My Dearest Darling Lives In Me

Constance…I want you to all know.

Each one, everyone…know that I have been given this person into my marrow and core.

She lives inside me forever.  She is woven into my essence.  I cannot imagine life absent her, anymore than I can imagine a life without a living heart within.

I am never alone…my heart of hearts is mine, and I am hers…transcendent and elevated, and practical and day to day.

Thank you my dearest darling, my love and heart of hearts.

 

My Heart of Hearts
by Charissa White

The dawn, peach fuzz on this dripping peachy day,
smelled like juice dribbling down my chin,
and musky yellow perfume.

Your earrings flashed in the sunbeam sneaking thru the blinds
Your eyes flashed, lamplights of love sneaking thru my blind
and gleaming like that cat Cheshire.

I intended to rip my heart from my chest
but it came free eager in my hand
which was covered by yours (I had not noticed that happen)

Fell from me like that peach
with groaning, heavy relief and ache
into your waiting basket (I was the only one there)

You carried me to bed, and there we sectioned our fruit
and fed each other with fingers, slick and sticky
and smelling of the peachy summer day

And we drowsed, and woke to find our hearts grown again,
except mine was now you, and yours was now me
Oh my Heart of Hearts, My Heart of Hearts.

 

More Lara Croft Than Lana Turner

Speaking for us,
making a way
for those of us
shattered by abuse
and raped by men…

defending the powerless,
which is (unfortunately)
most all of us (even men)
in this paradigm
of patriarchy and privilegetumblr_nkee9iBwQ81qzs7m3o2_1280It is far,
far deeper
and more complex
than anyone
lets on or is allowed
to show…

I could be wrong…
I could be vapid as vapor…
(or wapid as waper, you wascally wabbit!)
but my heart tattoos say otherwise

they are more Lara Croft than Lana Turner.tumblr_nkhrs3tQ911qk2poao4_1280

Scorpios & Cancers…Fireworks!

Dating a Scorpio | POPSUGAR Love & Sex.

All I can tell you is that every single last word?  TRUE!!

Good thing I have my lil side-step skitterdance, my lil pincy-pince claws, and my hard briny shell that keeps me from getting kilt!!

Giggles…then again, here is this link…in all fairness:

5 Brutal Truths About Loving A Cancer (As Written By A Cancer) | YourTango.

My Soft Plurality

I like plural words…
cus “S” softens syllables…

adds blurry velvets to names.
You are stones and blurry velvets overlaid

with steel, over and under
and blurry velvet insides

singing of snuggles and tickles
and sorrows too…you are plural, you.

I receive treasures unto my heart…
I have always done,

whether I was able to say or thought to say…
because my grandmother, who taught me such manners as I have

made sure to teach me tenses and how to see small shadows
in the gardens of nurturing and tending hearts.

Thank you for statements that you make…you are,
your solid sure plurality is a such a glad good check for me,

and your recounting of our history, well
all the better to project the future of our we.

What I mean is that your core vitality emerges and defines itself
as you tire of your current doing and relax into the coming being

and the realization you have aggregated resources of preparation
for your plural destiny…of this I am certain, sure, my dear…

Of that I am sure and certain, my dear,
my soft plurality.a5be72dc1c85c207dfde3a6e8513f5e0

 

A Poem Preceding Easter: 2015

Messy houses filled with secret staircases
leading neither up nor down and built of starved excuses
stellar and extending to the past and to the future
as a hedge to make secure our souls against their cold inflation.tumblr_mh1jjoVnRI1rix1r7o1_1280Idols stand resplendent in their regal good deed rags
atop secure safe mantels stolid, still
in false security within these homes of disarray
and all the forlorn deeds of our own self-besotted hands.

No corner is untouched or deemed untouchable,
no conclusion inescapable, for we did soon discover,
no–we were shown–these messes low and broken,
jangly jagged in the pieces of our ruined hostile hovels.tumblr_nkee9iBwQ81qzs7m3o3_1280This is that tableau displayed of our lost searéd conscience,
disembodied, floating room to room and deeply mourning
what’s been lost, and worse, abandoned
in the losing of idealism’s living throbbing shine.

And our hearts, once lifted up and strong
are finally unadorned and brought down low,
so broken, so contrite and finally open to this Living Invitation
to be drawn at last into a bigger Story…tumblr_nkee9iBwQ81qzs7m3o1_1280to be remade and molded, gripped and filled, to be enfolded
in the new creation by a Mercy Stark and so unyielding,
by a Love Severe and so unwieldy in our messy rooms
and serial sin-stained walls and monstrous ways of utter horror.

It takes a broken body and it takes a different stain,
one indelible and permanent, scarlet red and bloody glowing
in the darkness of our tragedy’s pretentious phony triumph…
see the Hand that rips our masks away to make us whole again!tumblr_mqnl59GkbI1qe31lco1_r1_500Eat and drink, remember!  Then forget the past and rest within those ruins
at last cleansed and emptied of their wreck, delivered of the dreck
and durm und strang of fallen souls, set free of weights unbearable,
interminable, mighty, proud and fell and flawed and haughty.

