God doesn’t make mistakes, people do

Constance, the amazing Lori Duron says it best. Please read her post below. I am still processing this horror, but may have some thoughts in a few days.

Walk Humbly. Just that.

Raising My Rainbow

Art by Leelah Alcorn Art by Leelah Alcorn

The suicide and suicide letter of Leelah Alcorn haunt me. They have gripped my heart and not let go, squeezing tighter every time I think about them. And, I think about them often.

Leelah’s suicide affects me so deeply because, like her, my child is differently gendered — putting him in the group of children who have the highest rate of suicide attempts in the world.

That could be my child. That could have been my brother.

We grew up in very religious home. We went to youth group on Wednesday nights and church every Sunday. If you didn’t go to church, you didn’t go anywhere else.

Starting in seventh grade, at age 12, I was taught that being gay was one of the worst sins a person could commit and being transgender was unspeakable. When I was in high school and my brother came out…

View original post 400 more words

This Brilliant Indifference

tumblr_nh5lyiZ6JT1qgk7mfo1_500I am a childe of dark, a childe of light.

I was born beneath the shining moon
but just outside it’s golden touch
there, on dim green meadows blanketing
the warm red earth in comfort midst the singing dark and stars.

I was born upon the stones that radiate residual heat
as they remember blazing suns so brilliant beneath that blue sky
that blankets those same meadows green and glorious in the day
but now those stones lay bare in the cold night, as I am bare as well, uncovered.

I was born in darkness, and outside
looking in upon the singing stars
hung in night sky velvet-soft and sable
surrounded by splendors from some lost fable.tumblr_mhw41fyY9F1s3ik60o1_500

Outside.

I was born outside the secret knowledge that every other person seems to have
of just how goddam dull and ordinary everything around them “really is”.  I mean
just look at them, shining so brilliant each day and acting like it’s only night!  I see
their flaming hearts a-fire and blazing but they just trudge by feeling bored, uptight.

I watch events unfold and want to sing in joy and caper!
But when I open up my heart and shout and point in wonder…
well, those fish eyes turn and stare and those mouths gape and mock, hung open
and I am named too much, inglorious and out of order…out of order…out of order.tumblr_n8rdf9rMDR1sbg1lmo1_1280

Childe dwelling in the swelling dark of gloomy bored indifference
Childe dwelling midst the dazzle vast and glory of a day

(just One Day that unfolds brand new
over and over and over and over and over
Full, expressed complete miraculous
in every single same lily white
in every single same bird flight
in every single whispering wind
that echoes ever over the same ever different waters bright)expansion-by-paige-bradley

I am a companion with no company to keep because I’m
elated and afraid,
curious and fearful,
confused and wide awake
and seeing all around me
the marvels that they fail to see

(or rather, what they see and call the same?
the same ole same ole same ole same ole same
and let the repetition rob them of the vision
and leave them drunk and sober but
out of proper phase for when intoxication
is called for in this moment and when sobriety is come
to sing us back at last to proper sanity).tumblr_nh5isnxmlS1rk1cbbo1_1280

And on the cusp of Dark and Light I’m homeless in the day, the night,
homeless and repudiating that blank stupor of disinterest
that surrounds me…tries to drown me, pull me in it’s vicious grip
and trap me in its undertow of

violence unfolding
suffering repeated
oppression and injustice
become mere background noise
to serenade those bored yawns
and sighs of such indifference
that boredom has become
a way of life.

Out of phase (childe of dark)
and out of synch (childe of glad day)
delighting in monotony…
another walk beneath beauty…
another page before I sleep…
do it again! do it again, God!
another minute sharing hearts
because our moment is delight
alas…this childe born but belonging
not to day and not to night.tumblr_naka9qSUsT1thqgeao1_1280

 

Autant que toi by Mystic4Ever Dec 2012

Une nuit de plus s’étale au grand jour
Se propageant comme un feu de Bengale
Au cœur des veines stratifiées d’amour
En puisant sa force au fond sidérale.

Le brouillard étreint l’horizon fébrile
Dans un corps à corps aux contours parfaits
Et même la lune a des airs graciles
Lorsqu’ il l’habille de cotons épais.

Quand le vent sabre un à un les nuages
Un ballet sensuel s’anime là-haut
Le silence est toujours le point d’encrage
Et la pluie menace à jamais les maux.

Le temps se dissout en discontinu
A genoux le ciel fait sa révérence
La terre tremble à perte de vue
Dans son sillage mène cette danse

Et

Je vois mes larmes au bleu de tes yeux
Tu vois tes larmes dans les miens verdâtres
Et nous les regardons brûler ensemble…

Mystic4Ever
Le 27 Décembre 2012

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This…but at the same time, there is some becoming stirring…heaving

The loneliest moment in someone’s life
is when they are watching their whole world fall apart,
and all they can do is stare blankly.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

I am trusting there is nothing more happening than the chrysalis breaking open.

Mama?  Mama?

MAMA!!tumblr_ngyq9cXd4i1t54769o1_1280

True Beauty

Constance, I know one of my biggest struggles in life is feeling like I should not be.  Just…not be.  And this has a whole list of corollaries that flow down from it, and one of the most serious is that I think I am tremendously ugly.  Physically, I was told that I looked okay for a biological male, sometimes even being told I was good looking.  But I never ever thought so…because that is not how I look to myself inside of me.

Inside of me?  I am small, light boned, neat and petite.  Not on the outside.

And now…as I transition, my looks are changing, getting better…but there is something else happening.  There is something inside me that comes out when I am most completely unaware of myself and when it does it feels wonderful.  And I am told that it is radiant and beautiful.

I still struggle with being.  A lot.  Especially during times of isolation and abandonment, because my quick relentless mind immediately fills that absence of people with reasons…”they are not here because you are ****, or ****”…fill in the blank, yeah?  Stupid, or ugly, or unlovely, or a pain in the ass, or a bother…it doesn’t really matter because they are all accusations and they are toxic as arsenic.

This morning I saw this quote, written in French, and it expresses a thought that represents hope to me.  If true beauty comes from within, and is based on a beautiful soul, then I have a shot at beauty, yes?  Because Mama and Jesus and Father are the Architects of my soul and it is the desire of my heart to look like Them.

Now to learn to live in the long absences as one full who deserves to be…instead of as a homeless person who is a blight.

“Chacune de nous a besoin de se faire dire qu’elle est formidable ! La beauté d’une femme n’est pas dans ses vêtements, ni le joli minois qu’elle affiche ou la façon dont elle se coiffe. La beauté d’une femme doit être vue dans ses yeux parce qu’ils sont les portes de son coeur, là où l’amour réside. La beauté d’une femme n’est pas dans un grain de beauté bien placé sur le haut d’une lèvre. La vraie beauté d’une femme est réfléchie par son âme. L’amour qu’elle donne, la passion qu’elle démontre, les années qui passent l’embellissent.”tumblr_n00r52eSqi1r7fsa9o1_500

Suicide Strikes Again

Constance…this appeared on my Facebook feed…I am distraught.

