on sovereignty on sexual identity
"Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like." Lao
Tzu
One Report is spiritually-minded content for and by young people. This publication is borne from a reflection of the teachings of the Baha’i Faith and many of our contributors are Baha’is, but not all. The goal is for One Report to offer space for people from all faith backgrounds and beliefs to discuss issues of faith and spirituality. In a time of turmoil, One Report hopes to be a source of unity and collaboration. It is an opportunity for young people to learn from one another and share reflections that feel relevant, pressing, stirring, and elevated. Thank you.
One Report is edited by Anisa Tavangar with Maya Mansour. Images in this issue are by Milena Bee.
sovereignty Written by Cat Francis
Leave me lonely for a while Let me lead with my own mind I don’t need your longin’ eyes, I’m too weak to stay the night. You hear what I’m saying’? You playing around You know I can’t take itYou pulling me down. No apologies, in the dark Leave me sovereignty Over my heart I don’t like to be alone Spent all my life not feeling wholeWho am I not in control, I am dying in your hold. No apologies in the dark Leave me sovereignty Over my heart I thought I knew you, Like a moment ago I thought I knew me, like a moment ago.
“And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8:38-39)
"He who sees everything in relation to the Supreme Lord, who sees all living entities as His parts and parcels, and who sees the Supreme Lord within everything never hates anything nor any being." Sri Isopanisad - Hindu faith
burning into existence Written by Ciara Keane
I don’t identify as a lesbian. In fact, I cringe when the term is used to describe me, as it has never felt fully encompassing of how I see myself as a sexual and romantic being. I prefer to identify as the vague but inclusive term “queer”, even though my sexual and romantic interests currently lie almost exclusively with women. The discomfort I feel with identity labels takes up more head space than I’d like. After all, my inability, or rather unwillingness, to identify as a lesbian in many ways inhibits me from finding the type of community I yearn for, and thus prevents me from aligning my sexual identity with my spirituality. But even while more and more spaces for lesbian women are instead categorizing as “queer spaces”, the vagueness within the term “queer” presents challenges of its own. How can a person who doesn’t quite know how to define their sexuality ever find a community that represents them in a way that makes them feel entirely seen?
“Perhaps, this in mind, being vague about my sexuality is a protective notion above all, one informed by trauma and eager to avoid it.�
My unwillingness to label my sexual identity outside of the blanket term “queer” could result from growing up in a social and cultural environment that condemned homosexuality through a promotion of conservative values and a discouragement of veering from the status quo. There were four “out” kids in my high school out of sixhundred and I was not one of them. Identifying as “queer” now is perhaps a way for me to be out but in a less taboo, less recognizable way. I’ve always been an indecisive person and hesitate to be resolute on things that either don’t require or present a clear answer. I’ve been called level-headed and rational by some, while branded as gutless and unable to take a stance by others, but I’ve learned throughout my life that nothing is static— not ethics, not morality, not desire, and not love. Then there is a painful, underlying belief that my love and desire for women could lead to the erasure of my humanity, the erosion of my space in the greater community, and thus, the destruction of my spirituality. Literary critic Terry Castle asks, “Why is it so difficult for us to see the lesbian— even when she is right there in front of us? In part, it is because she has been “‘ghosted’ by culture itself. As soon as the lesbian is named, she is dehumanized.” Because the lesbian represents a threat to patriarchal protocol, erasure serves to ensure that gay women cannot challenge this structure, and results in lesbians engaging in a sort of “self-ghosting, hiding or camouflaging” of their sexual desires, or withdrawing from their communities in order to evade hostility.
Identifying as a lesbian, then, would mean thrusting myself into a community that has suffered something even worse than oppression: utter erasure. As a mixed-race black woman that experienced the damaging effects of racism throughout grade school, it would mean making myself vulnerable to yet another potential inlet of prejudice, pain, and dismissal. Perhaps, this in mind, being vague about my sexuality is a protective notion above all, one informed by trauma and eager to avoid it. All that being said, my past trauma is part of who I am, and it was my community, my spirituality, that pulled me through its deepest trenches. And although Castle is right in calling out historical lesbian erasure, there’s also truth in the notion that nothing is static. The oppressed can fight back (and win), the erased can become visible, and the uncertain can find clarity through community, not despite it. To the women queering the world: here’s to finding courage in trauma, power in vulnerability, and liberation in the arms of community.
ivy Written by Jasmin Joseph
Maybe some us never got to be soft, Had to be born tough. Dress they wounds, Dress they lil’ ones, Dress theyselves. Maybe stopped wearin’ short skirts when they’s Hardly twelve ‘fore man’s hands ran up an’ down em don’t know howta be call beautiful, cuz it’s been growled at em’ since thirteen Then fi’teen and seventeen and too young— But never dumb. Some girls not ‘llowed to be dumb Aint nobody thinkin’ it cute if we dumb. Others blossom like them poppies, in them fields, Real pretty and gentle. We hadda grow like vines, stretch to the sun when Man try to tear us down. Nary blossomed ‘fore they was up in there, Stealin’ promise of fruit and flower. No one dressed that dere garden, That ivy dere grow strong as’l Them things is weeds, grow like weeds. Y’all know vine crack brick if it get inside good? That ivy find it way inside that brick, Might tear this goddamn house down.