And then, look…out there, thru yon window broken, there!
Behind that dingy jagged pane of brittle separation,
see the Cross so Stark, transcendent, final ever resting place
of all our sin and wrong, and also Final ever new beginning

of this race, we human butterflies set free from chrysalises left behind,
discarded casually forever…
and yet never left for death to feed or to devour,
for they will someday be raised again
to catch up with us and to be made one again…tumblr_nkf5patY1J1trfg04o1_1280to be made whole…
again…at last…again…
amen, again…
amen.

That Effigy

after you’re dead, there’s a funeral, red.
i discovered this recently, except i wasn’t
invited to show up, new, old or otherwise.

in my place was piled up wood, grey,
and lotsa brush all crackly-brown,
a stand-offish, prickly thorny-crown.

they set that half-truth fire blazing and incendiary,
mis-remembers and other (missings) hidden inside
curses, excuses, judgements of indigo echoing depth.

they thought me bound and captive but epithets
were synonymous with white-washed choices made-unmade,
were effigies hanging in flames, in smoke, in spirits.

then that noose just snikked up tight around their heart
like a golden curtain drawn but never rising on a play
written and rehearsed but never actually performed.

just as that funeral, red, was really never
held for me, but just that phantom never-was,
that effigy.

tumblr_njpw2tnYY41tbkr3io1_1280

Wrong Church Teaching May Cost Grandmother Her Home

Wrong Church Teaching May Cost Grandmother Her Home.

Constance, I think this is a pretty good analysis of how and why a woman got herself between a rock and a hard place over her business choices, and then ended up assuming she was being persecuted for her religious convictions.

Please thoughtfully read thru the entire article, and consider the point of view that there are certain consequences attached to choices of all kinds…business choices, faith choices…all choices.

We need not do anything but take the consequences of our choices, without trying to impose our choice over everyone else’s choice.

In my own case, I made a choice to pursue transition.  I made this choice after much research, a lot of prayer and counsel, and a thorough counting of the cost, both actual and potential.  And there has been a lot happen as a consequence of this choice…a lot that has happened is “tears-worthy” and oh how I have shed them, in buckets…and a lot that has happened has been of eternal value and worth to me.

A lot of other things have happened too which are wrong, unjust, and the product of fear and hatred and ignorance.  But it still comes back to choices, and how to deal with consequences.

People of faith…you were never promised that you would get anything except for persecution.  That is indeed specifically promised.  And business owners…you have certain consequences that come from your decision to go into business.  No one forced you to, and therefore no one else needs to bear the consequences of your choice.tumblr_mgd6dtVxC81r96weoo1_500

“I Will Call The Pebble Death”

Constance, I stumbled over a singer of deep soul.  The other day, when I wrote about dysphoria and wanted a version of “On the Willows”…I had just youtubed for On the Willows, and that one intrigued me.  It is now the one that is my go to version.

In his youtube video playlist there are several fabulous covers…this one is of By My Side, from Godspell.

I invite any and all who would have the courage, and count the cost, to join me…

…by my side.

What to Do When Your Colleague Comes Out as Transgender – HBR

What to Do When Your Colleague Comes Out as Transgender – HBR.

Constance, this is a very informative and thoughtful article about how to incorporate a friend or colleague’s transition into your life.

I encourage you to read it, and see that underneath everything, the Golden Rule is there as an unerring compass for us!

Underneath the Mask

Underneath the make-up, powders, paints, colors bright
there beneath the pretty words and funny sayings light
the blood pools red, the bruises throb beneath my cheery grin
and ruin overflows, and spreads its pain and hurt within

Mama heals, but often heals with pain’s sweet overthrow
She will let the woundings come to deepen healing’s glow
Still, it really breaks my heart to walk alone so long
I must dig still deeper, be brave, and just sing my song.

i get lonely sometimes…

A Non-sequitur?

Stop giving people power to control your smile, your worth, and your attitude.
Mandy Hale

Constance…yes to this, sort of.

But know that this doesn’t absolve you or anyone else of the responsibility for what you do with that gun inside your soul…you know the one, that gun that you use every single day, and that you have killed people with:

the tongue.

Yesterday?  I did not ask to be called what I was called.  I did not unconsciously draw that term to myself.  It came to me for a lot of reasons of very mixed motive and origin.  The person who said it did not intend to shoot me.  She had made a mistake, one I knew nothing of, and did not want to be underneath that burden so she brought it out to me in the name of asking forgiveness…

…sort of like one sister plays with a gun and accidentally shoots another.

That bullet took my smile, seriously wounded my attitude, and inflicted great damage on my sense of worth.  It is not something I gave away, and not something I asked for or wanted.  It is going to take some healing, and some outside medication from somewhere…God knows where in our world of isolation…Mama will find a way of this I am convinced.

My point is this:  do not deceive yourself that you do not bear accountability for what you choose to say and what you choose to leave unspoken.  Spoken words can be bullets and silences can be flamethrowers.

