“The Retreat”

Afternoon shadows were lengthening as the last car drove into the makeshift parking lot in the field adjacent to the camp. A hooded figure attired in a yellow toga stepped from the wooden gatehouse and approached the car. “Welcome. You are Tee. You are familiar with the rules?”

Tee guessed that the voice was that of a man, but could not be certain, due to the utilization of a voice modifier. Fingers flashed momentarily from beneath the loose sleeves of the toga.

Tee, already covered in a tan toga, nodded and parked the old VW as directed, then returned to the gatehouse, where the figure waited. “You are assigned to the third cabin on the right, down the path. Dinner will be in the large building further down the path, and will be announced by a gong, as will other gatherings. You are not to reveal your birth sex to any person, whether registrant or staff.” The figure offered a pamphlet describing the rules and goals for encampment, as did a proffered voice modifier and a pad or paper and pen. “Most folks write notes instead of talking….Oh, and each cabin has its own privy and running water….and you’re just in time for dinner.”

Tee bowed briefly. A week of meditation, contemplation, education and sharing with other non-binary individuals lay ahead. Twenty individuals had paid the tuition, seeking what? An additional six had completed an earlier camp and functioned now as staff. The combination totaled the 26 letters of the alphabet, each letter assigned as a name for members of the gathering. Tee’s stomach spasmed alarmingly. Where did the fear come from?

The large suitcase on wheels rattled as it passed over occasional rocks along the well-trod path. Tee deposited the suitcase inside the door of the third cabin, and headed for the privy just as the gong sounded. Following other robed figures in silence beneath a canopy of occasional bird song felt unreal as though Tee was in a non-playful staged play.

Would everyone really maintain their anonymity for an entire week? Of course an accidental flash of skin would reveal little, since all were either in a pre-transitioning, current or post-transitioning stage.

Upon entering the rustic mess hall which would doble for meetings, Tee was greeted with silence. Only the clinking of plates and silverware along the self-help cafeteria line filled the air. Someone stifled a sneeze. What few sounds there were echoed hollowly. A figure in the corner at a nearby table seemed to be weeping silently. A scrap of paper was handed down the long table at which Tee sat: Please pass the salt.

The meal was tasty, a large serving of either regular or vegan vegetable soup and a mixed garden salad. It was not until the baked apple dessert had been finished, and each participant had returned their own place setting to the kitchen, that a figure of medium height spoke, utilizing a voice modifier. The figure was wearing the standard yellow toga of staff and stood, directing the registrants to the far side of the larger room.

“Welcome, bearers of the life force! Unless you are seriously on the non-binary journey, that phrase will sound shmaltzy to you. I am Ex. Our first task is to bond, and to facilitate that we will join in chanting, an old and revered tradition. You may have heard recordings of monks chanting, as well as nuns. We will create our own version, after first listening to the following recording. At any time, you may add your own voice through the voice modifier or naturally–we won’t notice the difference.”

The lights were dimmed and a recording began to play. After several minutes of absorption with eyes closed, Tee imagined God being present, then with a start realized that God was binary. Tee shrugged. Maybe Christianity wasn’t a good fit for being non-binary. But the fulfilling feeling was here. So maybe spirituality is separate.

Was it the chanting or the setting that was responsible for the increased percolation of realizations about the binary/non-binary conundrum? There was a soft rustle as the staff brightened the lights. “We will break into two groups in order to share our hopes and expectations for the retreat. ” The group counted itself off and sat at some distance from each other,

Silence followed as each reflected on their hopes and needs. Finally, one said through the voice modulator, “I’m tired of feeling like a weirdo. I want to feel connected to humanity.”

Another spoke, and another, the momentum growing. “I want to experience myself.”

“If I’m really non-binary I want to find the real me.”

“I want to quit feeling afraid.”

“How can they say I’m lying?”

“I know I’m up against evolution, and that’s scary.”

“As I get clearer things get muddier. Is it a curse or a blessing?”

“Why on earth would I lie about it?”

And so it went, one of those dressed in yellow joining in. “I sought integration in the face of sexuality. I received help, but I need more.”

The silence was heavy as the new members–devotees–seekers–the wounded–departed for their assigned cabins, each wrapped deep in solitary reflection. Trans or just core…

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Nan

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