***********************************************************************************

Leelah was a 17yo ‪#‎trans‬ girl who just committed suicide. Rejected by her Christian parents. Put through reparative therapy. Her suicide note is below.

(Yes, it’s a verified real story. This post is from the City Councilman. Leelah is misgendered in news reports and images say “beloved son.” Love your kids, no matter who they are.)

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Some very sad news to share.

Yesterday, a 17-year old committed suicide by jumping in front of a semi on I-71 near the South Lebanon exit.

It has come to light that this person likely committed suicide because she was transgender.

While Cincinnati led the country this past year as the first city in the mid-west to include transgender inclusive health benefits and we have included gender identity or expression as a protected class for many years….the truth is….it is still extremely difficult to be a transgender young person in this country.

We have to do better.

By reading her letter, Leelah makes it clear she wants her death to, in some way, help “trans civil rights movements.”

Please join me in making a donation (investment in our trans kids) right now to TransOhio.

Invest by clicking here: http://www.transohio.org

SUICIDE NOTE
If you are reading this, it means that I have committed suicide and obviously failed to delete this post from my queue.

Please don’t be sad, it’s for the better. The life I would’ve lived isn’t worth living in… because I’m transgender. I could go into detail explaining why I feel that way, but this note is probably going to be lengthy enough as it is. To put it simply, I feel like a girl trapped in a boy’s body, and I’ve felt that way ever since I was 4. I never knew there was a word for that feeling, nor was it possible for a boy to become a girl, so I never told anyone and I just continued to do traditionally “boyish” things to try to fit in.

When I was 14, I learned what transgender meant and cried of happiness. After 10 years of confusion I finally understood who I was. I immediately told my mom, and she reacted extremely negatively, telling me that it was a phase, that I would never truly be a girl, that God doesn’t make mistakes, that I am wrong. If you are reading this, parents, please don’t tell this to your kids. Even if you are Christian or are against transgender people don’t ever say that to someone, especially your kid. That won’t do anything but make them hate them self. That’s exactly what it did to me.

My mom started taking me to a therapist, but would only take me to christian therapists, (who were all very biased) so I never actually got the therapy I needed to cure me of my depression. I only got more christians telling me that I was selfish and wrong and that I should look to God for help.

When I was 16 I realized that my parents would never come around, and that I would have to wait until I was 18 to start any sort of transitioning treatment, which absolutely broke my heart. The longer you wait, the harder it is to transition. I felt hopeless, that I was just going to look like a man in drag for the rest of my life. On my 16th birthday, when I didn’t receive consent from my parents to start transitioning, I cried myself to sleep.

I formed a sort of a “fuck you” attitude towards my parents and came out as gay at school, thinking that maybe if I eased into coming out as trans it would be less of a shock. Although the reaction from my friends was positive, my parents were pissed. They felt like I was attacking their image, and that I was an embarrassment to them. They wanted me to be their perfect little straight christian boy, and that’s obviously not what I wanted.

So they took me out of public school, took away my laptop and phone, and forbid me of getting on any sort of social media, completely isolating me from my friends. This was probably the part of my life when I was the most depressed, and I’m surprised I didn’t kill myself. I was completely alone for 5 months. No friends, no support, no love. Just my parent’s disappointment and the cruelty of loneliness.

At the end of the school year, my parents finally came around and gave me my phone and let me back on social media. I was excited, I finally had my friends back. They were extremely excited to see me and talk to me, but only at first. Eventually they realized they didn’t actually give a shit about me, and I felt even lonelier than I did before. The only friends I thought I had only liked me because they saw me five times a week.

After a summer of having almost no friends plus the weight of having to think about college, save money for moving out, keep my grades up, go to church each week and feel like shit because everyone there is against everything I live for, I have decided I’ve had enough. I’m never going to transition successfully, even when I move out. I’m never going to be happy with the way I look or sound. I’m never going to have enough friends to satisfy me. I’m never going to have enough love to satisfy me. I’m never going to find a man who loves me. I’m never going to be happy. Either I live the rest of my life as a lonely man who wishes he were a woman or I live my life as a lonelier woman who hates herself. There’s no winning. There’s no way out. I’m sad enough already, I don’t need my life to get any worse. People say “it gets better” but that isn’t true in my case. It gets worse. Each day I get worse.

That’s the gist of it, that’s why I feel like killing myself. Sorry if that’s not a good enough reason for you, it’s good enough for me. As for my will, I want 100% of the things that I legally own to be sold and the money (plus my money in the bank) to be given to trans civil rights movements and support groups, I don’t give a shit which one. The only way I will rest in peace is if one day transgender people aren’t treated the way I was, they’re treated like humans, with valid feelings and human rights. Gender needs to be taught about in schools, the earlier the better. My death needs to mean something. My death needs to be counted in the number of transgender people who commit suicide this year. I want someone to look at that number and say “that’s fucked up” and fix it. Fix society. Please.

Goodbye,

(Leelah) Josh Alcorn

Between the Lines

Tree-lines mark the end of alpine meadow-frolics green
and the start of stone relief against the ever-constant skies
stretched out in steely greys and stellar silver blue sky-lines,
and space between connected by the ties of trial and time.Image 001

Far below this mystery waltz I walk deliberate down the lines,
railroad tracks slow, stretched out stark twixt here and there, and ties that bind,
the ties that bind are cracked with age and splintered in worn weather-cloaks
of rushing trains and tumbling time… tumblr_nhc0cxn1Yz1trfg04o1_1280

rumbling down the tracks,
trickling down the rails,

down the lines…
and over ties that bind.

I am between the lines and walk in lurchy stride
from tie to tie in my own quirky dance and graceful glide.
I look sideways, askance with eyes that look inside
to know what’s hidden there between the trees and skies tumblr_nh4aoh3jEn1rgfa66o1_500

and in between the lines,
where I step stride by stride…
and move from tie to tie.

I walk the rail, steps mincing,
my arms swing, flail, balancing,
on that hard steel there, long stretching,
so distant-quick before me,

and falling far behind me,
and steady just beside another rail
that’s always there but can’t be touched
across those ties, beneath that veil.tumblr_nh3jjgaW1O1qei7a7o1_1280

That space between the lines tugs hard at me,
I fall forever in that six inch gaping gulf
to step again on ties, ties carved from trees
cavorting early with those steel grey skies above,
and I am finally caught again
and touch upon the frosty earth

like fog touches trees
like skies caress crags
like roots touch stone

and there I walk, alone between the lines,
my feet upon the ties, the ties that bind
and my heart ponders lines, and ties and spaces
in between the lines, the ones inside of me and what is hidden
there to see by those who stop and look and listen

…and take the time to read between the lines.tumblr_n6ji2gedCm1rfxi3qo1_500

“What Do I Have To Do To Get You Into A Relationship With Jesus?” (Selling Christ In The Evangelical Megachurch) | john pavlovitz

Constance, the whole thing…here is an excerpt…and this is why I delineate between the building where American religious christians go for meetings, and the living organism.  They both have the name “church”, but only one is a church.  The other is sticks and stones, in divers ways.

