The Election and My Experience With Claircognizance (Psychic Knowing)
On October 17th, I noted in my spiritual journal: “I preferred another few weeks of peace instead of my claircog working for the election.”
I wasn’t looking to know. I was just lying in bed with Grace, as I do every day now. We were snuggling after doing some activities you may expect a couple to partake and then it burst upon me like a fresh wave of air, “Donald Trump has won!” A male announcer voice filled my head.
Claircognizance always feels good, no matter my personal opinion on the contents. I suspect it’s either that clarity is a thing that naturally feels that way or that my claircognizance has connections to divinity, which is inherently Good regardless of my small human perspective. But immediately after, I turned to Grace in horror, “I think there isn’t even a dispute he just straight out wins.”
“Has it ever been wrong?” Grace asked fearfully.
“No,” I said. Us even having the conversation, despite past circumstances that suggested we should have never reunited, was proof of it. I had had claircognizance of our shared destiny more than once.
Now writing this the day after the election, I still don’t know why I was told out of nowhere. Maybe Apollo decreed that I needed some extra time to process. Maybe I needed to be able to prepare to tend to my trans community. Maybe Grace, who has always believed me about my experiences, needed to be shown how real my claircognizance was, which is a terrifying consideration because then why?
When I was a kid, I did not know how scary the world could be so I dreamed of having psychic abilities where I just knew things. It is only in my belief in the righteousness of my deities and the inherent goodness of the world that I don’t regret that wish.
***
I slept a few hours after the mood turned dire amongst my friends at home. I then woke up at 4 AM to catch my first of two trains to Seattle, where I am due to meet several occultist and astrologer friends for the first time offline.
My mood is… okay. Currently anxious. Fear and Calm are a pair and here I am, a child between them, holding one’s hand and then the other’s. I am trying not to spiritually bypass, but I truly want to believe that it is a privilege to experience the range of emotions that comes with facing something of this magnitude. I already know that being trans is a wonder cis people will one day accept even if they will never fully understand. I know the beauty in our voices and the innovation in our expressions. We are the current frontline against a constantly moving status quo.
The world doesn’t want to be “normal,” it wants to be challenged. It wants to be asked to change and grow. We are its involuntary, reluctant teachers.
So I use emotional freedom tapping on the crown of my head to ward away churning alarm. I glance out my train window and take in all the breathless sublimity of the so-called “United States.” I think of all the food I am going to enjoy eating and the coffee I’ll love drinking in Seattle. I brainstorm what to do with the unexpectedly large quantity of passionflower I received earlier this week that now seems like just the right amount to soothe transgender nervous systems.
I want to tell you that it’s going to be okay. That you need to let yourself root into the earth and take deep, sweet inhales. To call your friends and take turns being the shoulder to scream and cry on.
But mostly I want to tell you about my future wife and how her name Grace fully describes every bit of her. How she has the sweetest blue eyes that emit her kindness and the most perfect small hands. That I love to wrap my arms around her hips, half in gratitude for their very existence and half in anticipation for how they will expand after she starts estrogen therapy. I take in every inch of her face now like I am starving for a glimpse of the array of possibilities for how a surgeon may feminize it. I want you to know that my woman is simultaneously a work of art and a canvas. My muse in evolution.
If you have a longtime partner, whether you are trans or not, you hopefully already know what it is to love their change. To see new wrinkles and fat form on their bodies. To have them feel and move differently as they gain fitness or injury. To see their wardrobe and aesthetic preferences change overtime, dressing a new person entirely.
Our love is a timeless love, a devotional love free of conditions. Through terror, through oppression, through threats of genocide, I remain committed as star witness to Grace’s transformation. If I must be given a choice, I choose a short life of color, of laughter, of years of the taste of her lips on mine instead of bleak, empty length.
