Why Not Mama?

“I do believe in an everyday sort of magic—the inexplicable connectedness we sometimes experience with places, people, works of art and the like; the eerie appropriateness of moments of synchronicity; the whispered voice, the hidden presence, when we think we’re alone.”
— Charles de Lint

Constance…what a great quote.

NOW:  here is Charissa’s lil pea brain whirling round and round:  there is a sweet and awe inspiring privilege in being caught up in this mystery, awake.  And there is no loss, is there, if that is all we have…that connectedness inexplicable and synchronicitous. If there is only that, when we die we will be glad for it and made the richer as we found courage to dive in to the Mystery, the Mystic, the Hidden and the Made Known Without Words.

But my Q:  Why is there such resistance to the idea that there would be a Personal God, Infinite in power and presence and horribly wonderfully finite in its involvement with us…and that God is so personal that it chooses to manifest itself in 3 persons, so as to be available to everyone of us…and then in that availability and pursuit, in that Quest for communion with us more arduous than lovers, why cannot They be the magic, the connectedness, the whispered voice, the presence?

I have never met anyone with a problem with the God who talks to me…literally.  Either they love Her-Him-Him, or they think my God is just part of me, but a creative and wonderful and fairy-tale ought to be sort of “Charissa Imagination”.

Every person I have met who has a problem with God has been raped and abused and dehumanized by a god presented by evil people wearing masks and a name that their heart violently murders in each beat.

Constance…would you do a favor for me?  Would you read the quote, and then imagine, what if God was just like that, and would talk with you, dialogue with you, listen to you, and then connect you with magic?

What if….

….well, then you would have met my Mama…my beautiful and wonderful blessed Mama Holy Spirit.

Deepest love, and written in tender crushed pain right now but bleeding gratefulness to Mama, who loves me

Charissa

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My Previous One Post about sexuality

The idea that sex is something a woman gives a man, and she loses something when she does that, which again for me is nonsense. I want us to raise girls differently where boys and girls start to see sexuality as something that they own, rather than something that a boy takes from a girl.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

 

Constance, I have written precisely one time on my explicit beliefs regarding sexuality and love.  You can find that post at Love, In a Sexual World .

I reference that post, because it is saying very similar things to this lil quote I posted…

…the key point in this quote and the absolutely essential thing to grasp is this:  sexuality is something you are given as your very own, and thus it belongs to you.  It is a state of being that is held in potential, and when you choose to engage it, you forever are altered…just like when you get married, or become a parent.

Oh…marriages can end, but you will always “have been married”…children can die, but you can never “un-become” being a parent.

And to take someone’s sexuality…to let it be taken…well, that is the greatest act of theft that can occur:  either the person taking it the greatest thief or the one letting it being taken the greatest thief from themself.

Recently I have been beset with acts of betrayal and broken trust.  And in another place where I attempted to contact an author whose book raised many things, I found myself accused again of sin…sexual sin, mind you…simply for being open that I am transgender.

As a matter of fact, sexuality is actually one area that is pretty darn together in my life, thanks to Mama and my darling holder of my heart.

I will soon post about the awful and hateful things that were said by complete strangers…but in the meantime, seeing this quote reminded me:

teach your children that they possess the gift of the ages:  their sexuality and the right of its dispensation.

Love, Charissa Grace

bleeding and cut, bruised and battered, but refusing the bribes of defeat

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Too Close to the Edge

My amazing fellow poetess Lynda…my Sister in our Sea of words and frolics of similes on seas of metaphor…my fellow anguisette turning out beauty for ashes and good old love for indifference

thank you Lynda, you are a godsend to me and Someday you will know how vital are the things you too often deem as meagre.

With Deep love and appreciation, Charissa

forget-me-not

When a winding staircase
seems to be never ending
like climbing rain clouds

o n e

by

one;

lightening striking once, twice
wondering, dreaming
if third time is the charm

that finally washes all the cares away;

too close to the ledge,
and the crowd wants you
to jump.

That bridge seems so far away
from redemption
when pain, then indifference
washes over you,

you

hit

rock

bottom.

Suddenly, there is no place
further to fall and you hear that song,
open those hazy eyes and see all of the colors
that were faded, before,
faces of strangers look familiar,
trees sway to the beat

and you get out of that car,
song still playing

and just run

through fields of happy weeping,
acres of flowers and their sun

until your feet find your soul home.

~

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