Uncovering Queer Histories: Fact, Myth & Why Aurelda Matters

Across centuries and continents, queer lives and loves have moved quietly through the fabric of human history. Many civilizations held space for revered individuals who lived and loved outside of today’s binaries, even if the words we use now did not exist. My own search—both personal and creative—draws strength from these true stories, as well as from the longing that sometimes leads us to see ourselves in myth.

Honoring Queer Figures Across Cultures

Throughout global history, there are celebrated individuals whose stories show that queer love and gender fluidity are nothing new.

• In ancient China Emperor Ai of Han (25–1 B.C.) publicly adored his male favorite Dong Xian; traditional historians even coined the phrase “the passion of the cut sleeve” for their love.
• The Roman Emperor Hadrian (r.117–138 A.D.) famously mourned his young lover Antinous; after Antinous’s death Hadrian deified him – founding a cult and even a city named Antinoopolis – and Antinous later “became a symbol of male homosexuality” in Western culture.
• Renaissance master Michelangelo (1475–1564) composed passionate love poems and drawings for the young nobleman Tommaso de’ Cavalieri – a bond modern historians celebrate as one of history’s great gay romances.
• And on Lesbos, the poet Sappho (c. 600 B.C.) was hailed in antiquity as the “tenth Muse”; her lyric verses clearly celebrate eros between women, making her one of the first documented lesbian icons. (In fact, early modern translators tried hard to “heterosexualize” Sappho – e.g. Ambrose Philips’s 1711 version turned her beloved into a man – a straightwashing erasure that persisted for centuries.)
• Across Asia, too, many stories and evidence point to non-binary and queer figures: India’s epic Mahabharata has Shikhandi, born female but reborn as a man to change the course of destiny; and South Asian courts often employed hijras, a historical third-gender community granted special social and spiritual roles (hijras were even officially recognized as a “third sex” in India by 1994).
• In the Americas, pre-Columbian societies had spiritual roles for gender-variant people: for instance, Zapotec communities honored muxes, people of diverse gender expression, and Mesoamerican myths feature deities like Xochipilli and Tezcatlipoca who embody fluid genders and desires.
• Many Native American tribes similarly recognized Two-Spirit individuals (embracing both masculine and feminine spirits) in respected ceremonial roles.

These were not secret histories—they were visible, even revered. But mainstream narratives have often erased or sanitized these truths, framing queer love and gender variance as modern inventions. This erasure is why so many of us hunger for stories that feel true and enduring.

Caution and Hope in Mythic Queer Readings

The absence of clear records leads many to search for queer resonance in myth and legend. Ancient stories are full of ambiguity and fluidity. Aztec myth describes Tezcatlipoca transforming to seduce Quetzalcoatl, inviting some to read a homoerotic subtext into the tale. Such interpretations highlight that Mesoamerican deities freely defied gender norms, but we must remember it is myth, not a literal history of human relationships.

Similarly, Greek mythic heroes like Achilles and Patroclus were later depicted as lovers by playwrights like Aeschylus and Plato, even though Homer himself only hints at their bond.

These legends can inspire queer fans today, but they require caution. Before projecting 21st-century identity onto ancient stories risks anachronism, we should distinguish celebrated fact (real people whose lives are documented) from mythic archetype (legends that reflect possible truths or cultural symbolism).

Why the Search to Uncovering Queer History Matters, Especially Now?

Because stories shape our self-understanding and society’s tolerance. In an era when authoritarian regimes and hard-right movements often attack LGBT+ visibility, reclaiming history and myth is an act of resistance. Authoritarian figures frequently stoke fear of “gender ideology” to marginalize queer people.

For example, under Poland’s recent conservative government dozens of towns declared themselves “LGBT-free” zones, pushing propaganda that LGBT people threaten children’s morality. Hungary’s law now bars “the portrayal of LGBTI people” in schools and public media, creating a “cloud of fear” that chills any positive queer expression.

And in the U.S., a historic wave of book bans in public schools (nearly 7,000 just this past school year) overwhelmingly target books with queer characters and themes under the guise of protecting youth. In short, a culture of censorship is rising: banning library books, policing classrooms, demonizing drag and queer art.

In such a climate, our queer ancestors and characters become more than curiosities, they are beacons. Knowing that Sappho sang of women’s love, that emperors openly loved men, or that gods changed sexes reminds young LGBTQ+ people that they are part of a vast, hidden lineage. It also exposes the lie that acceptance is a new fad.

Why Aurelda and Stories Like It Matter

This is the power behind Aurelda. In my worldbuilding, I draw on Mesoamerican mythos and ancestry to craft a narrative where identity is fluid, sacred, and beautiful. By writing Aurelda, I aim to reclaim the suppressed queer undercurrents of ancient cultures like the Maya-inspired realm of the Lumina.

Aurelda matters because it offers a vision of the past where queer individuals are honored, not erased—a mirror for readers often starved of cultural permission to imagine themselves in history’s tapestry. This is story as medicine.

And yes, how Aurelda is written (even with AI assistance) is secondary to why it’s written. People fret over new technologies, but ultimately it’s the heart and intention that count. Whether I use pen, keyboard or an algorithm, the goal is the same: to tell a story from the soul that connects us to a broader human heritage. I write (or co-write with AI) not to erase or distort the past, but to bring it alive honestly: honoring the real heroes and the myths that speak to our truth.

In a time of growing authoritarianism, when facts and liberties are under siege, we need exactly these imaginative, empathetic narratives. They remind us that queer lives have always existed globally and across epochs, celebrated by some and censored by others, but never gone.

Coming Home to the Part That Was Never Divided

I am no longer interested in a spirituality that asks men to transcend the very places where they learned to leave themselves. I am interested in a path that can hold breath and grief, desire and dignity, masculine strength and open-hearted tenderness. I am interested in a remembering that includes the body, not as temptation or obstacle, but as witness.

If you have felt the ache, you are not alone. If you have mistaken hardness for safety, you are not beyond return. If you have confused distance with freedom, you can learn another rhythm. The part of you that longs for something real is not the problem. It may be the thread.

The Book of Remembering is not here to make you less human. It is here to help you come back to the humanity that shame, performance, and trauma taught you to exile. Back to the breath. Back to the body. Back to the story beneath the story. Back to the remembering.

The Seven Threads Protocol helps you name your pattern, reconnect breath, body, and story, and begin a grounded path back to your own remembering with clarity. Download the free field guide now.

Outside Aurelda

• Images from the Underworld by Andrea J. Stone
• The Memory of Bones: Body, Being, and Experience among the Classic Maya by Stephen Houston, David Stuart, and Karl Taube
• From Moon Goddesses to Virgins: The Colonization of Yucatecan Maya Sexual Desire by Pete Sigal
• Sappho: A New Translation by Mary Barnard
• Queer Myth, Symbol & Spirit: Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual & Transgender Lore by Randy P. Conner