Before the Church was ever an institution, before it was a massive entertainment compound, before it was a weekend mountaintop destination, it was a community; one whose lifeblood was true relationships. The idea in those early days, was to live together, to bear one another’s burdens, and to work out together, how the words and ministry of Jesus translated into the lives of those who sought to follow after him.

They came together daily to share stories, to break bread, and to encourage one another. “Church” was the bi-product of Christians living together and knowing each other.

via “What Do I Have To Do To Get You Into A Relationship With Jesus?” (Selling Christ In The Evangelical Megachurch) | john pavlovitz.

What People Think Before They Meet ME!!

That’s what I want. I want someone who smiles like an idiot whenever she talks about me.
Someone who just can’t shut the fuck up about me.

But after they meet me, and I am that person who cannot shut the F up?

“Charissa…really.  STFU!!!”

giggles…Ima talker, vaccinated with a phonograph needle.  My daddy could not even ride me into silence with his bike while I ran along side him yippity-yapping away the whole time.

Chatter-box is me unconscious and asleep.

Oh, and when I am not vocal?  That’s cuz my thoughts are swirling so fast and I am thinking so hard that to talk is to slow them down and lose them.

Careful what you ask for, Constance…tumblr_ls3761vWEK1qb56ifo1_500

God I did this for 50 YEARS!! (and didn’t even know!)

Constance, I am posting this because I did this for sooo many years, just what came natural to me as I was pressured by people and situations…

When you teach your daughter, explicitly or by passive rejection, that she must ignore her outrage, that she must be kind and accepting to the point of not defending herself or other people, that she must not rock the boat for any reason, you are not strengthening her prosocial sense; you are damaging it—and the first person she will stop protecting is herself.
Martha Stout

I am a bit sad, a bit outraged, a bit angry, and a bit despairing…I have been cheated out of giving, cheated out of living…but the worst is that I cheated myself by not letting myself be true and honest.

grrrrrrr

16601790-standard

Heresies, Schmeresies, And Letters From Pharisees

Constance…my friend whom I have never met but know well from our shared spiritual DNA has done it again. Back in the fall there were some dementors that haunted Grace Notes for awhile and occasionally still show up to smear their excrement on my face if I am smiling too broadly or breathing too freely…

I sought to write about that, how they purport to speak in God’s Name, and alas as usual, my writing was intricate and convoluted and likely left you stranded in the maze. Sigh.

Thankfully, Mama has connected me with John’s blog…and once again I am reblogging is post, which simply says it all.
Thanks, John.
Love, Charissa

john pavlovitz

LetterFiltered

It’s always fun to get mail, until it isn’t.

On Wednesday I was heading out to prepare to lead music for our church’s Christmas Eve service, when my wife handed me a letter that had just arrived in the mail. On the envelope was a name and address I didn’t recognize. As I opened the letter, I speculated with great excitement that it might be a holiday greeting from a reader; perhaps a Christmas gift or some token of appreciation, maybe a heartfelt thank you for some meaningful ministry I’d done.

It was not.

What it was, was a two-page handwritten letter from a total stranger, notifying me of my deceptive, heretical, false teachings, and calling me to immediate repentance.

As I poured over her neatly-written, well-articluated, polite-yet-condescending jabs at my suggested lack of Biblical knowledge and sin-coddling ways, I really wanted to be angry, but what I immediately became was sorry.

I was…

View original post 1,004 more words

11 Ways 2014 Was the Biggest Year in Transgender History | Rolling Stone

11 Ways 2014 Was the Biggest Year in Transgender History | Rolling Stone.

Good Morning Constance…

I ran across this article this morning, and of course was interested to read of this historical recounting of an amazing year of awareness growing…

…and yet, somehow, I found it strangely disconnected from my own life.  In the midst of these events, I swam in my own seas of trial, toil, sorrow and joy.

My own year:

In early January, I went to my therapist dressed as myself…outside in public.  It terrified me and I thought I would die of fear.  When I walked into her office, she cried in joy.  Her tears are jewels in my memory.

In late January I had my ears pierced, and though it hurt like crazy, I was ecstatic.  A week later, I was derisively interrogated by subordinates at work “what the F**k had I done with my ears?”.  That particular brand of self-loathing, shame, fear and anger gave me its first sip…it is not intoxicating.  It is hell.

In February, I began HRT…and the horror fires banked so long in forges that rival Mordor in despair began to diminish, and then extinguish, and streams of mercy clear and relief substantial coursed through my veins…and who I am began to blossom and bloom…I was well named at birth, if it is considered what that sort of thing is destined to do…

In April, I had more experiences at work that were distressing.  I also joined my poetry group, and that cadre of people who have only ever known me as myself are such salt of the earth wonders, who simply know me as Charissa, the odd poetess.  One beautiful woman in particular has taken me under her wing…and on that first fearful night, she looked at me with open face and clear eyes.

In Spring and summer, I sold my truck and used the proceeds to fund my transition…of this I can only refer you to those months.

In summer a relationship that is very significant to me began to be built, the first one, in fact, as me Charissa.  It is a very simple one in its arc and scope…it is very complex in that it is unfolding from the end to the beginning, and someday we shall arrive where we are meant to begin.  It is encumbered with obstacles, none insurmountable but all onerous…distance, time, and prejudice rooted in ignorance and fed by distrust are outside forces that have so far driven us on with sails full before those winds, and we have sailed to many wondrous shores…may there ever be another, DDH…ever be another until the Last.tumblr_nh5lyicxll1qgk7mfo1_1280

And in the autumn, I took my own journey down The Green Mile that most of my sisters walk…I was murdered professionally, guilty of the crime of becoming myself and throwing off the chains of privilege and white male power and position.

This is the ultimate crime in our patriarchy.

A human being, born biologically as an XY chromosome-assigned being, and granted all the accompanying privileges, rights and riches, power and position, initiated into the ways of “men” and present in their spaces…this human considers all that as utter futility compared to the all surpassing richness of being myself and authentic…and I am unabashedly thrilled to be myself…I openly declare being a woman to be the better destiny and life.

For those crimes I had to die.  I have been put in my place, and my tale of woe would be recognized by any woman anywhere who sought to be herself in places she was not permitted to be.

Since that moment life is full of unbecoming…unwrapping, unraveling…the chrysalis is split and the butterfly within is terrified as its house and covering is torn asunder…only the future will inform her she can fly while she writhes in the clutches of the threatening lonely present.

Abandoned by friends, neglected by loved ones, showered by Mama, constantly encouraged by one…the heart of my heart and constant support and nearly my life itself…16601790-standard

…that is the year in review for me.  A year of portent.  Perhaps the overall macro view contrasted with the small view of this flea will give you some perspective in the issues we face that cis-gender people take for granted.

