My Only Comment on this…

…50 Shades of Grey…

yeah, I could rant about what is objectionable there for days on end.  From the topic to the takeaway, and even deeper.

I don’t like it on so many levels…and yes, I was aware of what this was a few years back when it was just an online forum fan fiction piece that started making waves.

If you have bothered to read here much, you know my feelings about sexuality and sexual expression, and why.  I want to emphasize that my objections to this thing transcend any particular picadillo or preference or pain or pleasure.

That is like objecting that rain is wet.

It goes so much deeper and thus gets easily overlooked in the assessment of cowardice that just freaking drives me crazy:  “Well, whatever it takes to make you happy, I support that”.

NO!!  I hear that all the time, and what makes us happy is rarely ever understood even by us or even effective at that so called happiness-production!

But I digress, and begin to rant about this…50 Shades of Prey (I mean Grey)

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The “Christian” Friend-Zone

How many times has this scenario been performed…in Their Name?

Read and make the application, yeah?

Educating a Friend
  • Me:  So, let’s say that you’re at school and you see a guy you know. I mean, you guys talk every once in a while and he’s pretty cool, but you’re not like friends or anything. You just talk to him every once in a while.
  • Guy Friend:  What’s his name?
  • Me:  I don’t know. Frank?
  • Guy Friend:  No.
  • Me:  Okay, fine. His name is Will. Okay?
  • Guy Friend:  I don’t think it really suits him, but okay.
  • Me:…So anyway, you’re at school during lunchtime and you see Will. So, you notice Will’s not eating anything. That’s when you realize that Will has no lunch, no money for lunch, and no way of getting either. He’s just sitting there like he normally would. He’s not acting any differently and he’s not asking anyone for anything. Not money, not a fry, not even a salt packet, but you know he’s gotta be hungry. So, what do you do?
  • Guy Friend:  Do I have any money?
  • Me:  Yeah. You have enough for you and another meal.
  • Guy Friend:  Duh, I buy him lunch.
  • Me:  Okay, cool. So, like you said, you buy him lunch. You buy your lunch and you buy his lunch and you go over and hand it to him. And, he says, “Wow. You know, that’s really nice of you, but I wasn’t gonna ask anyone for lunch. I was probably just gonna wait until I got home to eat.” And, then you say–
  • Guy Friend:  Nah, it’s cool.
  • Me:  Exactly. You say, “Nah, it’s cool. I’m just being nice. It’s a gift.” And, Will says, “You know, that’s awesome. You’re really nice, bro.” And, after that, you guys start hanging out. You guys are like really good buds. You are always hanging out and laughing and just having a good time. So, you guys are friends for a few months, and it’s tons of fun. Then, one day, you go up to Will and you say, “Hey, Will, you know, I’ve been thinking, and I kinda want that five bucks.”
  • Guy Friend:  What five bucks?
  • Me:  Hold on. I’m getting there. So, Will says, “What five bucks?” To which, you reply, “Well, we’ve been hanging out for a long time and it’s been really fun, but like, I’ve done a lot of really nice things for you. Like, I’m always nice to you and I always listen and do things you wanna do, so I was thinking that because I’ve been so nice, you should pay me back that five bucks I spent to get your lunch right before we started really hanging out.”
  • Guy Friend:  What? Why would I–
  • Me:  I’m not done yet. So, then Will looks kinda hurt and he says, “But I thought you were just being nice. I thought that was just a gift.” So, you say, “Whether or not it was a gift, don’t you think you kinda owe me that five bucks since I’ve been so nice to you?” And, Will says, “No. I don’t think I owe you that!” And you get mad, so you say, “Well, I think that you do, so I think you’re being really shitty and stuck up about this and I feel like I’ve been completely wronged.”
  • Guy Friend:  Oh, my God. That’s so fucked up of me. I would never do that to Will. Will was nice. We were buds. That’s way screwed.
  • Me:  I know, right? Hey, just wondering, have you ever heard of this fictional place called “The Friendzone?”
  • Guy Friend:  Well, yeah, but…
  • Guy Friend:
  • Guy Friend:
  • Guy Friend:  oh

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Since I Heard That I Was Dead

It’s been a hard five days
since I heard that I was dead.

So many people dream
of being at their funeral,
well I heard about mine
second hand and I am haunted,
underneath dark skies and dusk
by those deeds done distant,
done in his name
by those who do not know me
or have ever even met me.tumblr_m9yv6hMj3R1rtitxmo1_1280alas, there lies that caterpillar
faithful in the inches
and persistent in the scrunches
when life was deaf to all request
and death carried school lunches.
And silken shrouds so empty,
that chrysalis completed,
a parachute no longer needed or desired
has been laid to rest so gentle
in my mind and heart and soul.