Now…my responsibility is to get to “the Doctor” and do my rehab…and somehow find ways to be safe while living trans.

Whoda thunk that I could be shot in the heart of a daycare for children under 6 years old?

tumblr_nhww9r6tBL1qb4lg8o1_500

Life and death are in the power of tongue…

Some speak rashly, like the thrustings of a sword,
but the tongue of the wise promotes health.

 

The Way Transcendant

Constance…make a distinction with me?  Let’s look at the point below as a mirror.  Miley Cyrus is absolutely right in what she says…at least in terms of the double standard that is applied to males and females.  Soo many of our issues culturally in our society stem from this disconnect.  But catch my thoughts down below, after:

No one ever talked about Robin Thicke after the VMAs of 2013. It was all my fault and I was the one who was acting like a ‘slut’. And that isn’t the only example of a woman being put in a box. I’m just speaking out for women to be yourself and I think I’m doing something to break the double standard that has been created over the years.

whether you like her as a person/an artist or not, one just HAS TO admit that she’s absolutely right about this.

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

Okay Constance…now that I have agreed with her, I want to ask:

Why?

What happened to us, these Glorious Ruins Divine, who used to glow with the God-Light so fierce that clothing was not something any mind considered, for we were clothed in Eternity Resplendent…and now we compete to see who has more “freedom” and right to rip the mystery away and put it all on display?

It is as if it wasn’t enough for the God-Light to go out…now that it has we, all of us, want to wallow in our Unclothed-ness.

Please resist the temptation to write me off as a sexual prude, or sexually repressed, or any of those things.  My arguments are similar in outward appearance only to the moralists and repressive people who seek to bind up and punish and rob humanity of the incredible wonder and power and gift that our sexuality is.

If you are unfamiliar with my point of view, just use the search field, and search sexuality and you will find just a few posts about sexuality, the most comprehensive being this one:  Love in a Sexual World.

I am all about restoring the Image…I am all about the huge and significant metamorphosis humanity is in the throes of…from death to life, from empty to Full…from piles of sensient animated clay to the very incarnation of Divine.

I think this is why Mama made me transgender, so I would experience this in such a personal tangible way so as to be bent and marked forever, dedicated to this transition of all the lost “trans” humans with eternity encased in bodies bound by time and decay.

Yes, Miley…you are indeed right.  I pray that someday you will take the next step and understand the secret mystery of sacred sexuality.tumblr_mvpupqh9Pp1qb3v7ho1_1280

Can you stop killing us for just one week?

Jan 1st to Feb 22nd 2015 one Transgender person is being murdered every 29 hours. | Planet Transgender.

Constance…did you realize this?

I invite you to consider this request.

Being called he/she, and having it justified by a spiritual comment, well it smacks a bit of feeling like getting groomed for other, deeper transgressions.

It is a true reality that I could get murdered, just for walking transgender.

As long as you cis people read and feel all bad and stuff, and then see what’s on tv, we will keep being killed.  No one will stop killing us until they are forced to stop…a bit like the police force and their wanton slaughter of young black men.

Please…we really are not doing anything to you.  Just let us live.

The Last Week of February is Worldwide

He/She…

…I was called this today. It wasn’t malicious in intent…but it was vicious in result.  Apparently this person had referred to me that way behind my back and felt guilty about it. So they confessed to me today…

The reason given?  Apparently they say that they “see Jesus in me so much that I am a “he” to the person. 

Hmmmmm. I wonder if she calls Beth Moore a he/she? Or any other woman leader in church?  There are a ton of cis-women far more full of Jesus than I.

But even more, I wonder: why even say that? Like it is so deadening, so numbing. And I feel empty inside already.

Thanks, person. You really must be lightened in your conscience, confession made straight to my face and words used 3 times in explaining why it’s okay.

But hey why should I care? I am dead so big deal. 

Honestly, sometimes I wish I were. So many lives would have so much less to deal with.tumblr_mwe8yxcZhZ1rouua1o6_1280

…And Thus Find Rest Forever

delicate pink porcelain
abilities encased
in steel cold and smooth.
my heart recoils in sorrow…
and I sheath them in velvet
red and lined with gold brocade,
those porcelain abilities
trapped in cruel grey steel.

a monolithic aggregate
of standards, expectations
and end results I cannot meet
no matter how I try
it’s never good enough!

If I do miracles and magic,
nurture hearts and raise morale
in stony grounds and ice cold hearts
it’s just what is expected from me,
normal, uncommented on
and there I languish, emptied
and so hollow in the birth.

And the Bible tells me one thing
but the world flat contradicts Them
and my weary heart befuddled
goes to Stockholm for a moment
and agrees with the accuser
and I’m falling then, I’m tumbling,
falling, turning in the dark and formless void.