May 2015 contain triumph to match the certain tears…may there be joy enough to overcome my fears…and may I find somehow the grace to continue on, in the midst of lonely silence and neglect and need, laying aside my own selfish point of view and greed to feed and care for myself…may I be a vessel poured out over and over again, trusting Mama to fill me full and looking never to others.

Blessings to you Constance…and deepest heart gratitude that you are reading here this day.  Your support has been so precious and invaluable.

Charissa Grace…a butterfly emerging and persistent.

book-sculpture-david-kracov-book-of-life__880

This Is How You Lose Her

“You must learn her.
You must know the reason why she is silent.
You must trace her weakest spots.

“You must write to her.
You must remind her that you are there.
You must know how long it takes for her to give up.

You must be there to hold her when she is about to.
You must love her because many have tried and failed.
And she wants to know that she is worthy to be loved, that she is worthy to be kept.

And, this is how you keep her.”
— Junot Díaz,
This Is How You Lose Her tumblr_nea02hivmC1qj5oxwo1_1280

Living Bread or Primal Soup

believe in a virgin birth?
implausible, absurd, immature!
a miracle problematic and troubling!!
inconvenient, that!  disruptive!
Why, I don’t prefer it!

go walk on water, or multiply yeasty slices!
but inside…my body…my bodyMY body!?!?
Nay!  Do as You please with Yours but

git Yer greezy paws offn mine!

(it’s my precious!)

what’s that? why not?
Why not this birth inconvenient and impractical?
Why…because there is no mystery about this whole mess!!

Simply:
somehow, somewhere, sometime, someway
there was a soup

(not mine, I assure you, and whose?
well that ain’t my department!!)

a group of molecules

(from somewhere, sometime, someplace)

got together without knowing

(because:  before knowing, ya ken?)

they just got together and became self-replicating

(i don’t know about that…
but we have that problem yet today:
self replication…ah self, you cursed demon!)

Hmmm…this sounds ummm,
well, I don’t want to be a smart ass
but I will risk becoming a talking donkey
and ask you:

If there was a Virgin Birth, what happened?
Molecules insensate unknowing
tasting soup without primordial tastebuds
and becoming out of nowhere
the Bread of Life?

And that’s different…how?
(except it excludes Love, oh such Love contained therein!)

Our smartest blindest tell us this:

‘…the universe can and will create itself from nothing.
Spontaneous creation is the reason there is something
rather than nothing, why the universe exists, why we exist.’
(ima duck my head now and giggle!
and the tome called The Grand Design
design…
by a not-Who
in a not-Where
for a not-Reason
but Grand.
and Design.
lol…molecules just laffed out loud)

Look:  this never happens, not anywhere.
So, accepting that mystery, well then
we’re all the same and somewhere we leap

in faith.

‘Cept I leap at Mama…not molecules.
I eat of Miracles, not primal soup,
but I will dunk such Living Bread
as given to me
into the cup of suffering
for the sake of Love
and a Baby
born of a virgin
and my Mama dancing.

tumblr_my1xehOAJm1rpb55ho1_500

Advent Poems: The Season of Revelation

the arrival of that miracle
our hearts all know lurks
just outside this skein of time,
practicing its own waiting
for the miracle moment of emergence…and
redemption of yet another season of waiting.

Revealed.our_ends_are_beginnings_by_paradisiacpicture-d7oasob

A God
shouldered It’s Way
into the world today…
This God, revealed
rough and roaring
and wrapped in the skin
of this baby asleep,
hidden here in our heart

Revealed.tumblr_ngacq8vgRy1s7jx17o1_1280

Reunion waits for me and you…
That towering act of redemption
Resounds throughout all of creation, today

Revealed.tumblr_ng4cw8PIiF1soxzypo1_500

Lion, Lamb and Baby through the smoke
Paying every Promise that They Spoke

Revealed.tumblr_nfydtomiHu1s9ib3xo1_500

God has stepped into our world
to dig us out of every prison
we disguised as snug burrows
and cozy hobbit holes

Revealed.tumblr_n0wa71grGI1rj8gavo1_500

This Christmas,
nothing has been exposed…

Revealed.tumblr_msmhh7xdmD1rq9ek2o1_500

Time will never simply pass by
without engraving its mark
in a stab to my heart or a tender sweet touch
or a mortal wound bleeding and dark

Revealed.tumblr_lxlo4o4U3N1r8xslzo1_1280

Kneel where you are, for that is where it is,
that lowly manger unseen by the great
and in that manger, there inside of you
your face upturned and wet with Heaven’s dew
the Christ Child comes to make all things brand new

Revealed.tumblr_ngw3mjvEWs1r3fkjno1_1280

They…hungry…ready
to come to us now.
Them with us
move in us
empty us
to satisfy us
dine with us
and hunger ever sharp and sated
all at once

Revealed.tumblr_ngj4vr7T1y1r1vfbso1_1280

…and we?
With gratitude we enter, invitation tightly clutched to aching breast…
we kneel hushed and astonished safe and sound as we are changed
by this Child’s Gift (or is the Child Himself the gift that’s given?)
Invited to approach and revel, knowing what we’ve always known
is finally here and shining present, Sacred Heart Alive Forever
in the season of fulfillment pure and everlasting…

Revealed.wg441_ghost_1

…and so we yearn, together, aching
in the lonely moments waiting
perfect timing of those winds
to blow away the mists
and let that mountain shine again
in solid clarity and splendour promises
that someday the Divine Loneliness
and human grieving longing
will be overcome by
Faith and Hope and Love

Revealed.tumblr_mozejosP561rn6qqco1_1280

I am mindful of
many things I hold in faith,
committed to God

Revealed.tumblr_mp4l3fWgCO1s6oboso1_1280

For here it is we sit and wait,
for the coming of our Heart
Their meaning to our Core impart.

Today, the Life Revealed,
the Heart of God Revealed
utterly different than the heart of man
revealed.

And you?
Here in this season of Revelation?
Do you dare?

Look within
Look without

and see what is revealed.

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Advent Poem: The Season of Silence

Today hubbub and hustle
tramways trollies and trellises
crammed with travelers, trophy-takers and talkers

the cacophony joyous ascends, surrounds, spreads
and in this din great tidings of cheer resound
and rebound, and return round again.

But at the core, where I sit,
(you are sat there too, you know.  Just listen)
it is silent.  The Quiet is here.

Thick.  Palpable, wooly white and
smelling of seasoned woods and wet forest kneeled
and of the hush in the heart of the Snow-Covered Fields.

It descends, swells, covers and crawls
(on feet like Sandberg’s cat)
and fills the core of cheer with substance

The substance of Silence.
The presence of Anticipation.Image 001

For here it is we sit and wait,
for the coming of our Heart
Their meaning to our Core impart.

And as the night stretches out and goes on
and the din dies down exhausted and content
the silent sound of labor has begun.

The shriek of sweat trickles down
(fingers down life’s blackboard revealing white beneath)
her face, contorted in composed intent concentration

Bearing down, the groaning of contractions
and the towering soundless shouts of no one there with her
except her earnest clumsy man so loving, so full of silent fear.