But what is that small worm to them?
A giant? Tall and towering?
A person real and powerful?
Or personage unworthy
who must be tolerated
until the 18th birthday
when silence can take shape
and lay down thick on all?Molly MendozaA funeral…I thought those things happened
to those of brilliant value,
to those who are missed greatly
and mourned so in their absence…
certainly that news of loss
comes at me with such great surprise
because long silences took over
space and time so long ago
when conversation died and lives
were lived beneath unknowing clouds
of mute decisions made in secret
and consequences suffered
in pig styes in strange lands.tumblr_mfhgssIGJl1qjr7k7o1_r2_500I guess it leaves me rivven most,
the fact that I am not yet met,
or even known, or even thought worth knowing.
Nay, as I flutter on this twig
and let my wings dry out and strengthen
in the niggling sun, I am accosted
by their past and held accountable
for the willing spinning
and cocooning of my future
that the inchworm made for me.tumblr_n5s4s9FkHc1tq7o0to1_1280And in this time
my throbbing heart
was struck a blow
surprising and so shocking,
and she flew to make things right.
But while I prayed for her,
I found it beyond comprehension
that I would ever be seen
or noticed as the wonder that I am,
or even noted when I am
at last released from these bright wings…
even a shrug is more
than I can conjure up in hope so unrequited.

Five days…hard.
since I heard that I was dead.tumblr_nf93uaLmkp1qzcq51o1_1280

 

Fresh Washed Sheets and Yeasty Bread

a bed of fresh-washed sheets
and smells of fresh baked bread
waft yellow down my hall
into my twitching nose.tumblr_n12khuWFgT1s6nbxco1_500I find more nakedness in those comforts
than in the brothels of the Romans.
They strip away my cloaks of fear,
they dissolve my masks so carefully applied
and let my face lay fallow and unharrowed
while I am carried off across the gulfs of time…

Another me, both proud and vulnerable
and peeking thru my fingers at my stomach
and those fine glistening hairs white
in the morning sun beams refracted
thru the window pane
while birds sing lazy and slow trilling
on the outside.tumblr_ni6om40Znw1s1gcxio1_1280My bedside table has you there
in memento and framed, still
but straining at the edges
with that unrestrained smile.

My thighs are creamy white
like fresh bread broken
and awaiting new churned butter
still wet with milk and clotted cream.

That red affection and connection
and there like butter yeasty bread
and crusty breakfast wait
with a warm and singular
latte on my swelling hips.tumblr_ni9d4cbqhI1so83hto1_500I let go in strength, and feel
weak and without grip
and without need to grip
because my core is not containable
or needing a container
because it is me, and home…
every curve and crevice,
every speck and scar.

The tinkling jangle of
forks and dishwasher racks
jettisons that lovely past
and I am here again
in that bed of sheets
and baking bread
and serrated knife
that goes right thru that loaf
like it’s butter beneath
burnished bronze edges
and steady fingers.

Those scents will not flash forward,
but I dream of a day
that I might be unmade,
fresh sheets shown beneath,
yeasty bread laid bare
beneath a faithful blade.tumblr_njgj2kmduC1r2zs3eo1_1280

I Squint At Light

Will you look into the sun?
Squinting, leaning sideways
so that the razor shards
can’t slice your sight so tender?

I want to remind you, darling
illumination still
begins with Light,
God Unobscured
(though cloaked in clouds
of Knowing Dim Unknowing)
Incomprehensible and Present.tumblr_mh7hnhHp7L1qlp8dho1_500Bathed in brilliant living light
I see my true identity fair
yet so different than common stories
of princesses soft and helpless in a castle!tumblr_njff6q44p51rv2dfko1_1280I dwell in soot and ashes low and dusky
but live inside a towering castle bright
where I imagine happy ever after
is more than just a jump-rope chant in time.

I am a treasure hidden in these ashes
and swaddled in the sackcloth of life’s sorrows
I am much more than currently imagined
and I transcend the myths of their assumptions!
Because I squint at light and still believe
in magic and in happy endings bright
and evil queens who fail to taint my beauty
because against their twisted schemes I fight
until they finally fall to fates deserved and serve them right.

Because I still am glad I fell in love
and so will never fall upon death’s sword
(though I will suffer sword stroke fell and final
but not so final in that Final Throw!)

I will sit tall today and dream in color
because my dreams are valid and enough
and that enough depends upon my Mama
and my persistent buzz of joyful trust.tumblr_na1ju1FKtL1t00v8po1_500

Disruption in Gethsemane

Disruption
confusion and disorder
(or merely interruption)
come fatal and so final.

Belief is baffled, battered
by numbing contradictions,
and competing experiences
storm our sunny smooth white walls
with scary scrabbling quick movements
and alternatives quite shocking
come compelling in assault.

Disrupted
we encounter mirror faces
and radical indifference
we’ve never known before
never anticipated,
afraid there, we are frayed
and fractured and
disrupted.

our brittle self-sufficiency
illusory, confused,
our “self-control” confounded
our trust and self-reliance
confabulates with darkness
in that Gethsemane
of dread disruption beating…
and all our treasure hauled away
dispatched midst scattered plans
and strewn cross ruined hopes.

And we at last are laid to rest
beside the ancient stony press
our sweat run red like blood upon
our faces taut, abandoned, wrenched…
and finally alone with God…

the Disrupter
of our plans
of ideas
entire lives
turned topsy turvy
in the current of the common
and expected day of life
come in the chaos of the moment of
disruption.

They alter every altar
They smash down every idol
that sits so still and solid
but quiet in the night,
and far more so than silence
that roars without a word.

