail store, they too know that none of it is real. They merely enjoy playing those roles. It would only become problematic if they truly believed that they truly were those characters.

This permanence of imagination is something which becomes especially problematic in the case of an urgent situation, where reality clashes with the imaginary world that's being kept alive in the minds of one or more people. For many years people have been play-acting out today's and yesterday's societies, establishing societies that are primarily based around exploitation, as that aggressive model works well for survival.

This means exploitation of the earth's biosphere and other natural resources, of other human beings and groups, and even oneself. This is the imaginary world which we have created for ourself. A world in which we deem ourselves to be masters over this planet, and goad others into believing that if they exploit themselves a little bit more, they too can one day live the wealthy lifestyle of those who were born or adopted into wealthy families.

A world in which we assume that we can just cut down forests and further encroach onto the last remaining habitats of wild animals, and not suffer any consequences. Yet as Ebola [2], SARS, MERS and now SARS-CoV-2 have shown us, this is a delusion. We are not the gods we see ourselves as. We'll keep stumbling over new natural reservoirs [3] of new and fascinating new diseases that have the potential to turn into the next pandemic.


Part of fundamentally fixing the problems that led us to yet another pandemic within two decades time does involve taking stock our collective imaginations and the many viruses that dwell inside them. It's this viral ecosystem within our imaginations that have led us to these societies of greed, suffering and exploitation. They are the reason why some people truly believe that electromagnetic radiation can cause diseases or cancer, why genetic engineering is deemed too risky but mutagenics totally fine, or why even after a vaccine becomes available against SARS-CoV-2 and the associated COVID-19 disease, we'll still have to somehow deal with a range of other patients, ranging from those who believe that vaccines cause cancer, cause autism, add trackers to our body, contain toxic aluminium and/or mercury, to a wide spectrum of other conspiracy viruses.

Maybe that'll be the real challenge this century. After tackling biological viruses, maybe this is our wake-up call to address imagination viruses. Because although they only exist in our imaginations, sometimes our imaginations become more real than reality itself.


Maya


[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fidget_spinner
[2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ebola
[3] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Natural_reservoir

The Diamond Age: Welcome to reality

 Sometimes a book comes into your possession without you ever intending to read it or really being aware of it previously. Only for it to change your entire world. For me, that book definitely has to be 'The Diamond Age', by Neal Stephenson. Who I used to snow only vaguely from his apparently more famous 'Snowcrash'. Which I coincidentally have not read yet.

What can I say about 'The Diamond Age'? It starts off rather quirky, without giving you much to work with. The world feels kind of Steampunk-ish, but with a Victorian, sci-fi vibe. The use of summary headings instead of chapters and the lack of any obvious main character(s) at first feel somewhat alienating. Yet I think that the brilliance of this approach is that these brief glimpses of this brave new world make it easier to grasp the scope of it. Instead of being limited to the point of view of a singular main character, the experience is instead more multi-faceted.

It depicts a world that's neither good nor evil at its core. A world in which basic economics and clan affiliations rule every day life. A world which makes sense in how far it reflects what exists today, last year, a hundred years ago, a hundred years into the future. Because people do not change, even if societies change their appearance, it is merely the perception through a kaleidoscope. Or through the many facets of a diamond.

Each of the characters followed throughout the story feel almost brutally human. Not as caricatures, or as a plot convenience, but as the logical conclusion of who and what they are. Their goals and dreams in life. This leads to unlikely small details affecting another small detail somewhere else, which cascades into a series of completely logical happenings that ultimately end up affecting the life of little Nell. Poor little Nell.


It's impossible not to feel pangs of sympathy and worry for Nell, as the little girl deals with the dregs of life. Even as the actions of others in this large world begin to affect and steer her future, it's at no point a foregone conclusion what will happen next. The worries and concerns of others around Nell sometimes touch her, sometimes changing things for the better, sometimes for the worse. Meanwhile a world which makes perfect sense while at the same time being completely fantastic unfolds in front of and around Nell and the others.