*me sat here, throat lumpified and choked,
mummified and heart stokes,
smoke stacked up, backed up
and no where to go but inward,

no words to say no deeds to do
no place to go no getting away
no arriving new just sat here,

enduring, waiting*

The silent moment flexes hard and pushes
Her face a rictus of the wrenching passion
of the passage of a God, her baby

and then deliverance and everything on pause
every heart breath held and chest unmoving
until the night is pierced by One Small Cry that echoes still

across our darking skies,
in the fullness of Anticipation
In the Season of Silence, this Holy Present Silence.

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The Apology

Dear Constance…I was astonished and stunned into stillness by this piece of writing by an amazing poet that I consider in so many ways to be a soul sister. I highly commend her courage, her insight, and her flat out stubbornness which is occasionally her biggest opposition and yet is the bedrock of her being and empowers her to face down things that most human beings never even know are there while she stands watch and witness to them…and chooses not to run.

I have come to truly love her…I hope you will go to her blog and thoughtfully and tenderly read there…

I write in braille, inviting you to reach your hand under the heart blankets and feel the bumps there and learn to interpret them and thus know the story…but Cookie just freaking rips that blanket back and grabs your hand and plunges it into the bloody depths and says “take a look if you like…or not”.

Wow.tumblr_ngq6tm4uyK1tp9z0lo1_1280

And here, on Christmas Eve…is this not the stuff that would constitute the kind of meal that the Child came to eat? And then to in kind become for us to eat and be healed?

Blessings to you, Sister Heart and Warrior Mate. I salute you…and I love you.
Merry Christmas: Charissa

CALLIOPE'S LYRE

I should’ve known better.

I knew, but I should’ve known better than to trust my own knowledge. I should’ve known what I know now, I should’ve known better. I should’ve known.

That morning I woke up to you was a rare gift. That all the nights I slept sharing your warmth, with my back against your chest and our fingers interlaced, breathing in unbroken rhythm, those nights would never happen again. I had some dim recognition of the value of those moments at the time, but not like this. Now when I try to sleep all I can do, all I can do is back into the wall and pretend its you- but it’s not. It’s a cold, hard wall, and my heart is cold and hard, and that’s how I finally fall asleep each night- cold. I should’ve known better than to get used to your warmth.

Or your…

View original post 473 more words

Advent Story: The Healing of the Light King (Epilogue)

 For Part TEN, click HERE
*****     *****     *****     *****     *****

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The old man was quiet, and then said simply, “Yes. I did.”
“Oh, show us, Grandpa. Please show us,” the children begged in unison.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

“Now, now,” protested the old man. “It’s time for bed, you fuzzyheads! Come into my arms and I’ll carry you to your room.

“Oh, Grand-pa!” they wailed, but they obeyed.

He hoisted them like they were babes and turned to leave the fire’s light. He hesitated, and then he strode over to a dark, lifeless lamp, and stood still a moment. The Children, one under each arm, looked at each other excitedly and held their breath.

And then…the old man breathed on the lamp…WHOOSH…and laughed as light

…pure light…

leapt up in the lamp in answer to the call of his breath.
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The old man laughed and danced around the room, swinging the children high and breathing upon lamp after lampLK010LK026LK043
until the whole room had blossomed, ablaze in light, and then he whisked the children out of the room and whirled down the hall to their beds.
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Some time later, he emerged.

“Hello Father”, came a deep, strong voice.

The speaker was a tall, noble man with grey streaks of wisdom in his beard and a golden crown upon his head.The old man looked up and grinned. “Hello son, err, Your Highness,” he bowed with only a hint of teasing.

“Kids settled in, Father?” asked the King. “I was just coming to tuck them in.”

“Oh yes. I expect you’ll find them ready and waiting. Ready and waiting”.

The king looked at his father…all dressed beautiful red—like blood—and hair white as snow and shinning bright.

“You’re putting’ on a little weight, there Father. Your belly looks like jelly!’

“Aye, that it does, son, that it does. Too much ale and good cooking’ I guess.”

“But you look healthy, dad. By the Star—you look like you will live forever!”

The old man threw back his snowy head, pulled his crimson cloak around him, and roared in delight.

“That I may, son, that I may”.

Then he walked down the dark hall to his chambers and as he passed, every dark dormant lampLK048

blazed on in glorious heavenly echo of the light of his passing.
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The King stood and watched him until he disappeared round the corner, and the echoes of his laughter faded in the distance.
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“Behold, the Light King”, he said softly. “Behold.

He turned and went in to his children.

The End
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*****     *****     *****     *****     *****
For Part TEN, click HERE

A Palate Discarded

I am without any poetic elegance.
using words like paints,
with my St Vincent’s Heart
and Random Jackson’s Hands,
one ear gone
snatched by That sword.

I long to make
something beautiful
because I am something not…
beautiful.
I long to create
things warm and worthwhile,
glowing valuable inside
because I am not,
valuable.
I just manage
to echo value,
remind of Light
in my weak and futile
fading flicker.tumblr_mzmyeelf5Y1qzskcyo1_1280Oh!
I think I know now…
I’m a palate,
daubs of paint!
Streaked, smeared chipped,
a mess of abilities and gifts
They dip into with brushes
bristly and disturbing.
They make paintings
and me in hand there…
well I guess that’s the closest
I will ever get to beauty…
until I am laid down
and They done painting

for now

and me there,
then discarded,
set aside and yearning
languishing, staring,
looking up at that painting pretty,
at that bending beauty
so near and yet so far,
so very far away.

Hey,
wouldn’t it be great
if there was
a gallery of palates
used and slathered
held and blathered
in mess and in creation,
the partner of an Artist
and co-mid wife of beauty?

That’s a hall
I might haunt,
a place where chaos
is considered
in the context
of the range of raw materials
present and poured out.tumblr_m0yeqdsEz91qafc06o1_500

Advent Poem: The Season of Promise (in haiku)

The sound of raindrops
and the smell of fir branches…
I was lapped by time.

I am mindful of
many things I hold in faith,
committed to God.

In this reverent mist
silver memories descend
gentle on my face.

I think of my heart,
its four chambers birthed from me
leaving Their Promise

soft there inside me,
layers of a tight red rose
blossoming each day

It’s these Christmas gifts,
given in deep love, bright hope
Of that final gift…

…of arriving home,
every Promise made fulfilled,
All Things Then Restored.

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Advent: The Healing of the Light King: A Story of Christmas (part 10)

Advent: The Healing of the Light King: A Story of Christmas (part 9)

Advent Poem: The Season of Loneliness

Unbidden,
moving like mist in mountains
slow and fast and slow and long,
and lingering, white laced in grey,
and crawling, clinging to ramparts
and ridges that stand
strong and stark and still
catch an occasional ray of sun
from outside…but dimming
as the sun retreats before
the darkness of the night
that rushes over everything
with recollections
haunting,
isolating,
obliterating
sight.