Unnerving and unsettling
toppling the familiar
overthrowing order
to bring a lasting Kingdom
run on Unexpected Love
peaking round the corners
into every heart,
and contradicting all
we blithely take for granted
as absolute in history
and real enough to trust
midst diamonds and rust.

But then They get quite cheeky
and mayhap downright rude!
They talk as if the dead shall rise,
returned again to life, what does that mean
about realities and rules for our lives
we take for granted as the order
and the way of everything?

Well, some think that disruption
plays teeter totter games
with resurrection on the other end
and our soft hearts their fulcrum
and God the Gravity so constant
prevailing over all!

But me?
Well, what do I know
in the tidal changes constant
and the ebb and flow
of people never here but never gone?
It’s a landscape of adventure
navigated by a compass
marked by faith and pointing true
at the lodestone thick with grace
and crystal clear in brilliant love,
crystal clear in brilliant Blue?

No…that is not quite accurate,
not “what I know”, but Who…
the Disruptors of my tragedy
the Resurrectors Kind who Love me
and in this I find that this disruption
is a start of something permanent
and lasting so much longer
than my ebullient grin.tumblr_njcs3jXOCs1qzif7oo1_1280

The In-Between Spaces

I want you to stop running from thing to thing to thing, and to sit down at the table, to offer the people you love something humble and nourishing, like soup and bread, like a story, like a hand holding another hand while you pray. We live in a world that values us for how fast we go, for how much we accomplish, for how much life we can pack into one day. But I’m coming to believe it’s in the in-between spaces that our lives change, and that the real beauty lies there.
Shauna Niequist

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Just Overheard This…

“Don’t come at me with all your ‘weird little man logic’, okay?!?”
From the movie “The Other Woman”

oh gawd how I laffed at that…remembering all the weird little man logic I overheard for years…tumblr_lojcwnx4at1qknvf5o1_1280

Dear Susan: Am I Not Loving Gays When I Tell Them the “Truth” About Their Sin?

Dear Susan: Am I Not Loving Gays When I Tell Them the “Truth” About Their Sin?.

Constance, I hope this morning finds you well.  I also hope you will read Susan’s article in response to a letter she received on her blog.

I am posting it here because of the relevance of the attitudes of the correctors…not necessarily as a comment on the issue itself.

You see, I too have been victimized by people who say things like those referred to in this article:  I have had it hurled into my face by those who tell me with a straight face that it is their obligation to out me to others and comment on my transition to them (before I even have the chance myself to say a word to people who are unaware of my choice and the journey to that choice)…and then comes the coup de gras:  “If I don’t take this stand then your blood is on my head!”

Did you catch that?  I am deprived of my own chance to speak for myself in the name of being “loved”, and then told that the one “loving” me with such betrayal is doing so to avoid having my “guilt” attributed to them!!

So love is involved…but it is not love of me…it is also not love of the person they are gossipping about me to (yes, it is gossip)…the “love” that is in operation here is the love of self, which is idolatry.

Christians who violate other people in the name of love are simply practicing the sin of idolatry.

Susan comments very well on this subject…take a look.

And then consider a novel thought:  allowing God to be God and the One and Only True Knower of the Hearts of Human kind, and taking your place on level ground the moral equal of ones that you have judged and judge wrongly.

Do justice.  Love Mercy.  Walk Humbly.tumblr_mnw8oxlzn11qapjp8o1_500

Prima Donna

Je suis belle d’amour quand d’envie tu me prends
Touchant ma nudité d’une voix sensuelle
À bout de souffle encore avec tes yeux brillants
Comme l’or du champagne aux saveurs éternelles.

Sans tabou, ni motion, tu feints la raie cardiaque
Jouant la partition d’un violoncelle hors pair
L’adrénaline monte aux vertus volcaniques
À mon sein tu te pends, goûtant aux mœurs de chair

Je suis tendre ingénue à mon cou tu respires
Un rêve intemporel éveillant l’appétit
Corps et âmes liés , tu deviens mon empire
Parsemant de cailloux le soleil de mes nuits.

Au point de non retour, dépassant les limites
J’élève l’émotion au rang d’accord parfait
Au secret des lèvres sur nous la mort subite
Déclenche lover dose aux multiples effets.

Je suis énigmatique au sourire angélique
Joconde provisoire étayant ton exploit
Mon cœur est de velours quand tu me peins mystique
Allégeant les heures me séparant de toi.

Un opéra de chambre éclabousse l’extase
Vibrato contre peau, tu te lies à mes reins
Dans un fougueux désir d’accéder à l’emphase
De ma gestuelle qui défie tes sacro saints.

Je suis belle d’amour quand d’envie tu me prends
Touchant ma nudité d’une voix sensuelle
À bout de souffle encore avec tes yeux brillants
Comme l’or du champagne aux saveurs éternelles.

Mystic4ever
Le 28 Janvier 2012

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Do You Dare?

“Give up your self, and you will find your real self. Lose your life and you will save it. Submit to death, death of your ambitions and favourite wishes every day and death of your whole body in the end.  Submit with every fibre of your being, and you will find eternal life. Keep back nothing. Nothing that you have not given away will ever be really yours. Nothing in you that has not died will ever be raised from the dead.