But Mama says I must not wallow
but must strip away the velvet red,
and let Her cut away the steel
and touch the porcelain inside
for life, for love, for others
and thus find Her rest forever.PaWT3El

Any Reason Good Enough

he said he lost control.
of himself, that is…
and I wonder why he did
what he did and left other things
undone?sina-domke44
a word like glass
across my neck,
a splash of blood from
blasted nose, a shove severe
and skidding down
on skint and bruised knees…why stop there?
If it was mere control
he lost?

because
it might make him look
like…what?tumblr_mrz6qkmeV11rhpg9vo1_1280like the man with loaded gun
and empty heart
and heartless soul
who blasted her
out of her shoes
and into her grave?

like the man who
bashed her face
to bloody mush
and flicked his bic
and burned the pile
of gender trash
transgressive?tumblr_nj1iv8mDkj1s4ixmuo1_1280the lost control excuse
the panic and murder alibi
these abusive rampages
verbal, physical, psychic
feel justified to them,
morally acceptable, defensible,
any reason good enough.

Any reason good enough
lost control…
they conflate the two
and we continue
to die like flies.scars_of_self_hate_by_kapanihan-d8htjev

Into the Wilderness

In this Lent, Spring
threatens with her breakthru
of new life amidst showers,

but in these moments
I am mindful
of a different

turning…a journey.

a journey with Jesus
into the wilderness,
a place not unfamiliar

and yet each time I venture there
I am surprised by places that seem
so known to me and yet are not familiar

wilderness spaces never seen
despite my sojourns long and weary
oh, I know the dry topographytumblr_m016eoB7LQ1qai5yeo1_1280the landmarks’ names
(suffering, disappointment, doubt, sin)
caress my heart like tattoos

darted into my soul with ink invisible.

I want to rush thru the wilderness
to get to the other side and done
but am compelled to burrow deeper…

into deaths and deprivations
like the Shepherd did when He took nothing with Him
in that desiccated place.

in this wilderness of unmet needs,
what shall I do?
Where will I turn?

I dig deep for water but tap only the dust.
I seek to meet my howling needs in my own time and place
but all my clever methods only blow up in my face

and once again this journey ends
beneath that shadow long, that mark,
beneath the cross that stands so tall, so stark,
so still…

it can’t be circumvented or avoided,
it cannot be escaped, or null and voided
it’s the entrance and the exit all at once.

and once again anew I realize
that the suffering of the wilderness
transforms us, shapes, delivers us

into the resurrection
and the naming of our soul.sina-domke93

I Must Follow Drinking Gourds

sometimes people speak with mouths
while I am listening with heart
and heralds ringing in my ears
and golden trumpet blasts from spheres

and from those mouths comes noises
that I do not understand
as gravity pulls down
distorts the klaxxon soundstumblr_njx9mbtLMO1r082vzo2_540and it is then I realize
I live in a different place
where angels watching over me
and chariots swing low

and I must follow drinking gourds
and look for railroads underground
and throw off shackles every day
while people make their sounds…tumblr_njfol8SYPe1rvpbxco1_1280my ears hear different frequencies
they swoon with soft harmonics
and songs swift, supersonic
and way beyond the boom.

But not to worry, people
I learned to lip read early
and watch non verbals busy
and nod a lot and smiletumblr_nfui3v8YEH1tuoqeco1_1280

 

What I Wish People Understood About Dysphoria…

…that this coming to terms is not a one time, one way journey that once arrived in destination full is done and there to be on vacation forever…

…it is a daily choice, a moment by moment meeting with sanity, with choosing life and not death…

it takes courage to continue when the feelings fail to follow through and you are left alone with nothing but your own resolve to live and not die, especially when all around you is declaring that you either are dead already or should have the good graces to lay down and stop moving.

people in my life get discouraged and frustrated with me because the next day is sometimes worse than the day before after 3 days of steadily increasing life and hope…

…i don’t think they really get it that my brain/body disconnect is a really big deal existentially and that it isolates me terribly, a stranger in a strange land…

“how shall we sing, sing the Lord’s song, in a foreign land?”

that is from the psalms, and it is also a lyric from Godspell…the first time I heard this song I cried for days.  Literally.

I am crying now.

Oh Mama…how long!!????!!!!

Part 1: Transgender in Cincinnati

Part 1: Transgender in Cincinnati.

I wept as I read this…for all the long lost years of my own life…and for those found, saved years that Zay has ahead.

Blessings, Crawfords, and good on Ya!!

Faith

Faith: the substance of things hoped for
(not wished for, God Forbid!)
the evidence of things not seen.

Those were words that controlled us,
an electric fence to wandering minds
and to our quaking bodies.

The pastor oft repeated them
because he was afraid of loss
and overthrow of  his control.tumblr_njg7d19N8e1s4uwt4o1_1280But we were young and sang
“We will not fathom a defeat;
we will not even think about a death of any kind.”

a theology that’s bold enough
to voice a serious objection
to the status quo of fear
and to the slavery it breeds.

We took our crowbars optimistic
to that verse, we treated it
as if it pertained just to us,
jarred loose so juicy from its story
and community in history.tumblr_mxyq6k6Tow1ra0exdo1_500Once loose, we used it as a tool
to pry history from its flesh,
from its life pained, pulsing in time.

