Again, seeking input…

LOL!!  I so LOVE you all!  You all were quick on the draw and affirming to me for the post that I sought any opinions/preferences for which of my poems were submission-ready/worthy.

Here is what is funny…tons of “likes” on the post!  I took that as affirmation that I should indeed submit something…but nothing about WHICH ONES!!!

Omg that makes me laff so hard, because it is a natural thing to have happen, and I can see that.

So…mirth subsiding, I will ask again…

If you have a favorite poem, or one that simply strikes you with jewel-flashes, drop me a reply in this post and simply list the name of the one you like…I will take all replies serious and am honored that you read.

Love,

Charissa

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Weekend Adventures and thoughts…part 3

…and on Sunday, it was as if the clock had struck midnight.

I woke, sad, and achy in my gut.  My inside girl was frantic and spinning around as if the walls were closing in on her and she was gonna get squeezed smaller and smaller until she disappeared into herself.  Dread had sidled up to me in the night, and stood a pace, sniggering and bourbling evilly at me…you know the sound of hyenas?  That was the psychic noise.

Constant Reader…Constance…do you know what this is like?  The litany?  Impervious to self talk otherwise…untouchable by me getting a grip and talking sense to myself.  All heard, all affirmed, and all the effect of spitting on the Great Chicago Fire.  As the others slowly awoke, I waited, tense and sick and full of the tangy bad taste of a 9 volt battery in my soul.

At last everyone was up, we all dressed, and went out.  We went to the Locks, and this area had many tourists, families, and people there to sight-see and enjoy the day.  But imagine my shock and dismay as I watched people looking at me.  Women looking me up, down, and then in the eyes with a variety of reactions, the most common one being loathing.

Curled Lips.  Sneering mouths.  Flat eyes.  Pursed chins.  Or, just “you-are-not-there”.

I felt so small and so null.

I walked on, listening to the other 3 of my dear ones chattering happily, greeting people as we walked, me trailing in their wake like the sea gulls trail in the wake of the fleet hoping for scraps and garbage to at least quell their hunger.

Then there were the men…total disgust, puzzlement, and one time, even a weird light of desire flickering.

Old people by and large?  Anger.  Kids?  Flat out open curiosity and interest.

OMG…how to process that!!!  Not one of those people knew, me!  Not one of them knew that I would be delighted to know them and seek to be a blessing!  Not one of them knew that I was dressed as my true and real self, and this wasn’t a joke, or some deviant perverted sexual thing.  I was just wanting to live and breathe with no bands across my chest squeezing me until I broke.

I hung back further and further, and oh my god that is when the pity party starts…y’all been there?  Right?  It is like a snake eating its own tail until all hold with any reasonable understanding of the moment is consumed, and my tears started to flow…so now there I am:

A Big Ol’ transgender girl walking along awkwardly, early in transition and moulting, bearded, too tall, too…everything…crying, snuffling, and snot beginning to run.

I finally just started looking at the ground, walking in shame and feeling like a curse.  As I walked I thought of so many women I have seen walking like that, and I so badly wanted to go up to them and edify and encourage them, but they would have seen my shell, and thought I was some predator.  And now there I was, walking that same trail of tears.

I continued to think about acceptance, for I am going to be exploring that word…how that word has been put to nefarious use as a slaver technique, how that word has power and potential, and finally a seeking to redeem that word for a new time and age, a new paradigm and people.

My daughter and her room mate of course were/are affirming, and my honey too…the dear, she really has to endure the worst of it with me.  But she drove us home, and let me sit and hurt and ache without having to negotiate the freeways.  And She let me seep tears and seek comfort, such as could be found.

What a contrast of 2 days, 2 states of being…lots of things there to ponder, but I will leave you with this exhortation:

Try to be a Saturday Angel, and not a Sunday Critic.

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Weekend Adventures and thoughts…part 2

So…the crown jewel being the concert, the whole weekend was so special and meaningful to me on a couple of other levels as well, and yet it was tinged (as always with me, it seems), by sorrow and the desperate clawing at the edges of joy as I slid back down the precipice of a heavenly couple of day and into the…gawd I have no word…of daily work, and the hiding and skulking that I must engage in to survive.

See, we are hoping to move to Seattle in a few years, and by then I will be far enough along that I can legally change my name and gender markers on my ID papers, and perhaps even take the very significant and serious surgical steps that I dream of.

To be clear, I do not consider SRS to be any sort of “proof-text” of one’s gender, and the options for transgender women in terms of transition are as numerous as the women themselves.  We are women first and foremost for the very same reason any woman is one…we know it of ourselves within ourselves without thought or choice.  It is who we are.  Surgeries and medical assistance are powerful allies to help diminish and disappear the dysphoria and pain of misaligned body and being, but they are not the “brands” that prove anything.