Look for yourself, and you will find in the long run only hatred, loneliness, despair, rage, ruin, and decay. But look for Christ and you will find Him, and with Him everything else thrown in.”

Last lines from the book Mere Christianity from C.S.Lewis

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The “Anti”-Fair Weather Friend…

Every person has a dark side.

What defines a person with good character is not a spotless life of constant kindness, smiles and even temperament.

But rather, it’s the yearning to learn from your mistakes, applying it, making amends for them and choosing not to repeat them that defines good character.

These are the friends to keep in your life because they have stared adversity in the face and became a better person because of it.

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From Living to Die to Dying to Live

Constance…

Due to harsh circumstances both in my own life and in the life of my truest friend, I have been thinking a lot about death…

…what is death?

Is death the loss of animation, the exit of that ineffable spark undefinable?  Is it the fleeing of warmth and movement?

Or is it something more, something deeper and more final, more tragic and fatal?

Back up, waaaay back to when I was around 25 years old and torn asunder from myself and tromping all over me with the jackboots of performance and despair…at that time I considered that the days I had on this earth were a prison sentence that I had to serve before I was finally released through death and reunited with God.

I was living to die.

And in a very real and primal sense, I was already dead and just didn’t have the good grace to realize it and lay down somewhere.

But now?  Oh Constance, these days I endure “death” in so many ways…but it is in my deepest desire to live at last, so I am dying to live.  I have “died” in the workplace.  I have died to ever being able to go back and get a do-over.

And I have “died” to people…this is what grieves me most deeply as it is now that I am finally and fully alive and awake!

So I ask you:  does the declaration of others make me dead?  People who have not talked to me in forever?  People who resent me because in their hearts, I Charissa have killed their friend, their relative…

And yet they refuse to really know me, to taste my life and see that the Lord is good, good to me and thru me…

When someone doesn’t care deeply enough to experience my life, why are they so driven to declare me dead?

Honestly, it feels to me like they are the ones who are dead…they are dead to their responsibilities to the living.  They are dead in their hearts which should be tender and lively and rejoicing in good…at least it feels like that.

My very best dearest friend is facing death right now, stark and real.  Not some romanticised falsely tragic vision of death placed in service of a world view that is dedicated to self, but real, ugly, stinky, terrifying death carrying with it all of the ultimate and final separation that is the true horror called death.

I am sure she would get my heart cry:  dying to live rather than living to die.

I am thinking of her, as I was struggling with these ideas, and sending her all my love, and every single molecule of life I can channel from the Life Giver Themself!tumblr_nh42bx2QI21rpwlwto1_1280

 

Lamentation On Behalf Of My True Friend

Bad news swirls stark,
cold leaves on carny winds
and in this rising tide
I fear the ship is sinking.
I am choking on those
gall-soaked fingers of despair
jammed down my raw wracked throat
while I wretch and wrench
and heave to summon optimism,
that phantom failed-familiar. tumblr_n4u6ddhBr01rg18hao1_500I do all I can to bail the rising water,
even as I wrestle against fear and anxiety.
It’s in these times that sadness overwhelms me
in a blurry growing storm of weary longing,
a tragic tide of lonely isolation
sweeping deep over me, drowning me!
I have befriended long lament
and I take comfort in loud cries
and blasting mourning echoes throughout time
and history in crying, captured true in poems, songs
and statements of lament, a dolor
that submerges hope and quenches dreams.

tumblr_nccazgd7DU1rsisk5o1_500I groan in deepest cries of agony, of anger and confusion,
of disorientation, of sorrow, grief, and protest
that linger as mere echoes of a long ago lamenter of every human loss:

“Harvest is past, summer is ended, and we are not saved.
For the brokenness of the daughter of my people
I am broken; I mourn, dismay has taken hold of me.
Is there no balm in Gilead?
Is there no physician there?
Why then has not the health of the daughter of my people been restored?” tumblr_m95cwnOMwD1rrfdrgo1_500But now I face realities that feel completely overwhelming:
illness, death and loss and being ever on the losing end of things
and that through no fault of my own but always in last place or left behind.

My cry of pain is this:
my deepest acknowledgment I am still not home,
here divided from my body and my own deepest desires
found in my dearest relationships.
I am separated and long for utter restoration
in this overwhelming sorrow…

I find myself within this crucible of transformation
and discover that the waters of despair that seek to drown
and overwhelm can become waters of
glad cleansing and repair.

lament may yet have
its own way of transformation.

“For if the Lord causes grief, then They will have compassion according to Their abundant lovingkindness.”tumblr_njhuuqfPpN1rf7p4to1_1280

and Shining *

crucifixion singing in the center
giving voice to what is broken
in this dark and dying world
and Shining

one song inextinguishable
paradoxical, inexplicable,
surging somehow inside life and death
and Shining

it galvanizes all things, transforms everything,
it plays, this lone hymn hanging
of the Hangman Finally Hung
and Shining

in dissonance, resolve,
tension and release
inexplicable black tragic tenor notes
unexplainable red suffering,
scrawling over bass drone
deep and purple-bruised
by perplexing dark despair

and I stare…I stare…I stare…
in mute horror mixed with wonder
and the jarring jangly notes
swirl and slash, they cut and caper
around that Body Broken
and Shining

the dissonant nightmare score
is writ there on His face
is writ there on His back
is writ there on His head
is writ there on His hands and feet
is writ there in grace notes
is writ there bloody, permanent.
is writ there permanent

and shining.