We used that verse
like a two dollar whore,
distorted it, individualized it
into half truth to keep ourselves
from considering anything less,
or contemplating anything more.

Our God,
more slot machine than Sovereign,
each prayer a greedy pull
upon Their Heart but for our lust
and we there, fake, beatific as if
answers were dependant on our shining phony faces
smiling dutifully in Canaan but saddened by the selfishness
that haunted in our hollows.

we needed a miracle
that would erase life
as it had become,
misshapen and ungainly
grovelling neath
our gaudy costume faces

we needed a death
that would restore us
a healing to deliver us
and language that was steady
not the dodgy bob and weaving
of a fickle weak theology
of self and self fulfilmenttumblr_mlnwsxC4301r9wdyco1_1280it was the language of lament that cut us open swift and true,
gave us honest prayers and angry prayers
grief stricken, low and lowly 
and we, finally laid low by loss
at last found the road Beautiful,
the road bloody and difficult,
the way of just the Cross.

Our confidently spoken truths
were just too good by half
and thus just mere half truths
that couldn’t go one pace beyond
into the place of fiery testing.

Thank God we got delivered
by gradual and sudden
loss that transforms everything
and quickly sobers up the dreamers
drunk upon communion wine.

We got our invitation and
we broke past that temptation
just to tarry in the safe and feast
on fat and easy answers…

we pressed straight thru to honesty
and wrestling with the mystery
of our Christ Crucified and big enough for everyone,
finally became big enough to die to self
and small enough to live here now

in stark repudiation
of our youthful indiscretions
so full and yet so empty.

We dwell now midst the paradox
of Living, Reigning Savior
in this woeful place of dying
we set our dark face like flint to walk
in living faith straight into ever after…

Living faith.
Amentumblr_njyzoi2o6B1t0lovho1_1280

Wisdom

Oh Wisdom, who partners You?
Age?  Experience? Who dances with You true?

In youth I blundered into loss and felt it sharp and keen,
knew the meaning of a promise in its status shattered, broken,
in its secret name left mute, loudly unspoken
except by shadows cast in pain and lonely loss.
And Wisdom came to me, to walk amidst my ruins.

Experience resulted in a somewhat measured gain
mixed freely in the world’s follies, and pleasures and pain
and while I received understanding tasting bittersweet
the bitter chased and nipped and bit my fleeing bloody feet
and Wisdom ran with me amidst those ruddy copper stains.

As time has passed my bones grow thin and brittle, so washed out,
bleached white beneath a blazing sun gone tharn and super-nova,
my heart has been ripped out and tossed into the fragrant clover
and that hole gasps and gapes like some ridiculous lost fool
and Wisdom came to fill it with Her Resurrection Jewel.

It is not age that counts, it’s not white hair or callow youth,
all must pass beneath Her Sceptre stretched, bright Golden Truth
and tarry in Her purifying white hot crucibles
and suffer all consuming losses cruel and terrible
to gain Her Presence constant, deep and rich and sweet and full.tumblr_nk02dlIsSv1r3fkjno1_1280

The Transgender Brain | Transas City

The Transgender Brain | Transas City.

For you science geeks…the biology of the brain is real, and its existence far more relevant to gender than plumbing.

It’s a bit dry to me…but the first time thru these things for me??  WOW!  Eye opening.

But best of all, it rebuts the notions of those who think that I have a mental problem, a spiritual oppression, or a newly emerged proclivity.

Sigh…few things are more discouraging than the so called supporter who (ignorantly) says to me “Hey, if that is what it takes for you to be happy, then I don’t care what you do, be happy!”

Nice sentiment, but it is not a matter of happiness…it is a matter of identity.  Not sure why that is so hard to get, but it is.tumblr_mqmr2yCtaV1qgv17go1_500

One Hell Of A Crucible

“…the self-awareness, inner resolve, and resilience a successful transition requires, the way in which it both evinces a desire for authenticity and is inseparable from such desire in other aspects of one’s life, is a relatively reliable predictor of an extraordinary person.

Being trans doesn’t make you strong, or gleam, but it is one hell of a crucible to forged in.”

Quote by “SmartAssJen”, a transwoman of extraordinary intelligence and substance

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By Far and Away My All-Time Favorite Movie

I saw this shortly after Dissolution Day…

It marked me forever.  I was 6 years old, and I cried through the entire movie as I watched the most beautiful, wonderful amazing thing I had seen up to that point in my life.

I wanted to be Maria…the most amazing person I had encountered.

I still watch it, every time it is on.  I still cry…and the song “Something Good” was, is, and will be one of the deepest hymns of commitment in my life.  It has been whatever “something good” happened somewhere, somehow, that has pulled me through, and someday I will know what it is.

On that Someday.

Julie Andrews and Christopher Plummer celebrate the 50th anniversary of The Sound of Music on the newest issue of Vanity Fair.