Unknown,
vaporous,
real but irresistible and arising from…
*moan*…
and meaning…
*sob*…

climbing,
clinging,
clutching
clouding out,
shutting out
shouting out
solid rock stable and holding hands
reeling, cavorting, swirling

Undoing,
settling down on everything
and growing quiet,
and gaining in gravity
and growing heavy,
and draining memory
of every drop of blood
until everything
is overwhelmed and overtaken
and surrounded in the silver
of the dull fogs of what once was
and alas will never ever be again.

Alone,
in fields, waiting,
staring at the skies
so clear and so occluded,
every loss hung there bright brilliant
on deep black skies never ending,
every sorrow there is twinkling,
every hurt is glowing blinking there
so merry, so unyielding,
I gaze upon my starry constellations
of great loss and ruination
marking time and pointing steady
so unchanging in this night…

Cold,
missing home,
missing that place (and time)
where all things hushed and gathered
noisy in a deafening din,
all collected, full, o’erflowing
from my tender heart within
the very center of the moment
in the Advent Season Present
bathed in wonderful quick joy.

Real,
that place then but lost now in my mind
(like ridges and ramparts now submerged).
The sheep rustle restless
and underneath their bleating
I hear the sound of bleeding
in the heart of living memory
of hearth and home now pierced
and rent and disappearing…
and I wait here,
lonely in this mist and overcome,
hunkered down but kissed and left so numb
as I recall the bliss of Christmas past
and have no hope of Merry Christmases
to dawn and to me come.

Winds,
well they exist,
and they do blow!
Cleansing from the North
and from the south they flow
in warmth and restoration,
dispelling every fog of gloom
and routing every hurtful memory
that ever happened.
I fix my gaze on that One Star,
that portent bright, surpassing
all the mocking, twinkling titters
of the past its reminders constant.

Here,
in the season of loneliness
my lonely Advent heart
echoes that loneliness that lingers
there inside the heart of God
and so we yearn, together, aching
in the lonely moments waiting
perfect timing of those winds
to blow away the mists
and let that mountain shine again
in solid clarity and splendour promises
that someday the Divine Loneliness
and human grieving longing
will be overcome by
Faith and Hope and Love.

Grace,
and peace,
in the season of loneliness,
Love, Charissa

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Advent: The Healing of the Light King: A Story of Christmas (part 8)

Advent Poem: The Season of Fulfillment

1
All the world is hushed and still,
waiting under heavy burdens
white and grim and unrelenting,
groaning, crushed and disillusioned,
longing for redemption, peace,
goodwill and aching for release
from darkness, loneliness and death,Image 0032
and outrage…OUTRAGE
seething in this Silent Night
that echoes with Death’s violation
and defilement of our dreams
and destiny…such desecration…
Death so vicious and relentless
in its Never ending hungry lusty rusty horror.

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3
He came small and vulnerable
to bear the scars of our outrage,
came near enough to prove He’d stay,
regardless…Closer
than we realize or can imagine
in this night so long and lonely
Small He came to us, undignified and oh so tiny.wg836_desire4
That nearness, Love Personified
The Incarnation towers tall
Mysterious, absurd and all the while
Undignified, God’s Trump card (HIM)
played foolishly and weak
upon the table of the strong
confounding all the worldly wise, so clever and austere.

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Dignified? Undignified!
when Love became personified,
“Immanuel Undignified and one of us”
(and yet still outside twisty time)
approaching us as one of us,
held guilty and responsible
accused of shattering religion! Such a glory crime!tumblr_nap87vpqde1rwtzqno1_1280

6
And dwelling here in innocence and staying in our sorrow cold
but not to merely dispel shadows or resolve conundrums, no!
Bearing our humanity, and present with us in the midst of darkness,
Oh The Truest Light, The Deepest Joy, The Most Glad Heart
Fulfilling All Expectancy when every hope will come to pass!
Submitting to a grisly death to hold the whole world in His Heart that
He had held dear in His Hand to mediate our case to God… tumblr_nfco87W3fA1tw3geao1_500

7
The Child did Bleed, the Child did Die, and we?
With gratitude we enter, invitation tightly clutched to aching breast…
we kneel hushed and astonished safe and sound as we are changed
by this Child’s Gift (or is the Child Himself the gift that’s given?)
Invited to approach and revel, knowing what we’ve always known
is finally here and shining present, Sacred Heart Alive Forever
in the season of fulfillment pure and everlasting.tumblr_n8wb7sIxEO1qkww7to1_1280

 

Advent: The Healing of the Light King: A Story of Christmas (part 7)

True Strength…I disagree with Ghandi

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“Strength does not come from
physical capacity. It comes from
an indomitable will. “
~ Gandhi

Hey…true strength is in yielding.  I have actually found indomitable will to be a weakness because it is a mask behind which anyone can hide if they are just stubborn enough

What’s stronger than water?

For Some Reason I am Compelled to Post this: Are you Sick? Then Read…

http://nourishedkitchen.com/bone-broth/

Traditional Foods 101: Bone Broth, Broth & Stocks

Bone broths are given special emphasis among traditional foods circles.  Preindustrial societies across the globe have always placed particular and special emphasis on the preparation of the whole animal – and that includes emphasis on using bones for making broth.  African tribes placed emphasis on bone broths for babies and small children.  In Asia, emphasis is placed on stocks and broths made from fish and fish bones.  In Europe, stocks and broths have become the foundation of cooking and are used in not only making soups and stews, but also for preparing reductions, sauces and for braising vegetables and meats.

bone brothwhat’s the difference between broth, stock and bone broth?

In traditional foods circles you’ll hear a lot about broth, stock and bone broth – and they’re typically used interchangeably.  Bone broth, broth and stock are built on the same basic foundation: water, meat or bones (or both), vegetables and seasonings.  As it cooks, the liquid is typically skimmed (although this is not necessary since the scum that rises to the top of the stock pot – off-putting as it is – is a rich source of amino acids) and eventually the solids are removed by straining the stock with a fine-mesh sieve or reusable coffee filter.

  • Broth is typically made with meat and can contain a small amount of bones (think of the bones in a fresh whole chicken).  Broth is typically simmered for a short period of time (45 minutes to 2 hours). It is very light in flavor, thin in texture and rich in protein.
  • Stock is typically made with bones and can contain a small amount of meat (think of the meat that adheres to a beef neck bone).  Often the bones are roasted before simmering them as this simple technique greatly improves the flavor.  Beef stocks, for example, can present a faint acrid flavor if the bones aren’t first roasted.  Stock is typically simmered for a moderate amount of time (3 to 4 hours).  Stock is rich in minerals and gelatin.
  • Bone Broth is typically made with bones and can contain a small amount of meat adhering to the bones. As with stock, bones are typically roasted first to improve the flavor of the bone broth. Bone broths are typically simmered for a very long period of time (often in excess of 24 hours).  This long cooking time helps to remove as many minerals and nutrients as possible from the bones.  At the end of cooking, so many minerals have leached from the bones and into the broth that the bones crumble when pressed lightly between your thumb and forefinger.

why bone broths are good for you

Bone broths are extraordinarily rich in nutrients – particularly minerals and amino acids.  Bone broths are a good source of amino acids – particularly arginine, glycine and proline.  Glycine supports the bodies detoxification process and is used in the synthesis of hemoglobin, bile salts and other naturally-occurring chemicals within the body.  Glycine also supports digestion and the secretion of gastric acids.  Proline, especially when paired with vitamin C, supports good skin health.  Bone broths are also rich in gelatin which improves collagen status, thus supporting skin health.  Gelatin also support digestive health which is why it plays a critical role in the GAPS diet.  And, lastly, if you’ve ever wondering why chicken soup is good for a cold, there’s science behind that, too.  Chicken stock inhibits neutrophil migration; that is, it helps mitigate the side effects of colds, flus and upper respiratory infections.  Pretty cool, huh?