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Barry Williams Makes Insensitive Comments About Bruce Jenner And ‘Going Transgender’

Barry Williams Makes Insensitive Comments About Bruce Jenner And ‘Going Transgender’.

Constance…

You will notice that I have not as of yet commented on Bruce Jenner and the news that he is grappling with gender identity issues.  There are a lot of reasons why, beginning with the unfortunate context of his life in the “celebrity limelight” and running the gamut all the way down to the fact that Bruce has not made a comment yet on the record regarding the whole complex topic.

Therefore:  we do not yet know what is transpiring and thus should just wait.  Why wouldn’t we?  Why is it so important for everyone to know?

Ahh…that brings me to the real reason I haven’t commented:  I am hoping that by now you who regularly read here would be spotting the tropes, cliches and inaccuracies in the story.  Such as these:

One doesn’t ever change “gender”…we are born to the gender we identify as, and pretty much nothing can change that.  Based on the bell shaped curve that nearly every phenomenon of this world falls on, most people’s gender orientation and biological sex match up…but there are literally millions of people alive today, and sprinkled throughout the ages and epochs of history whose gender orientation and biological sex do not match.

Thus, to say that Bruce is “becoming a woman” is a deadly ignorant inaccuracy.  If Bruce is for real, and not simply exploiting a “hot topic” in service of the celebrity status that plagues that family, then Bruce has always been a woman, and is just now becoming congruent with the fact that Bruce’s biological body and gender orientation have been at odds in a lifelong conflict…and at long last is taking the steps necessary to invoke that congruency.tumblr_n988sx6qrY1re12ono1_500

Other repulsive things are being said and done, but one of the most repulsive is when people accuse Bruce of “going transgender”…such a story is behind the link that I put at the top of this post.  An aging ex-celebrity made this comment in the form of a bad joke and showed several things in it:

First of all, he showed the permanence and insistence of gender orientation!  Yes, the fact that he was outraged by it enough to joke about it shows the thing that I have written of many times before:  the outrage of so many cis-gender people when contemplating a “gender change”.  Since gender orientation doesn’t really change, the concept of body and orientation being juxtaposed is simply not acceptable as a state of being…welcome to our world!

If this idiot really did seek to transition his body, he would be buying a ticket on the train into gender dysphoria-ville, not out of it!

I say to this person:  go ahead.  Do it!  I dare you…start dressing female, start grappling with the rejection, the ridicule, the open stares of disgust, and the troglodyte attempts at humor that testosterone-fueled people make repeatedly…and thrive.

Wait, what?  You would hate that?  You would find the price not worth it because instead of gaining anything you lose everything?  Well, goodness gracious…isn’t that a shocker!!  You just discovered that you aren’t really transgender, and you proved the permanence of gender orientation!  Because truly dysphoric people do indeed walk the transition road I described above, endure the horrors I enumerated, and end up more whole as people, more at peace, and more fruitful as human beings inspite of all those bad things!

The peace and “fit” of gender orientation inside an incongruent body is such a deep and important factor in a healthy human organism that almost all of the terrible things we go thru seem as nothing compared to what we gain…if we are of stern enough mental mettle to endure the fiery trials that the cis-gender world rains down on us…driven as they are by their own horror at imagining living as the other gender with their own unchanging and unchangeable gender orientation!tumblr_n9kj52yfDb1tp8szvo1_500

But this first point, the location and persistence of gender orientation, is as nothing compared to the deeper and far more subtle inference that is on display:  that being a woman is a horrible thing and a human being should be ridiculed for openly embracing one’s being if they are doing so from within a biologically male body.

I mean, think about it:  since when did women have such a road in life that all they have to do is announce to a magazine that they are a woman and they immediately get a career, fame, fortune, attention, and ego gratification?

Since when did being a woman not mean making around .75 for every $1.00 a man makes in the same job?  Since when did being a woman not mean that merely walking down the street alone puts her at risk of sexual assault and possibly being murdered?  Since when did being a woman not mean dealing with being treated as an object of no value save what sexual pleasure she could provide and what reproductive opportunities she could grant?  Since when did being a woman in our world mean any kind of advantage at all???

Clearly, the man is an insensitive and unaware buffoon, and I wouldn’t even give him the time of day normally…but he provided such a good mirror opportunity for those who are thoughtfully educating themselves about gender orientation, those who are taking their courage in hand to realize that there is no inherent morality in how we are oriented, but rather in how we live that orientation out.

What other things do you see hidden in this man’s stupidity?tumblr_n9igfjjFFI1tuih7ho1_500

Now…back to Bruce.  I encourage you to read of this journey, from the most reputable sources you can find, and really listen.  Listen.  Listen to what Bruce says, if anything at all.  Listen to the way things are reported.  Listen to the spin that reporters put on things.

Pay attention to the patriarchal paradigm assumption that are foisted on this.  Notice them, and draw inferences from that.  Watch for the things that happen at the level of what is assumed, such as one’s status and worth as a female and one’s status and worth as a male.