I Sit Where Edges Meet

Greys, silvers soft and tinged with gold
and washed out pinks bleed from my heart
as I sit on the dock and look out on the lake
in longing, in lingering longing.

I wash across the sky so blue,
soft blue, robin’s egg unbreakable
and endless in blue, endless in echo
of my longing soul, lingering.

lingering.
yeah, that’s me,
and always has been.
on the edges sitting,
living inside my longing
bleeding, rising, blossoming.tumblr_njts5cL7951spq83no1_1280I cannot fly like birds
so instead I send me up up
tinging, coloring, rising
grey and silver and pink
against blue, and over blue too.

The edge of sky and land,
the edge of land and water,
the edge of water and sky,
it is at this nexus that I sit…I.

Without wings, without boats.

But I have my inner cello,
strings taut and tuned just so,
I have my song of greys and pinks
sprung from my silver bow.

So I will sit, here in this meeting
of sky and lake, land and song,
and play my tune across bright waters
that glow and glisten under skies

of blue tinged silver, shot with grey
and gleaming pink into the glowing night.

Fifty Shades of Grey review by Rosie Waterland

Fifty Shades of Grey review by Rosie Waterland.

Constance, this is an important review.  It pulls the funhouse mirror mask off of one of the most deceptive, disturbing, despicable pieces of pop culture phenomena that has washed up on the shores of our collective zeitgeist in quite some time.

I want to warn those with more sensitive reactions to harsh language that there is a liberal sprinkling of swearing and scatalogical vocabulary, but I think it is appropriate to the force of the emotion this writer is expressing.

It also helped me know why I had that huge shudder and check in my heart over this whole thing, and as I have said earlier I did know about this way back when it was a serialized fan fiction story placed in forums.

The issue is not the sexuality.

The issue is not whether anyone is “openminded” or “a prude” if they approve or disapprove of the production.  As I have laid out in 2 posts, I look at sexuality markedly different than seems to be the majority view, but then again I look at most things a bit different anyway.

No…the issue is that this piece of unbridled domestic violence is able to take its place in the hearts of so many millions of people as something to aspire to, something that a truly whole and balanced woman should be able to deal with…

…and it is that lie that I have always been revolted by, felt my spirit buck and shy away from.

It is tragic that Domestic Violence has even the smokescreen of legitimacy that it can hide behind, tuck in and draft off of…until it is back inside the 4 walls of some isolated domicile where the mask comes off and the monster comes out to feed.

Give this review a read, Constance…and then have the courage to know that somethings are just not necessary to accept just because they exist.

Domestic violence is never okay, even if it is wrapped in the promise of pleasure.  It is still a box of pain and sorrow.SAMSUNG CSC

Handle With Care

Originally posted on Dandelion Fuzz:
I would like to offer some words of advice to anyone who has had someone they know and/or love come out as transgender. I am drawing on my own experience as the mother of a…

Everyone Has Their Yellow Paint

Vincent Van Gogh used to eat yellow paint because he thought it would get the happiness inside him.
Many people thought he was mad and stupid for doing so because the paint was toxic, never mind that it was obvious that eating paint couldn’t possibly have any direct correlation to one’s happiness, but I never saw that.

“If you were so unhappy that even the maddest ideas could possible work, like painting the walls of your internal organs yellow, than you are going to do it. It’s really no different than falling in love or taking drugs.

“There is a greater risk of getting your heart broken or overdosing, but people still do it everyday because there was always that chance it could make things better.

“Everyone has their yellow paint.tumblr_njs2a8kwol1t0k6q7o1_500

C’est pas grave…

C’est pas grave…
Si j’ai le cœur en lambeaux
Les yeux en sanglot
Les joues chamallow
Et la voix lamento
Presqu’une épave…

C’est pas grave…
Si l’amour s’enfuit
Si le jour se prend pour la nuit
Si l’hiver encore me poursuit
Si le diable me séduit
Je ne serai pas son esclave…

C’est pas grave…
Quand le ciel me tombe sur les pieds
Que je me sens abandonnée
Que ma plume perd sa volupté
Que mes mains sont désarmées
Je continuerai à jouer les braves…

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Mystic4Ever
Le 25 Novembre 2012

Building a More Resilient Transgender Community | The Bilerico Project

Building a More Resilient Transgender Community | The Bilerico Project.

Oh.
My.
God.

Constance, Brynn has truly touched the core of the issue, and has put into words what I have flailed at for post after post after post.

She speaks of the major issues that assail transgender people as we seek to deal with the storms that assail us living as transgender in a gender binary prison.

The things she says about suicide prevention, and why those things are far less effective in convincing a transgender person it is worth it to stick around are powerful!  I actually teared up as she verbalized what my heart feels when I deal with daily living.

Things like “Optimism for my future”, “belief that life has purpose and meaning”, and “strong social support from family, friends, and co-workers”…yeah, she shows so clearly how those sorts of things resonate far more sinister in a transgender heart.

