Every Grain of Sand A Word

“So, do you have anything else you want to tell me?”
She asked archly with smothered mirth and lurking laugh,
cus the coffee-laced conversation had been gay, girly and bouncy.
tumblr_mqagxrnlOO1rmw338o1_1280 She expected a flip answer…
but her eyes begged me to
discombobulate, surprise,
entertain with another
jitter-jump turn of mind,
another juke into loose laughing
and yet another paving stone
in our miracle road together.

I turned, priest-solemn with limpid eyes
and entoned with sonorous sotto-voice serious,
and dripping with implication:
“Darling, were every grain of sand a word,
and every star in heaven an idea,
I would not have the makings of even a preamble,
a preface to all my heart would say!”

She threw her head back,
Pegasus rearing and rising
and laughed like She
who sits in the Heavens,
and her eyes danced with glee,
delighted in my expected
impossibly unpredictable reply.

In that moment, I lived forever.ggg

I want to be clear…

The entitled assumed privilege and whiny titty-baby attitude of white males makes me want to PUKE!

And it is even worse to hear them wail dramatically about how hard their life is and how much trouble the lost, the voiceless, the powerless cause them when they make their need and desires and destinies known! OMFG!!  I want to SCREAM!

Know this, baby boys…someday the word mercy is going to have a new meaning, cus you are gonna be judged by the children of your slaves.

NOW:  women…do NOT take the bait that is offered you in the name of feminism!!  There is a true feminism, which involves discovering the essence and power of your being and the amazing gift you are to the universe as the crowning pinnacle of all created things, and the only being ever who was created from living flesh (yes, I am referring to the Genesis story, Myth with a capital M and pregnant with mystery and truth packed in…think about it…all made from dirt, and then woman made from living flesh)…

…and then there is this diabolical and demonic doctrine masquerading as equality, that at its core simply wants to strip us of all our essential mystery and power and change us into female men, and thus still slaves, though the chains changed to gold.


PURSUE your true destiny!  Forge past the clouds of knowing and riverbanks of thought that stultify and choke off true revelation, and soar into those golden heights and velvet depths that are the wellsprings and fonts of Mama’s flow to women which will indeed deliver us to a better place, and help restore the shattered Image to wholeness.

Amen and amen…

Love, Charissa


My Counselour, and the Poem directly following

My counselour is a living miracle.

I have met many who have the moniker…counselour…therapist…and they are practitioners of a learned skill set, and as such facilitate a lot of things, and often even break through the miasma, the myopia, the confusion and clouds of dark unknowing.

But many of these people have pre-existing agendas, unconscious cookie-cutters of inner assumption, and they end up herding people into places and forms that do not result in wholeness.

Some, hide behind the title, wolves lurking in wait for the vulnerable, the victim, desiring to bite and rend and devour to feed their own perverse appetites for destruction.

And of course, the journeymen, working everyday in the field, maintaining and being faithful.

But the counselour I have been so incredibly fortunate to have come into my life…well, she is another story entirely.  She belongs to the company of  spirit warrior-healer who is counsel, who is help!  It is not what she does…in fact it is mystifying to me how when I leave our time together I am so alive, so revitalized and almost trilling with vibrating and pulsing life!    I cannot remember anything earth-shaking she said, there were no pronouncements on high of the deep mysteries of my fucked-up-ness…no magician’s tricks to make me feel better to get through more days…

…no, I find myself a bit different, qualitatively!  My essence is better, rendered, stripped away and yet dressed up…really words fail me to describe the presence in that place of long robbery and absence.

This woman is Help, is Laughter, is Sparkle in Death’s face and Light on lost and lonely roads, and I will be forever grateful.

I wish you all could know her.  Please keep her in your thoughts and prayers, and know that the poem below, Heather is dedicated to her.

Thanks Heather…your loving friend and ever grateful sister,




Like the shell pink linings
that tinge dreary drab storm clouds
gathered like fists
on my soul’s horizons,
she extends, she bends,
she surrounds, abounds
and help bleeds from her
with no thought or effort
like the meadowlark’s theme.tumblr_n2vhgxP40F1t5g5c1o1_500Like Polaris,
unblinking and steady
in my soul’s dark night                (river with no eyes following gravity’s destiny),
she beckons, and reckons,
she glimme
rs and hope shimmers
from her gentle tough wise voice
wreathed in honey-bee buzz
of comforting words.tumblr_n2rkfeJTvG1qayerpo1_500Like the Redwood,
full of unassuming majesty,
royal presence in the Black Forest
of my gendertangle
she smiles, she styles
with eyes, she scatters chaff
health and giggle-laugh tilth
that runs and waters
where only dust of death
reigned.sequoias.bigMagic Wise-Woman
of simple mystery!
How can you help so,
without sweat,
And I rise from ashes
with shining eyes and limber joy…photo1You find niche,
beautify cracks
with persistent roots,
bristle with cheery brush
to scratch the prideful
and bloom with slashing swipes
across craggy expanses
human misery and mournings.North CliffsYou are Heather,
and I am
Ever Grateful.