Be aware of the gossip and talk surrounding you in your daily life when this topic comes up and the flaming ignorance that will abound and be celebrated…watch how that will be mostly male humans who act that way.

And then…I have no right to ask this of you, I realize, as I am transgender and thus of an inferior human caste, so I am humbly beseeching you, Cis-gender Constance…then consider maybe speaking up in the midst of this ridicule and flaming ignorance, and bringing some correction and truth and light into the situation.

I seem to remember some admonition that true religion involves defending the powerless and the alien, the widow and the orphan and the stranger…here is the perfect chance!

Do Justice.  Love Mercy.  Walk Humbly,

Charissa Gracetumblr_n81ff1rQWM1spq83no1_1280

Oh Brazil! You Never Knew Me!

Landscape of Disruption and thick Decadence
washing ever over me in those thin emerald waves
teal and deep blue, muddy yellow and tan.

Your streets of light and music,
aimless, drifting bacchanalia bright and colorful
snaking through the throngs teaming
and strong smell of no limits but your streets
of cluttered trash and timorous times and eyes looking
pleading pits of hopeless wincing and no pity present,
just despair metastasizing monstrous and insidioustumblr_n4kvt2P0ug1r312weo1_1280

You never knew me.  You looked at my surface
you thought me shallow and giddy.
You missed that shredding heart tested. Yes!  I said it!
Tested in your dismissive glance.tumblr_nixz2eBG9t1t170o4o1_1280Well, my glance is not shallow or naive,
my heart is shrewd and assessing and my eyes are clear and courageous
in the maelstrom of fear and fascination as I walk your streets…
and they walk me as well

streets of flowers and perfume, streets of plenty piled perfect,
exquisite in their rich opulent promises
and other streets too, decorated
with tarp-roofed hovels masquerading as houses
and sex-crazed humans masquerading as homes
and lost souls writhing in streets with no roof at all.tumblr_n8tx1i70Ez1stoo0qo1_500And you distrusted me!
You called me threatening and treacherous,
and your gimlet eye wide and white
glinting with ignorance and fear
but really just too damn lazy to make the effort
to climb inside this sleek white skin God borned me in,
this suburban Illinois pelt from streets
with singular but uniformly similar looking
roofed houses, with more than enough food, clothing,
and resources to meet needs and wants…
no.  You never looked deeper.
You never gave me a second glance.
Oh Brazil, I never had a freaking chance!tumblr_nhf2qs1kUr1r2zs3eo1_500

You are too comfortable in your schizophrenic status quo
to see me, different on the inside than I am on the outside,
too confident you are one and known…
to yourself and others…
keep telling yourself that comforting untruth.

but you are just like me
and you don’t even know it!
You never knew it.
Will you ever?
Know it?tumblr_nj0rcte80F1s3isy6o1_1280You with your rivers merry and feeding your heartland
and used for all things at once?
bathing…defecating…washing…drinking…
(and I am the polluted one?)

You with your monkeys quick and mischievous
and your giant wads of sloth hung lazy in the lush trees
verdant and slow…unaware, unaffected, unbothered…

You…pet monkeys and parrots in the midst of poverty and pleasures
and the never ending search for food or other treasure
in dirt and filth, in gold and glitter.tumblr_n9ylszk87k1t2ulawo1_1280Oh Brazil!  You never knew me!
You never tasted the blood I gave you
in laughter and singing and abounding smiles,
in unspeakable desolation and despair,
shriven of hope for a moment and too close to the cold…
I bled while you merely blinked blankly.

Well, I survived, no thanks to you.
I moved on before you could fall from trees
or sneak in windows or bite my soft arms
with hard beaks and bright feathers.
Oh, you left your forever marks
but I am still myself within my pulsing heart,
I am still and always will be red…
red red RED against the backdrop of your
splashy showy palette…and you so puzzled in my singularity.

Well I like it, red…I like me!  And I walk on
my head held high and face into the wind
and I am unencumbered by your war and free
but alas for you, Brazil, alas!
Though I know you, you never knew me.tumblr_niuw130dds1ruxmcho1_500

Sky and Sea and Wind and Time

Here, at this late and early shore
in clammy mist and silent roar
shriven and stripped, scoured to my core
and needy midst this weather-war.10555184104_d06464db63_bI wait for you with my torn heart
Clutched in cruel claws and pulled apart
by lonely memories sweet and tart
in loss I’m given this fresh start.tumblr_n8rdf9rMDR1sbg1lmo1_1280Remembering fire in this rain
Remembering sweet in suffering
Remembering roots thrust deep in pain
and incense smoke removes my stain.tumblr_niwavp4zff1qllucco2_1280Old wood, dead wood and debris
and underbrush, flammable me
has fed the flames’ raw hungry plea
Consumed, renewed and set me free.tumblr_ngyjtuRmRp1to6p13o1_250Sky and sea and wind and time
wash me clean of my past’s thought crime
And scrub away my grief and grime
I’m born again in Love sublimetumblr_nh5m0leAcn1qgk7mfo1_500

Pastor Looks Up In Tears. “I Had No Idea.”