Please read her article…and as you do, let this sink in:  I myself in my entirety affirm the absolute reality of these things she writes of…and that is from a woman who is beloved of God and knows it…and still faces this onslaught daily.

I cannot even begin to imagine how others face their lives, and my heart is broken.  I think that’s why I try to talk to each and every person I meet as if I am the last person that they will encounter in their life…I want that encounter to be the best one they ever had.

Do Justice.  Love Mercy.  Walk Humbly.

Charissa Gracetumblr_nk13w386A31qzcapfo1_500

The Evil of Too Much Compassion – #1000SPEAK

#1000Speak

*(Due to circumstances beyond my control, I was not able to post this yesterday.  Better late than never!)*

“Sympathetic pity and concern for the sufferings or misfortunes of others.
‘the victims should be treated with compassion’
Word Origin
C14:
from Old French
from Late Latin compassiō fellow feeling,
from compatī to suffer with,
from Latin com- with + patī to bear, suffer”tumblr_niyul6FH6k1s4uwt4o1_500

Compassion.  You hear a lot about it.  It is an attractive word emotionally, these days.  It is a feel-good word, one that evokes feelings of admiration in the one who attributes it to someone, and a sense of pride and accomplishment in the one to whom it is attributed.

It’s sorta like a modern feel good girl-scout merit badge…wait, did Charissa just say that?  Now that is not a compassionate thing to say!!

Unless it is, because it serves to deliver from a greater pain in the future.

Here is the troubling thing to me, as we are seeking to unpack this word and let it take on form and substance, as we seek to bring about “the Incarnation of Compassion”.  We have far too often stopped at the first part of the definition of the word, and have utterly disregarded the origin of it…that part that talks about “suffering with”, or “bearing suffering with”.

Compassion is not about the one who has it.  It is about the one for whom the feeling is born.

And too much compassion is a dangerous thing, because it gets in its own way.tumblr_njinqxNvl11s9fah1o1_1280

After all, if you actually see your neighbor down the street, are moved to compassion, let the word become Incarnate within you, then you will take action and your time and energy will be consumed to the extent that your ability to have actual compassion (complete with action) will be severely curtailed commensurate with what you expend in this action.

I want to write, in the midst of this sparkling wonder of a snowstorm of exquisite flakes of compassion, to remind us that compassion is about someone other than the haver of it!  The mere presence of the feelings commonly called compassion are actually closer to “pity” unless we do something about those feelings.

And that is why I have titled this post “The Evil of Too Much Compassion”…it becomes a little blue pill that we swallow to assuage the pain that comes when we feel compassion and then take no action.  The alternative action is to simply read about more heart breaking things and feel more compassion, and then to read about more and feel more, and more, and…

…well, finally, we have become so compassionate that we are creating and attending “compassion rallies” and we are so stirred up about all the things we do that show how compassionate we are that we become very adept at dodging the homeless people laying in the streets and wrapped in rags and cold.tumblr_nhol1cpsSU1sjh130o1_1280

We are Houdinis of news aggregation.  We are becoming so broadminded, so large hearted, that we think that rights and privileges should be shared freely…to people of all sexual and gender orientation…and then we read of the murder of the seventh transgender woman this year.

Yes…in the first seven weeks of 2015, seven transgender women have been murdered…and these murders are scattered about the nation, they have nothing else in common save for the gender orientation of the women…and we feel…what?

Compassion?  Really?  Did we feel moved to the point that we chose to “bear suffering with?”  What form did your action take, when you read of that horror?  tumblr_njkv32vpAD1rg590io1_1280

Look, the fact is that if you remove the “trans” part and look at this string of murders in the way that most murders are viewed, it would seem the work of a very scary, very mobile serial killer who strikes with no rhyme or reason and could kill you next.  There would be an outrage and our police force would stir itself in paroxysms of action to hunt down and stop a monster who would kill women at the rate of one a week…sort of a twisted demented “communion supper” offered to death and defilement!

But no…it is not done that way, because compassion for a transgender woman who is killed is not quite the appropriate emotion, because she may have been out late, or at a bar, or she may not have told the murderer yet that she was trans, or she may have told him she was trans and thus deserved to be murdered, or she may have been interested in sexual activity with an attractive partner or she may have refused sexual activity or…

…well, she is transgender for god’s sake, surely she must have known she shouldn’t just walk around trans and not hide it (or is it tell about it and broadcast so as not to “deceive”, or is it try harder to pass, or is it that she tried too hard and thus looked like a parody of a “real woman”, or…or…ad infinitum).tumblr_njrpfdTKYa1r837hbo1_1280

We get very good at letting our eyes skim over the words in today’s latest story of woe to suck out the juice to slake our thirst to feel good about ourselves…and then not take action lest we limit ourselves in our hunt for more to feel compassionate about.

If compassion is not more than a feeling, then it is not compassion at all.

It is pride.

This day of compassion may or may not be that…it is up to you.