Looking back on this... experience, I can't say that I really knew how things would work out in the end. When the final scenes go down, it does not really feel like a vocal experience any more, performed through lines spoken by characters on a stage as was the case for most of the book. Instead these scenes unfold like some epic film, where it are the actions on-screen that tell everything.

The final note is one of hope and optimism. Of promise and a new understanding of the world and the people in it. And the bitter-sweet realisation that as one turns the final page, one will have to say farewell to Nell and all of these other characters who have become such an integral part of oneself.


'The Diamond Age' is a story which I will cherish forever, for all that it has given me.


Maya

A fractured self courtesy of the gender delusion

 The past weeks I have begun to notice something curious in my way of thinking and the way I regard my own behaviour. As awareness and acceptance of my actual, real, physical body grows, so do the thoughts of how it could also move and look. It's a weird thought, that perhaps doesn't make a lot of sense to those who did not get forced into this 'gender' mess that society has concocted.

Basically, I'm free to behave in a way that is considered 'feminine' now. Yet for many years I was supposed to behave in a way considered acceptable for 'men'. Even as my body changed during puberty into that of a woman and my environment got terribly confused trying to place me in the binary system, as I did continue the 'male-approved' hair and clothing style even though my body did not fit that look.

Although I have since found the freedom to find my own look as a woman (because anything goes, pretty much), it's still weird to think about what mannerisms and way of moving and so on truly fit me. What was easy in the beginning enough was the realisation that I was not using my body properly, and possibly damaging it in the process. This included the way I used my vocal tract and how I walked. In both cases I used my body as though it actually was a male body, with a male vocal tract and male pelvis. Suffice it to say that one's body doesn't take kindly to such abuse.

Where things get trickier are the small details. Only when looking at photos and videos of myself did I begin to grasp what it was that others were seeing, and why I was getting so much attention from heterosexual men. Especially in photos of me next to other women, it would suddenly be obvious to me that my build is very feminine, with the shoulders, arms and upper body. That also means that similar ways of moving my body makes more sense, rather than assuming that I have a clunkier, more masculine body, as I had always (falsely) assumed.


During this readjustment process I also find myself loathing the horror show that I was put through by doctors and psychologists on account of perpetuating the gender delusion, and the supposed existence of 'transbinarism' (i.e. 'transsexualism'/'transgenderism'), which itself can only exist if one assumes that a brain is either 'male' or 'female'. Which we know they are not. Nor are bodies, even if the distribution there forms an inverse Bell curve which could give the false impression that physical sex is purely binary.

Minds, however, are as unique as they come, with each its own mosaic. That means that despite society's insistence that there is a way to 'feel' like a woman or a man, there truly is no such thing, and the best you can do is accept your body and work with it. That was the realisation which took me the longest to fully work through, I think, as the string of posts on this topic on my blog attest to.

The result of society's meddling in this process, however, has meant that I was forced to do the equivalent of puzzling a mirror back together using tiny shards, all of them stuffed into a fresh midden. Even if one has little choice but to keep working on puzzling oneself back together, tedious and disgusting.

Who are you after all, but what you are?

Your body, what you were born with, what you grew up with, what you experience and what you live through. Your mind, which experiences through your body's senses, growing and changing with each new experience and thought.


Yet the more I feel myself progressing towards completing the puzzle of self, the more I feel disgusted with the gender delusion. I am free to talk and move my body in any way that works for me. There should be no social pressure to feel inhibited or otherwise restricted in that area. Nor with what bits of fabric, the styling of said bits of fabric, or the colour of these bits of fabric I cover up the shameful parts of my body.

I find it here fascinating to talk with friends of the male persuasion, as we compare notes on what they are allowed to wear and what I am allowed to wear. While as a woman you can easily nick your husband's or boyfriend's knickers, pants, shirts and so on, with people calling this 'cute' or 'tomboyish' behaviour, doing the same the other way around gets you called a 'creep', 'pervert' or something worse, like 'homosexual'.

The same is true for the ways in which one is allowed to walk, sit, move one's hands or otherwise move one's body. What I think I'm feeling at this point is the realisation that those shackles have fallen off my ankles and wrists. That I'm now free to behave and move and talk and do whatever. The way that works for me.