Pastor Looks Up In Tears. “I Had No Idea.”.

Constance…let these words sink deeply into your heart…an imagined conversation between a pastor and Jesus on the day they meet.  Powerful, poignant, and painful.

Reader…go to this link.  Read.  And then I beg you to stop throwing around your theology like a boomerang, one that always returns to you with blood on it.  When you catch that boomerang well the blood is on your hands.  Simplify your complex need to judge and categorize and rend your heart and not your garment.  Repent of your passive aggressive ways, and stop speaking death in the name of speaking the truth in love.

Just love.  In truth.  And leave the speaking to Mama.

Do justice.  Love Mercy.  Walk Humbly.
Charissa Graceimage6

I Am Systematically Intentioning This…

Constance, I am adopting this quote as part of my credo…not as a replacement for my relationship with God, oh God no!  How could that even happen?  That is like thinking that I can replace my blood type with a different one and still live.

But there is room for growing, evolving…learning…and this is a good addition.

Caveat:  This will be difficult for a lot of people who have known me in the past…they will think I am being a jerk, but I am not.  I simply decided that there are things that are not my fault or responsibility and I am not going to eat those plates of Sh*t on a Shingle anymore.  I am just setting good and righteous boundaries that are actually far more humble than the lack of boundaries I was previously dogged by (which were a function of poor self-image which is just a mask for pride).

I choose to choose how I spend my precious.  I will teach, and learn in the process.

Oh…and those of you who just now me now?  You will scratch your head and wonder what’s different!  Lol…it will just be the blossoming and blooming of the flower you have known.

Do Justice.  Love Mercy.  Walk Humbly.
Charissa

10675593_754677411234785_3128749203730769070_n

Me, Too

I would like to be known as an intelligent woman, a courageous woman, a loving woman, a woman who teaches by being.
Maya Angelou

tumblr_mxtvpn3T9I1qhod5oo1_1280

Decided: Anthems for 2015

Constance…for Charissa this year, there will be 2 anthems:

Fireworktumblr_mtux7eOMAO1shp6seo1_500tumblr_nat50xVvgj1tj9ixko1_500

Shake It Offtumblr_ng52mtNK3P1tfbxx5o1_5001911825_1522771117961478_6686624851103174073_n

That is all…go Katy!  Go ‘Hawks!

Van Nuys transgender woman stabbed to death then set on fire | Planet Transgender

Van Nuys transgender woman stabbed to death then set on fire | Planet Transgender.

Constance…nice to see that the perp got the obligatory “setting the corpse on fire” piece correct…right??

Sigh…always the post mortem mayhem and mutilation.

What does say about the strength of gender orientation?

(And no, Hater…the answer is NOT “the bitch had it coming”)

Well, at least we can all console ourselves with the knowledge that our Transgender Remembrance Day is gonna be soo great for all of us who live, and we will have plenty to preen about and feel ever so sad over as we break our arms patting ourselves on the back for how progressive we are because we cry and remember the dead ones.

Oh, but we must be oh so careful to never actually do anything about this ongoing murder spree lest we make the need for Transgender Remembrance Day disappear…can’t have that, now, can we!!?  I mean, actually do something??  *Shudder*

Yes, Constance, you did a remarkable job in detecting my extreme sarcasm…get the point, and then get to work.  This will not change until cis-gender people with privilege speak up and use their power on our behalf.

Grim Charissatumblr_niy1u2vGyP1qhap7so1_1280

Around Crooked Corners

Be careful to peer around the crooked corners
and slide around the slippery slopes
(not down them…it’s bananas at the bottom!)
because life lurks there, around corners
and is easily missed.

But you must not look straight at it
or it will simply fade and leave
that grin hanging in mid air.

No…look askance, in glimpses…
watch the work-worn wrinkled hands
of old women scraping turnips,
or the quick certain pittipats and flour puffs
of the baker and her turnovers and pop-ups…

if you can stand it, and not blink
you will see God take the stage
in the need of our hearts
for stories…stories!
Once upon a times
and happily ever afters!

Oh, this life is not for everyone!
Those puffed up Pillsbury dough boys
all full of wealth and self-importance
and those Mr. Cleans engorged
with religion and selfish knowledge,
well they are dancing around idols
of such gross magnitude
they cannot be disturbed
by such trivia as butterfly kisses!

They cannot bear to gaze
upon the ordinary, or wade
in the shallows of Overlook Creek.
It has too much weight for them,
the weight of ordinary life.

And so they do not see that Garment Grasped
they do not hear that Bartimaeus cry
they do not know that life on the fringe
is the center of the universe.91c1a971aa9dbd2c6df7af97fd03c42a

Excerpt from “Gone Girl”

“Men always say that as the defining compliment, don’t they? She’s a cool girl. Being the Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirty jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer, loves threesomes and anal sex, and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth like she’s hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang bang while somehow maintaining a size 2, because Cool Girls are above all hot. Hot and understanding. Cool Girls never get angry; they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner and let their men do whatever they want. Go ahead, shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the Cool Girl.“Men actually think this girl exists. Maybe they’re fooled because so many women are willing to pretend to be this girl. For a long time Cool Girl offended me. I used to see men – friends, coworkers, strangers – giddy over these awful pretender women, and I’d want to sit these men down and calmly say: You are not dating a woman, you are dating a woman who has watched too many movies written by socially awkward men who’d like to believe that this kind of woman exists and might kiss them. I’d want to grab the poor guy by his lapels or messenger bag and say: The bitch doesn’t really love chili dogs that much – no one loves chili dogs that much!

