We all have two eyes. One sees the outside, the surface. It is the eye we
use to judge the material world around us. It is very useful, but it fails
to see inside. We have another eye that we all too frequently forget about.
It is the eye that looks deeper.

Everyone here has certainly been looked at with the eye of judgement.
Passers-by see a bunch of freaks or weirdos, men who like wearing women's
clothing, perverts, people who don't know if they're boys or girls. I still
see through this eye. I saw a jogger in Forest Park the other day, with no
shirt on. He was overweight, and somewhat hairy. I commented from the safe
enclosure of my car, with windows rolled up 'Put a shirt on. I just ate and
you're making me ill'. It was just my reaction, and said in jest, but it was
judgement. Nick then began a discussion that his chest didn't look all that
different. True, but I see him through my loving eye. He could have a hand
sticking out of his forehead, and I would love him no less.

I look at pictures of myself with the most critical eye of judgement. I hate
what I see. Perhaps that is the nature of being a female, never being happy
with my appearance. The same pictures, to Nick, show a beautiful woman. He
looks with the eye of love.

We judge ourselves, and we judge each other. I have been pretty good about
seeing others with a loving eye, but have failed to use that same sight in
viewing myself. No matter how hard I try, the judging eye sometimes opens,
and I see just what's on the surface, both of myself and of others. I of all
people should know that what's on the outside is not the real person. Our
childhood tales are filled with frog princes, ugly ducklings, and other
creatures whose true nature is masked by their appearance. Even with these
early lessons, sometimes we forget.

I look through my loving eye when I come to the Gender Foundation meetings.
I see new members coming in, sometimes nearly sick with self-consciousness.
What I see is a brave soul. I see someone who has struggled for years,
hiding a part of themselves and finally mustering the courage to show it and
explore who they truly are. I see courage.

The fashion sense, makeup skills, taste in jewelry... they are superficial
skills. I'm sure we've all had catty moments when we bear our claws and
become self-appointed fashion critics. I remind you that we ALL started out
looking like a little girl playing in her mother's closet or makeup.

I say this all because I recently began correspondence with a trans lady via
the internet. She is in her 70's, and has been a closeted transvestite her
whole life. She sent me pictures and my initial reaction was not kind. I
didn't voice the thoughts to her, but just having them made me ashamed of
myself. I think this ate at me, and stuck in my conscience. I should have
known better. I should have looked beyond the surface. I'm better than that.
I woke up this morning with a piece of a song running in a loop in my head.
Let me close with it.

'This eye looks with love. This eye looks with judgement. Free me, take the
sight out of this eye.'
- Edie Brickell

Lynn