Colorful Squash SoupBone Broths are Also Inexpensive and Very Convenient

Bone broths are easy to prepare at home, very inexpensive (the cost of bones is usually under $2/lb), and are very convenient and simple to make.

 

ready? start making bone broth today

Ready to start making bone broth?  Start with the recipes below, they all involve the long and slow cooking process that allows for the full release of nutrients – amino acids, gelatin and minerals – from the bones.

how to use bone broth

My husband and I aim to consume about one quart of bone broth per day, per person.  While we start every morning with a mug of broth seasoned with salt, pepper and crushed garlic, we also use bone broth to braise meats and vegetables as well as in soups, sauces and stews.

How to Store Bone Broth

Bone broth can be stored in the refrigerator for no more than a week.  You can also freeze it in ice cube trays, and transfer the frozen cubes of broth to a resealable freezer bag where they will keep for 6 months.  Alternatively, consider making Homemade Bouillon.

get started on bone broth with these resources

Typically, all you need to prepare bone broth in your kitchen is a good stock pot or a 6-quart slow cooker and something for straining the broth.  To prepare a very clear broth, I recommend straining with a very fine-mesh sieve or a reusable coffee filter (using both in conjunction yields the finest results).

When I Look at Jameis Winston…

…I see a young O.J. Simpson in the making.

Will he continue to drift on currents to the same reefs, or will some storm arise and blow him to safety?  A Severe Mercy would be a mercy indeed.

But the truly tragic thing is the fate of those people who wait along the way, unknowing, unwitting, that they are seen as mere objects to be used or conquered.

Winston has said in statements that there is nothing worse than being accused of rape when one is innocent.

Really?

I know the pain of being falsely accused, but there is a fate far worse:  being raped and violated and no one believing that it happened, and then falsely accusing the victim of having brought it on herself thus deserving what happened to her.

Somehow in this twisted logic, Winston was the righteous one in doling out the just desserts of a deserving object who isn’t even a person, and Winston is the victim because we all have not glorified him for his righteous act, but have instead named him as a selfish animal who dehumanizes people and is drunk on self-aggrandizement and will go to any length to further defile a human being he already violated all the while touting himself as the innocent who is persecuted because everyone else is just jealous of his greatness.

Will it take bloody gloves and slow moving Broncos and a kangaroo court before we see true justice?

May that spirit that drove OJ Simpson to the ramparts of hell die with him, and find no purchase anywhere else…may the storm take Jameis Winston to an island lonely and stark, where he can be stripped of illusion and learn to love truth.tumblr_n0uxs56gh51qifn2ao1_500

Advent Poem: The Season of Hunger

a pregnant mother waits…hopes…fears…
weary and unflagging, full of energy
and yet, so still and growing
larger with each day.

and inside her heart each quality increases…
hope and fear, expectant joy,
after all, it’s said she is expecting!
Expecting…and growing larger.

But with her hope grows hunger!
A hunger for the end of every minute waiting!
A hunger for her baby, to hold and cuddle quiet
A hunger to sing songs of love and comfort in the night.

Expecting…and growing hungry
for bread of life within her
also growing and expectant,
rising in the oven of human worth.

(other ovens hungry ate their fill
of offerings from monsters of the Breach
but this was not unnoticed by The Justice
nor beyond the scope of Mercy’s reach)tumblr_meim9rS2Ce1rguz4ho1_500

She hungers, swelling curved expectant in the night
The word becoming flesh and bone is served
a feast of human need and sorry fright
and love, devotion, faith, and truth and grace
and laughter there on each expectant face.

We…pregnant…waiting
in our weakness,
lonely lowly moments silent

They…hungry…ready
to come to us
Them with us
move in us
empty us
to satisfy us
dine with us
and hunger ever sharp and sated
all at once.

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Advent: The Healing of the Light King: A Story of Christmas (part 6)

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“Aye”, echoed Towser. It is our privilege to carry you. It is not every shepherd that gets to carry a King to meet a King.”

And off we went, Gillae leading the way, the flock following close at heel, the group of shepherds scattered round them, and then Mikkens, Towser and I bringing up the rear. We travelled an hour or so in this manner, following the star, men speaking to one another in hushed expectant tones.

As we travelled, I marveled at the endurance of my 2 bearers, and I could not help but reflect on the difference between these 2 and my previous 2 companions. One thing was becoming evident the more time I spent with these shepherds: Royalty is not a title or station in life, but rather a way of being that is oriented towards joyful sacrifice. Perhaps my bearers were kings more than the ones who had left me to die.
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After a while, I started to doze off, rocked by the soft motion of our travel.

I was startled by a voice and woke to find myself staring into Brownie’s intense gaze.

“Gillae wasn’t telling you the whole story, and I think you should know it, being a king and all. I don’t know much about kings, you being the only one I ever met” (and with this he eyed me dubiously), “but I can tell you that Gillae is braver than any man I ever met, and he is stronger and more giving than any person alive. Many times we have all been too tired to take our watches and we fall asleep, only to wake and see him on guard, over us and the sheep both. And in truth, tonight’s events have only added to his exploits!”

“Brownie” said I, “You have all seemed on edge and wary, and of course all of your hints and outbursts tell me there is more going on here than meets the eye. What exactly befell you on this evening of wonders?”

Brownie looked forward at Gillae to make sure he wasn’t listening…and no fear of that for Gillae was leading, and walking at ready as if expecting an attack of robbers, or worse. Then in a low voice, Brownie began to speak.

“Well, it all happened like Gillae said, but when the gigantic man appeared to us, we fell to the ground like dead men, but not Gillae! He stepped forward and raised his staff, and challenged the newcomer to identify himself as friend or foe, and if foe to prepare to meet his doom. The giant shining guy began to speak to us as we all clung to the ground like babes to their nursemaids.
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I will never forget his words:

‘FEAR NOT, oh sons of Adam’

he declared.

‘I bear to you good tidings from the throne of the Most High God Himself, tidings of great joy, to all men in all places here and for all time until the Breaking is made Unbroken on that Day. Unto you is born this day, in David’s city, a Savior! Christ the Lord!’

“His voice hung in the air like a living thing, and was frightening but beautiful. He said he was the angel of the Lord come from the throne of the Maker.