And somehow I feel like a fur farm fox after being rescued who is blinking stupidly at an open cage door and a wide expanse of grass beyond it.


This may take some time.


Maya

PTSD; Binarism; A reality to believe in

All too often life seems to be composed out of a collection of inevitabilities. Society being one of those things, and one's course through them. If one is lucky, one ends up on a boring path. With a standard issue healthy body, standard genetics, standard intelligence and growing up in a standard environment with standard friends, family, education and job prospects. This is a simple life, albeit without many personal challenges and opportunities to grow.

When I look back on my life so far, I really do think it'd be easier and briefer to list the things which were 'standard' for me, because everything else just had to be 'different' for some reason. I guess my appearance is pretty standard. Assuming I keep my clothes on, or at least a swimsuit. Just a normal looking Caucasian woman.


Obviously all of the physical, mental and sexual abuses that occurred since I was a young child are not 'standard issue'. Nor is me being a chimera, a hermaphrodite and intersex. Growing up in a world that worships binarism, growing up believing that one belongs to one part of this binary system, only to find out that one's curious puberty was the result of said chimaeric body, with the female side of the hybrid female/male stem cell lines ultimately asserting itself much stronger.

That's my reality. One of chimaeric bodies. Of the unique nature of the individual mind. The sickening awareness of how indoctrinated people in society are. Their delusions about binarism, with a binary gender, binary sex, of individuals belonging only to one side. That one's body down to one's very brain has to follow one of either pattern. With it the complete annihilation of my existence.


Their reality is not my reality.


They call it post-traumatic stress disorder. What it does is reshape your brain itself. Reform it forever. Change your view of the world so that you'll never feel safe or comfortable again. Try as you might, you're basically an alien trying to integrate into human society. You'll never get all of the nuances, even when your brain doesn't freak out over some perceived threat and starts dragging your mind back into reliving the past with flashbacks which feel more real than reality itself.


The reality I want to believe in is one where it is possible to feel safe. Where every person is treated and regarded as an individual. Not classified by their reproductive organs or convictions about their state in the Binarist system.

Where a person like myself can actually get medical help. Help that's still needed, as the recurrent traumas remind me of. To have it acknowledged that I'm a chimera, that I'm a hermaphrodite, that I do in fact have 'male' and 'female' reproductive organs. Those are things that have happened and which are more or less in my past now. But beyond this? I had to go through so many different channels to just get those things investigated and acknowledged.

In many ways I feel like an FGM victim. Although my vagina wasn't mutilated by doctors, I was born without even the small hole that'd allow fluids to drain. Instead my abdomen had to become a sanitary pad, while I apparently am denied even the option of intercourse, painful as it may be. Trying to get the reconstructive surgery to have anything done here at all has led to nothing for over a decade and counting. Instead I'm reminded over and over by doctors that I do not belong in their reality. I'm just a disorder, a freak, a rare disease. Something that isn't their problem.


What is my reality?


Having my mind regularly torn apart by another PTSD episode? Struggling to make ends meet every month? Dream of finishing my autobiography one day and this solving all my problems? Keep telling myself that life is worth living? Drift away from my body into a less painful version of reality?


Recently, in an online group I was hanging out in, a guy told about us about this one tenant who had lived in a flat his parents owned. When he and his mother went to check up on a tenant who was behind on her rent, they found out that she had committed suicide. Weeks earlier. He'd never forget the sight and smells in the bathroom where she had OD'ed on some pills. She was only in her early twenties.

We found ourselves wondering about what her life must have been like for things to end in such a gruesome fashion. It was a poor area of the city, so likely to do with poverty, crime and drug use. People who find themselves captured by a reality that's too bleak to face sober, until one day they either escape from it, or have the bleakness forever capture their heart.


Reality. Dreams. Wishing. Trauma. Pain. Life. Longing.


Much like butterflies we all wish to fly around freely. But some of us are captured. Trapped under glass. Pinned to bits of cork with cruel needles through our bodies. Prey for hungry predators.

Unless you're on the boring path, who is going to tell you how to play the game?


Maya