Mother Teresa once said something about this sort of thing.  She was in the gutter with a leper who had fouled herself with the loss of bowel control, and she was besmirched in the woman’s filth.  A passerby who was well off stopped and rebuked her, asking her what possible difference she was making in the world.

“Look around you!” he exclaimed.  “There are millions and billions of people suffering at this very second!  Your life here is wasted and your efforts are in vain!”

Mother Teresa looked up calmly at the man, and then she said this:

“I am not called to serve millions and billions…I am called to serve this one.”  She turned back to her little lamb, to tend her in her suffering, and the man walked away stunned, baffled.

But never fear, Constance…because he was very very sad about all the millions and billions of people who are suffering in this world…very sad indeed.

And he simply didn’t know how he would be able to go on with this burden, so he prayed that his already expansive “compassionate” heart would be stretched and expanded even further so he could feel that feeling…

…the one that proved what a fine fellow he truly was.

Highways…byways…lost lambs…get you there and let your feelings of pity be transformed in the crucible of suffering into true gold compassion.

Do Justice.  Love Mercy.  Walk Humbly…live compassionately.

Charissa Grace.ab1b96bff70ea85ee6e04e5c1aa30544

On this day, of all days…

tumblr_njtx54Or2q1tpdjt7o1_400… I am alive, and fiercely, joyously and gratefully so.

I remember 31 years ago, at 800 PM, and though others mourn and lament my failures, I rejoice and am glad in this day, every year before and every year since.

Cus I am not dead.

I am just no longer a caterpillar.Image 003

Do Justice. Love Mercy. Walk Humbly. Love, Charissa

BU researchers find biological basis for transgender identity — The Daily Free Press

BU researchers find biological basis for transgender identity — The Daily Free Press.

Constance, we are slowly discovering the biology that underlays gender orientation.  This is a process inevitable, and limited only by the edge of technological advancement.

Most importantly, it is the same curve of advancement that has existed for other things that were once considered evil, the results of demons, etc. and are now seen as the reality they have always been.

In a generation or two, we will look back on those who thing that gender variance is a moral evil, failure or choice as the beknighted ignoramuses that they in fact truly are.  They will be in the same drawer of history that contains those who opposed the civil rights movement, those who owned slaves and used the Bible to justify it, those who thought that epileptics were possessed by demons rather than simply the denizens inside a chemically unbalanced brain.

I have tried and tried and tried, over and over, to show you in everyway possible and all the ways you judge yourself and your own righteousness that my gender orientation does not impute to me any greater or lesser moral evil!  Because it is not a matter of inherent morality!  Anymore than your own gender adds any sort of moral texture to your own spirituality!

Isaiah 58 comes to mind as a pretty good list of things that would actually be far more pleasing to God than writing letters to people that boast about rivers that you will not cross or that conflate your own sexual proclivities and addictions with my gender orientation!

Directly speaking, I strongly exhort you to have the faith of your convictions and humble yourself and simply love.  Cross rivers.  Swim oceans.

But have a care not to make your converts twice as fit for hell as you are yourself.

Do Justice. Love Mercy. Walk Humbly.tumblr_mqlvipSQmW1r20af2o1_1280

This is the Gospel Truth

The first act of violence that patriarchy demands of males is not violence toward women. Instead patriarchy demands of all males that they engage in acts of psychic self-mutilation, that they kill off the emotional parts of themselves. If an individual is not successful in emotionally crippling himself, he can count on patriarchal men to enact rituals of power that will assault his self-esteem.
bell hooks

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Tomorrow is Today

look here, Sis…inside this door
(ignore the shoes on the floor)
feel the smooth cedar sides
and smell the incense promises
of growing into things
when all else stops fitting.

Feel the door?  I have been carving there
the promises I hear
broadcast from Mama’s Hair
(it’s in the falling rain, Silly Sis!
I swear!  And rainsong is full
of Her promises so clear!)

but push aside all these other clothes,
ones that we can use later for dress-up
when we are high on herb tea
and dreamy…lucid…flying
and feel right here.
Yeah, that’s the one!

I found this, laying in an old hat box!
It was hiding from everyone,
down at Mortie’s Second Hand store!
I brought it to the counter and asked
How Much?  He thought I meant the box.
He said he would sell it to me for a song.

I went to open it but his old liver-spotted hand
reached out gnarly but softer than spaghetti
and pressed on mine, and with the smallest shake
of his head he whispered “sing”.

So I did…singing of sun, shining. tomorrow…
Bottom Dollars and love…
and he added tears in harmonic light

Right??!  I know!  A bargain!
And when I went to try it on,
the dress said “hang me up and wait for Sis!”
So there…just for you…waiting its whole life
for you to step into it

and dance.

Love, me

THIS. Humility and Equanimity

I really admire Jay Z for this.  I have a feeling about this man…I think Mama sees depths and distances in him that he himself only has hints of.

I am hopeful that he doesn’t lose himself along the way and trade his heart in for diamonds…Mama must think very highly of him, as She has placed one of Her queens in his life.

I speak blessing to him, to them…Mama please preserve and metamorphize them!!

Ev