‘You are to go to the Savior with all haste. Look for Him wrapped in swaddling clothes’

said the angel.

‘But what are we supposed to do, break into people’s houses?’ Gillae said. The angel gave a thunderous blast with his voice, that must have been angelic laughter, and it both chilled and invigorated my soul.

‘Look in the stables, Shepherd, for this King will be with the sheep, lying in a manger.’

“‘A manger’” Gillae replied. ‘What kind of king is it that is born a Savior yet is lying in a feeding trough?’

“When he said this, the guy just threw back his head and again thundered a laugh. But bold Gillae demanded proof that he was the angel of the Lord, and not some seducing deceiver from the Breaker’s dungeons. He actually stepped forward and thrust his staff into the face of the angel!

“Well, the angel just glared at that staff, and then rose straight up about 50 feet, and clapped his hands three times…and the night split open
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and rolled back like a scroll and in its place was light like you cannot imagine!

“It was like a hole had opened in the night, and the shadows were torn away, and Heaven’s own glory was invading the dark earth, and if you think we were scared before, we were simply undone now!”

*****     *****     *****     *****     *****
For Part FIVE, click HERE

Just Remember…

always…there is another person on the end of your tendrils
always…there is another whose story trumps your own
always…what you think everyone would get if they only understood
is what they want you to understand and get from them
always…the choices we make because we feel we must
are their own style of choice!
always…the lives around you mirror you in all need and desire
always…your children are who you were once
always…your parents once were just as you
always…do unto others as you would have them do unto you

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always ever treasured

in the silent moments,
when nothing speaks
(you did know that, didn’t you?
Nothing speaks.
Have you not heard its voice?)

and to stopper its relentless words
my mind goes elsewhere,
and I wander back thru pages of the days
and chapters of the years
and past volumes of the decades
until I stop at last
in childrens’ books well thumbed
and read nearly to death.

it is there I see you still,
and in your running laughter
released and giggly grasping
our guts in gales of mirth.

i see your eyes unguarded,
your innocence in tact,
your trust still whole, unshattered
unsullied by grief’s touch.

I see your wispy curls, I see your toothless grin,
I hear your nonsense singing always
and you there, secrets within and harbored deep and lonely
I see you there within.

you cannot know how I feel, here
now…because the books won’t open
into your life unlived and yet to be discovered.
Well…you could believe and listen
when I reach out wholehearted
and full of love to give
and wanting to redeem all
that depression ruined
and self-loathing polluted.

lovelies I was always there
though trapped so deep inside!
I was shipwrecked just as you
when you felt choked by your hometown
well I was dying in my body
smothered in its horror.

The present yous swim into view
and lay yourselves upon
the little yous there innocent,
those brand new perfect yous
and I see at the same time
the spectrum of your beings
in scintillating sharpness
so smudged by separation
and blurred by longing tears.

I see your cold and asutere looks
I hear your voice demanding
your questions stark, commanding

“what does your flaw have to do with me?  What is your point?
So you suffered, big deal! Worse, you broke me mangled, mutilated
folded spindled, permeated all the air I ever breathed
with your dysphoric world!

“I was not given a choice! If I was, it would not be you!
so just step back, just go away and fade into the pages back
before our volume started, we are now ever parted”.

But as I said…they cannot read into their future
those pages remain stuck together, gummy in a messy wad
of yet to be determined, yet to there be written
in the blood of choices made and in the ink of voices raised
to speak of deeper things…or not.

regardless, I can still take out those books
and thumb the well worn pages
and read the much loved stories
of long lost wholesome glories.
and I will always love my babies there so cherished
and kissed and ever treasured, ever, ever treasured
always ever treasured.

Tomb Raider: Definitive Edition

 

And I Could Be Either One

the dreamer longing,
the lonely unrequited.
the dreamy girl alone
and aching on the staircase,
betwixt two places, seated
within the place of passage
but still while all around me
others arrive to home…

or yearning doggie loving,
transparent in the moment
unnoticed in the wistful hurt
and past trauma returning
just hungry for a gentle pat,
or give a doggie comfort
and drink in human pain.

Yes…I could be either one.141891254570537

 

Debt and Gratitude

in this morning still, in the murmur of the quiet
my tender heart is open and from it graceful tendrils
of gratitude entwine with the quiet stillness.

Would that then be a quietude?
Quietude:  a moment grateful (a grateful moment)

dawn is hushed and waiting still
crouched beneath the misty shrouded hills
that shelter things not yet awake,

birds, heads tucked awing
deer swaddled in wild grasses tall
ducks, there so still on the silent lake
as it always was, and as it is, wondrous still
in my time and place of debt and gratitude.

I was born beneath these burdens heavy
(taxes ripped and torn from my life blood)
and I owe debts that were inherited
a thousand times bequeathed beneath these tear-stained skies
I pay my debts in tears and grieving cries

but something else, surprising, unexpected
has crept into this life of streaming days and hovering nights

a bird awakes and sings
a hart rises to eat
a squawking duck upon a laughing lake
a cedar incense scent upon the night breeze gentle
that stirs the sleepy dawn and wakes the dead.

quietude: the grateful giving of my thanks
that I am made a treasure hard to find,
tough to discover and hidden in a box of yellow pine
inside a cup of silver filigreed
with Mercy’s Motto and with Grace’s Creed.

and I at last grow thankful for myself
a life of so much more than dusty shelf
and windows shuttered, four walls grim and dull
and debt that never rests, is never full

a tender thought arising there within me
a sacrifice unnoticed but rejoiced in
a song sung graceful, skillful hidden,
a gentle touch so faithful and committed
to stir the Day awaking and Undying
in the never ending Light of that Becoming.tumblr_n3lzrtGHrD1tq7o0to1_500

Advent Poem: The Season of Eternity

Time running in streaming ribbons behind laughing children
twisting in a holiday blur of color, movement flowing
Time swimming sinister, sleek in the silent night
hungry to devour the Child there before it quiet
and in that cattle trough.

Snuffling with snout insistent, inhaling fragrances
of common birth and bearing…and something else
coming…the smell of death overlaid in incense
but underneath…the smell of…what?
The smell of other.

And then those guileless eyes flash open,
dark and endless but not with perpetuity
no!  Endless in the Moment never ceasing!
Endless in a present never moving but never still either,
And time found itself hooked and billeted and beached.

Time is just a boat, no…a moat…a mote in eternity’s eye
Time is but a note in Wonder’s Symphony!
And with the Baby’s birth inside of Time
Eternal bells of joy ring out the chime
Olly Olly Oxen FREE!

The season of eternity is nigh,
when God gives Their response to our hurt cry
and renders youth and age trite matters moot
and blows away the ashes and the soot
revealing hearts like stars still shine beneath.

Kneel where you are, for that is where it is,
that lowly manger unseen by the great
and in that manger, there inside of you
your face upturned and wet with Heaven’s dew
the Christ Child comes to make all things brand new.

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Advent: The Healing of the Light King: A Story of Christmas (part 5)