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letra de mourner's prayer - athens boys choir

across the bridge, there are a million lights and night rider i’m driving, new york city on my right. steering wheel in my hand, journal tight to my thigh and that seventy-miles-an-hour highway line’s hypnotized. and meditative thoughts materialize where i’m chugging along the interstates, paraded by inquisitive nouns looking c-ck-eyed and inquisitive towns and wonder what this countrified city boy hides. and this time, it’s raleigh to dc, new york and philly; a love-seat on monday; a pull-out couch on tuesday. and on days this gray, i fold into myself like clovers after dusk; and on days this cold, i wonder what the road holds. i could beat a concept of home and i say the mourner’s prayer almost without thinking: sings in hebrew
yes, i do believe in god; and no, this isn’t columbine, i’m not answering with my life on the line but when a student asked me this question, “do you believe in god?,” after an hour-long trans 101 lesson, she was looking for a life line. ’cause her whole lifetime, she believed in water into wine, dying for your sins and walking on liquid; and here i was, taking adam’s rib and turning it into something she had to question. sings in hebrew

your hebrew. the loss of a daughter without gaining a son; and like “wouldn’t it just, like, be easier if you just sort of, like, picked one?” for you? well, probably; but for me, it’s all speculatory; for my family, yes. see, yesterday, i cut off the last parts of me recognizable in my mother’s silhouette; a pound and a half of flesh, and tomorrow yesterday’s trash; and i’m a little bit regret, and a little bit happiness. witness self-hate. witness mutation. witness my father’s even breath breaking into hysteria and negotiation. witness, witness awakening. see, i went to sleep proud and woke up feeling like a sell-out, like i’m f-cking the binary, like i’m putting out for a system that would put up with me. like now, i’m part of this silent hierarchy we’ve set up for those who have transitioned medically. and really, well, that’s not how i feel at all, so i’m calling on this community to commute; to move past p-ssing judgment ’cause it was twenty-six years before i saw anything beautiful in me. twenty-six years, each with 365 days, and between, nearly ten thousand dawns of dysphoria; of waking under waterfalls, waiting to be washed clean, or carried off. and we are eighty percent water, fluidity seems only natural, to change state — a birthright. isn’t that what we’re taught? that energy is neither gain nor loss; from lava to mountain; from fire to rock— sings in hebrew

sit out parts in the highway; where exits grow so far apart that what is conceptually just a little ways to go becomes fifty miles of road between you and your goal sings in hebrew. it is a conversational prayer: the service leader says one thing and the congregation answers hebrew. it’s a dialog for a pair; patchwork on asphalt; tar snakes are making peace. see, across the bridge, there are a million lights and night rider i’m driving, hoping instinct brings me to insight

- athens boys choir

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