But I know for myself that they are important to me, because of the way I answered the magic button Q:  “if you could push a magic button, and immediately be bodied correctly, whether by surgery or other means, would you do it?”  Or another way to say it…”if money and social barriers were not an issue, and you could go today and get the necessary body corrections, would you do it?”  In each case my answer was an unhesitating and overwhelming YES.

So, that is my position on that, and I will write at length another time on gender expression as a philosophical idea, and the notions of what define we humans in our gender.

Anyway, Seattle is a huge city, and I am not known there in any capacity as anyone or anything at all, really.  My daughter and her room mate have made it clear to me that their neighborhood is LGTB friendly, and that as they themselves have both witnessed and done, trans people overall have a fairly safe and non-confrontive experience in that city.  Thus, when I am there, I am free to not cross-dress, free to walk openly and with unbridled joy in my being, and free to be myself in all ways.

This experience has happened only twice so far.

What is it like?  How to tell someone who is cis-gendered in aligned ways what it feels like?

It is like a burning torturous fire not only goes out, but the blessed coolness that begins is refreshing, restoring and renewing.  It is like getting a bad tooth out and no more throb.  It is like getting rose thorns out of your palm or arm that had been inflamed and infected and hurt even it you thought of brushing up against something.  It is like being let out of prison…

…in fact, I wrote a poem about this sort of experience back at this link:  The Yardbird Sings …go ahead and read it, I will wait…giggle.

I still have neatly trimmed facial hair, so I was a gender bending mess to cis eyes that weren’t used to seeing someone who was blurring the binary.  There I was, with pretty hair clips in my hair, a beautiful necklace on that was a bold combo of brass and red inset stones, my cute jeans and top along with my earrings and Nike Flats flashing Hot Pink, and the sweater/shawl I love to wear which is long and flowy and disguises the lack on figure I have…and my big red stunning Vintage Coat made from an old Hudson Bay Blanket and genuine old fur.

I was walking with my darling, my daughter and my friend who is roommates with my daughter, and I felt like I was in heaven.  People were friendly, helpful, complimentary, and interactive.  I felt received as a human being!  I didn’t have to have a sign on my back saying anything at all about me, I was just myself and as such was able to touch hearts with other humans.

It was divine. (I mean that, by the way).

Watching from the bottom of my eyes, or their corners, I did not see any disgust, sneers, rejection, revulsion, or dismissal.  I was complimented on my clothes and jewelry…I even tried on things at a vintage store without any policing or revulsion.  One patron was a retired Nordstrom’s buyer, and she absolutely insisted I try on this beautiful dress, and proceeded to give me teaching on what to wear with it and how to accessorize with it.

We went to book stores, coffee shops, clothes shops, stationary shops, florists and finally food places.

That was Saturday, and I wanted the day to never end.  I had nothing else in mind, no fears of future days, no dread for the bondage of what work entails for me being-wise…only them moment, and living free and flowing.

But Sunday came…

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Weekend Adventures and thoughts…part One.

This weekend, we went to be with our daughter who lives in Seattle.  She and my honey conspired to buy tickets for my daughter and I to a concert at the Neptune Theatre…Bruce Cockburn, one of our favorite singer/songwriters.

Bruce has been making music since the mid 60s and is one of the best examples I know of someone who is aging gracefully in that industry…all too often we see the preening 70 year old prancers and posers who act like 14 year old kids.  It is a sad display of futility and vanity to watch them pretend that age and maturity don’t matter.  Bruce is nearly 70 years old!  His perspective is still pretty fresh and current, his lyrics are sparkling with poetic elegance and prophetic passion, and his guitar abilities have only grown more certain.  He makes music the way the rest of us breathe.

It was a special privilege and honor to go with my daughter…she took me as her dad, and as her friend and as her protege!  I sat beside her as Bruce sang, weaving old songs that held deep meaning for me as soundtracks to my various growth stages and life lessons, seamlessly together with new songs which embodied the same themes and chronicled Bruce’s journey along through our times.  We had listened together to so much of his music, and I had intentionally not shared a lot with her as well, so she had the special thrill of discovering favorite Bruce Cockburn songs for herself.

Tears of joy and pain both flowed from my eyes…some of his music was crucial to my war against despair, and kept me company through many long dark nights of the soul where I longed for annihilation to simply end the horror of having being when I felt as if I didn’t belong and was null…his honest grappling with brokenness, desire, longing, joy, and simply persevering even though life seemed to deal nothing but hurt…all these things were tools in Lady Grace’s arsenal to keep me safe and sane.

We left the event, so happy and so bonded…no, scratch that.  We already are bonded.  We left with our bonds affirmed and blessed, and our gratitude for one another flowing generous and full.  It was a special night, an eternal experience, and I am looking forward to THAT DAY when I can go up to Bruce and thank him for his help and succor in dark and difficult days.

Read on for part 2!

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