“And the Cool Girls are even more pathetic: They’re not even pretending to be the woman they want to be, they’re pretending to be the woman a man wants them to be. Oh, and if you’re not a Cool Girl, I beg you not to believe that your man doesn’t want the Cool Girl. It may be a slightly different version – maybe he’s a vegetarian, so Cool Girl loves seitan and is great with dogs; or maybe he’s a hipster artist, so Cool Girl is a tattooed, bespectacled nerd who loves comics. There are variations to the window dressing, but believe me, he wants Cool Girl, who is basically the girl who likes every fucking thing he likes and doesn’t ever complain. (How do you know you’re not Cool Girl? Because he says things like: “I like strong women.” If he says that to you, he will at some point fuck someone else. Because “I like strong women” is code for “I hate strong women.”)”

― Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl

tumblr_niy2dptCy01tcbiezo1_1280

Grace on Grace on Grace

That prideful young fool who ran off to the pigs
and that old man who ran to the end of the lane again,
over and over and over again, and the hearts there revealed
in the choices they made and the actions they took…

And the hard man who stayed behind, bitter and stiff
in the work to be done and estate to be gained
and the putting in place of a lazy young fool
and an old sentimental man, soft in his dottery doting…

The Shepherd related this story of hearts, common,
ordinary and intertwined with each other
in intricate detail and boring old sameness.

This story, it echoes to all in the human race, ever…but
I always ponder in my heart another heart…
What of the mother of these slanted sons
and the wife of this kind-hearted father, what of her?

The hidden mother of the prodigal son?(c) Royal Scottish Academy; Supplied by The Public Catalogue FoundationWas she allowed to the end of the lane
to look yearningly for her child headstrong and stubborn?
Did she put her healing hand on the strong haughty
arm 
of her eldest, so driven and hardened in countenance?

I think that she was with her youngest child
in her heart and her mind and her lullaby songs
in the lonely nights as she was sleepless and wakeful
and weeping compassionate tears for the blindness of youth…
and then holding the household together by day,
the buffer between tender father and bitter son
cut off by care from the heart of the other…tumblr_niuyotzFpD1sq90auo1_500She is the one who transformed ordinary pain
into foundations of all sins forgiven,
she is the agent of grace in this story
and that is why she is unmentioned and hidden,

as quiet as grass growing, loud as a heartbeat
the roar on the far side of silence at dawn,
she pulled back the curtain of tragedy so the next
Act of Amazing Grace could flow unceasing,
filling the infinite distance between lost humanity dark
and God in Their grandeur resplendent and generous
so full of Mercy and such Lovingkindness.

The prodigal son, the hard elder brother,
the father so tender, the Shepherd so gentle
and there…Mama…pouring out
Grace on Grace on Grace.tumblr_n4xx9l5k781tqglaio1_1280

Homecoming

If you are a skeptic be careful
when you stroll by the sea.
So much in this world
hints at so much more to be,

We are intricately bound
to this world of woven wonder
and its all-encompassing gain
bled thru the all-encompassing loss.

I am caught there,
snagged on the loom
of poetry, and poems of mourning,
poems of profound lament.

They chronicle abrupt realities
and tales of exile in this realm
under the sun, and never new
and they go silent, choked on vanity.tumblr_niwavp4zff1qllucco3_1280

You see, I am skeptical of happiness and yet
I am also skeptical of sorrow, that mere
A to Z acrostic of grief and loss expressed,
because it has its built in default limit.

These our exiled lives in disarray,
spirits torn out of our homes
and singing songs of misery
much deeper than we can endure?

These our exiled lives of aching mystery?
This pert uncertainty?
This frank finality?
This haunting history?Image 001

It ends with bleeding blossoming,
our longing for that shining home
that waits across the water
and that notion, bright as noontime.

and that foggy haunting certainty,
that aching homely homesickness
that sings a deeper song unceasing…
All that tells us home is there

and waiting our return.tumblr_neiigsKwTx1rktvico1_1280

 

 

Cracks in the Concrete

I have come to appreciate
the struggle of tree roots
and pushy weeds that seem to not know
their role is to stay down
there.14227950795102

Under the concrete carefully poured
and scraped smooth and uniform
confining and eradicating
anything else.

But beyond supposed to,
surpassing speculations
they triangulate up and around
and poke and prod in green needles
of absolute commitment.360495,xcitefun-nature-way-12

Concrete contains
the lack of imagination
but nothing else and cracks
at the slightest pushback
so long as it is unquenchable.

Until it is broken up
pulled apart and broken thru
and broken down
dust to dust
returned to dirt.fredhatt-2004-sidewalk-reclaimed

Root and branch, flower and weed
join in that chorus unstoppable
while the wren sings and sings
and the stars dance in delight
over the mute, dull concrete

broken,
crooked
and irrelevant
to the tides of life.splitting_bricks1322