“While Bahá’ís hold specific beliefs about human identity, sexuality, personal morality, and individual and social transformation, they also believe that individuals must be free to investigate truth and should not be coerced. They are, therefore, enjoined to be tolerant of those whose views differ from their own, not to judge others according to their own standards, and not to attempt to impose these standards on society. To regard a person who has a homosexual orientation with prejudice or disdain is entirely against the spirit of the Faith.” From a letter written on behalf of the Universal House of Justice to an individual, 2014
celebrating sex Written by Sarah Simpson
Growing up, we didn’t have religion in our house. Both my parents had been raised with it but left the church. My mom tried a few other things, including Wicca, but claimed she lacked faith. She didn’t realize that she raised me with another kind of spirituality. She’s a nurse practitioner in women’s sexual and reproductive health and has worked with Planned Parenthood “She taught me to love my and other community body, to take care of it, health centers. I and treat it with respect. was raised with an She taught me that I could understanding of look inward for love and sexuality and sexual acceptance before seeking health in the same it from a partner.” way my friends were raised Episcopalian. It was an ongoing conversation that grew and developed as I did. Like religion, it had rules: always use a condom, consent is crucial, communication is key. She taught me to love my body, to take care of it, and treat it with respect. She taught me that I could look inward for love and acceptance before seeking it from a partner. Like religion, there were books: about health and wellness, what a healthy body looks like, how to take care of yourself. A celebration of the physical as well as the spiritual.
Once, when I got older, she was shocked to realize she had never given me “the talk.” I laughed, because I told her we’d been having nothing but the talk my whole life. Sex was never much of a mystery to me, I speak about it as a matter of course and explore it like an inevitability. She said she had told me all about protection, the clinical side of things, but had never ventured into the question of pleasure. I was embarrassed, we had never talked about it as anything other than a fact of life. But, like religion, you can quote the book and sing the Psalms, but without the theology, the why behind the how, you’ll never fully leave the physical and celebrate the spiritual.
"If someone is gay and is searching for the Lord and has good will, then who am I to judge him? The Catechism of the Catholic Church explains this in a beautiful way, saying: 'no one should marginalize these people for this, they must be integrated into society.'" Pope Francis
(re) consecration Written by Milena Bee
i didn’t understand my body in relation to religion until i understood my body in relation to a godly figure. or rather, my own sacred vessel amidst the shape of others. lowering myself in comparison to those i cavort with does a disservice to the nature of my desire. i never came out about my sexuality. it simply was, and it simply is. i knew, always, and i adjusted myself accordingly as i grew up. in this way, i was lucky, and i am still. my spirit, that which discovered the holy ghost at age nineteen and went still, settled into liminality. i began to consider the juxtaposition of sex and gender alongside the widening chasm within which my religious ideals were contained and on the other side, effervescent and perhaps omnipotent, spirituality. it’s hard to accept a culture that relies upon worship to show devotion paired with the realization that love, while true salvation, is one misstep away from being a sin, as any intimacy aside from that which lives between you and your god is, in a word, sacrilegious.
the bloodletting alongside bloodlessness - the consecration to replace your own with the immortal wine. body and blood. in the form of an ouroboros, the forbidden eroticism takes you back to confession, and you find the way to salvation. i didn’t think of myself as the kind to worship a mortal figure until i met you, and you, and even then, you. mere mortals who remind me my body too is a sin, until your lips are upon it. if intimacy is only truly meant for gods, doesn’t that make us gods, fit for salvation? isn’t our blood meant for both consumption and confession? i have ached and i have yearned, and my most earnest proclamations have not always been requited. faith is all that stands still, certainty and absolution. does that sound familiar? and then, there is the heresy that i pray the rosary for, an apology to my heritage, every catholic blessing on my blood. a cry for help when really i know my salvation lies in my sin, gods never came for me except when called upon my knees at the altar of broken mirrors, my broken heart beating still, through the rebirth that truly makes a grief-stricken girl a ghost and a god. i wasn’t raised catholic. i thought i was agnostic. maybe i still am. maybe my true calling is whatever makes me bleed.
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