When I was reading Paula Rust's article "Who Are
We and Where Do We Go From Here?: Conceptualizing Bisexuality"*, I was
struck by her observation that most people, including many bisexuals, see
bisexuality as a combination of hetero- and homosexuality, rather than a
distinct identity in its own right. She notes that the bisexual woman is
missing "not the recognition of any particular experience, but rather a
recognition of the holism of her experience." People see her relationships
as either homo- or heterosexual, ignoring her experience of
herself as a (complete, whole) bisexual person.
Considering this, I want to say, Yes, I do need
a holistic recognition of my experience, because I am a whole being - I am
not fragmented. But then maybe I am fragmented. Maybe we all are,
maybe we all go on day to day with a patchwork sexuality, cobbled together
from our dreams and the differences and similarities between the lovers we
have known. We all, no matter what our orientation, have many loves, many
selves through our lifetime. I find that gender is not always the most
salient difference - or similarity - between my lovers. So am I, as a
bisexual woman, any more fragmented than anyone else? And yet I have
tended to prefer being in relationships with both genders at the same
time, which sounds very dualistic. I am not sure what this all means.
Neither am I sure what it means to have a model of
bisexuality, a divine model. Can such a thing exist without being, of
necessity, polyamorous? I can think of a divine triad instead of a divine
couple - or I could imagine a god/dess who is bisexual - Aphrodite, say -
or perhaps I could imagine that all gods are bisexual, pansexual, beyond
categories, that any of them might love a man or a woman or a
But what is lacking from these is still the gay
myths - if I understand Aphrodite to be bisexual, then I must create myths
in which she is a lover of women, since there are already many which show
her as a lover of men. Or if I understand all gods to be bisexual, it is
the same-gender-loving stories that will remain unheard, invisible,
because they have not yet been told. These are the stories which need to
And yet we - that is, queer people - are all so
scared to write them. We are all so scared to write our own stories, our
own myths, to become the Creator; afraid that we will not tell the stories
well enough; afraid our stories will not truly express what we
believe; afraid that we will unintentionally uphold stereotypes; afraid
that we will truly invent something new and that everyone will tell
us we are crazy; afraid that we will be seen as irrelevant/ marginal/
radical/ uncompromising/ threatening/ too different; and most of all
afraid that no one really wants to hear our stories.
Each of us knows, knows in our head, what
kind of spirituality we are looking for, what kind of myths we want to
write, what kind of truths we want our stories to embody; this comes to us
from our politics, or from our learning, or from our consideration of the
world and the people around us. But myths come from the heart and not
simply the head.
And what if the heart is a patchwork thing, how
then can we create a myth of whole cloth, a seamless myth?
Maybe it is a patchwork myth we are looking
for. Maybe the patches of the myth come from each of us, from our
imaginations, different colors and shapes and textures, each one a whole
myth in itself but also a fragment of the larger myth. Maybe when I say
"we" I am referring to dreamers of all orientations and all
sexualities; maybe our sexuality is not the most important part of the
myth we are piecing together.
I do not know yet what it may look like. I do not
know that it will ever be completed. But I am struggling to begin. I am
beginning with myself.
*Paula Rust's article is found in Closer to Home: Bisexuality and
Feminism, an excellent anthology edited by Elizabeth Reba Weise.