Just Fit

so often i find
myself outside of walls
looking intently in
thru the windows and doors
at the tableau inside

i have my strings of lights
at the ready, plugged in
to the moon and the stars
and the songs of the night
and the love of the dawn

but I always find out
I am simply too big
to get inside the walls
with the rest of the ones
who just fit…who just fit


that moment when I am walking
no, floating, no…that moment
when I am flowing down
no, up, no…along the river
no, stream, no…torrent of
life and you decide

that you can just touch me
without permission or permission
no, consent, no…yes permission
and I stiffen in horror, in fear
no, terror, no…in anger because
you make me into nothing with your touch

but i mask it with my smile
no, grin, no…with my grimace
that you miss, you absolute oaf
because you think I am an otter
sleek and preening when I am
actually a hedgehog all quilly

no, thistly, no…all covered with razors
and shattered glass and broken promises
and splintered insults and shredded judgements

no, no—no—no, no

Super Moon: Is It Saying Anything?

“Nothing will solve your heartbreak,
your soul-ache or take your pain away.
Nothing save getting to the source of the sore.

What happens far too often in life is
when we have a malady we look
for a solution to its symptom.

Instead of dealing with the cause of the condition directly
we chase phantom feelings and end up spent.
We go to the ends of the earth, build cases of blame against innocent victims,
retreat from life’s lessons, refuse to grow, refuse to let go
and refuse the only things that can cure our cray.

Go to the source.

Get to the root of an issue and to the heart of the matter.
But you’ve got to be brave.
You’ve got to outsmart your complexes,
because once you are caught in them,
the hardest thing to do is to name them.

Complexes rise up in disguise.
They trick us into thinking an illusion is the stone cold truth.
They wrap themselves around us, smothering our logic.
They paralyze our problem-solving skills.

And they are the only way into the truth of what we have to sort through.

Our complexes hold a tremendous amount of energy
and if we can dismantle them, then they become less of a threat
and a great source of self-knowledge.

Get to the core of a childhood wound,
or psychological situation that is both
holding you back and holding a great
amount of your energy hostage.

Meditate on the true nature and source
of anything that arises and watch
just how quickly you can get to healing
and then onto living.”

Chani Nichols
found on Pinterest

Eclipse of the Super Moon

i sat in peace, calm and still
while whirling around me
excited and thrilled

the people stirred, woke up
and looked outside at the moon
hanging serene in the sky and unchanged

pictures were snapped, clickity clak
and they all just reduced the moon
to a small dime, or a teardrop of light

and the darkness moved over
(it always does that, it’s not new)
and the moon simply gave way

and yielded itself, and swam down beneath
and just held its moon-breath
and just pretended death

until everything got bored and
swirled on away and the people
saw other squirrels to spend time on

well, i just sat where i was
with the moon in my heart
and her light in my soul

and she is always full
and her wine always mine
never eclipsed by anything

in between her
and where I stand here
inside of her hearttumblr_nuso16lJkp1rr74i9o1_500

This Gradual Depth

chasms within me yawn toothy
inhale sharply in chuckly hitches

they opened in horror unspeakable
and unknowable at the same timetumblr_n82xeaElHD1qb1z2ro1_1280blockades destroyed by strange forces
of fire fierce hungry and gluttonous,
that devoured every heart untended

my only option for living
it is total surrender to sorrow
embracing these unending trialstumblr_n10izd5caW1qz5ao4o1_1280 that teach spiritual lessons of courage
in the facing of dark deepest fears
in discovering this gradual depth
of my strength of my courage my love

it is horrible challenging painful,
but if it weren’t for all this suffering
I would not know myself near as well
how I’ve lived and I’ve chosen experiencedtumblr_mvwggrXtZO1scud9jo1_500so I do not give up I have hope
I am grateful for difficult things
that have made me into who I amtumblr_n81ff1rQWM1spq83no1_1280

Mud-Spittled Eyes On A Rainy Fall Sunday Morning

Mud-Spittled Eyes On A Rainy Fall Sunday Morning

It’s the glory of eyes,
being blessed to be opened
with mud sweat and spit,
blind eyes become other
and seeing What others
insist isn’t there while
It pulses bright-brilliant
and shining with Glory…
the eyes tell the story,
it’s the glory of eyes.tumblr_nva9hadhu81s5neh1o1_400And the glory of hearts,
jumpstarted by Pain
descended from heaven
to bleed on the earth?
It’s the glory of hearts
to demand that blind eyes
become windows of wonder,
pried savagely open to
that fire Burning
Behind the Beyond!tumblr_nusim8RlO41t5g5c1o1_540And thus all my ancient
inadequate questions
about life and death
shall be visible now
my yearning mortality,
here in the midst
of the dark and the light
all surrounded by Light
and glowing with Glory
and glad in the grime.tumblr_nv7dargLvS1tv3g49o1_1280And the Kingdom come in
looks into my  heart-windows
thru mud-spittled eyes
at this Mystery Landscape
this Numinous-Journey
of Startling Story
(we are Their Mystery,
we’re Their Fire Burning,
we’re Their Numinous
Shocking Startling Story!)georgia-o-keeffe-goat-s-horn-with-redThat’s the Crux of it!
That’s the Implicative Crossroad
where heaven meets earth
and earth defines heaven
and we’re given eyes
(our very own crossroads)
to see things Beyond us
True things and Real
even though there are
tears in these

Mud-Spittled Eyes
on a Rainy Fall Sunday


A Necessary Death

The poem I just posted is inspired by a fantastic book I am reading called “Women Who Run With The Wolves” by Clarissa Pinkola Estés.  It is truly a word from Mama for me right now.

As I was reading her take on the Inuit myth of “Skeleton Woman”, it hit me like a ton of bricks…I have been keeping certain relationships alive with heart-blood and it has changed those relationships into parasites…instead I should be feeding them with the tears of true grieving that accompanies a proper death and thus cleanse the heart and free the soul, diminished but restored and purified.

It is clear that these were flawed, defective and tragic relationships.  Blame has been laid…and I have none to lay, so therefore I can easily receive all blame for all factors and choices…because then I can get it into one place and just let it die.  Skeleton Woman is that force which brings the necessary death of something so that new life can come forth.  Jesus Himself said that unless we lose our life we cannot save it, unless a grain of wheat fall into the ground and die it cannot bring forth any fruit but will be alone.

They are dead, and I am not cutting my heart any more…there is no expiation able, or even needed…there is no act that I could perform that would result in restoring what was to what it never was.

The only way forward is to let them die.

Diminished and free…and knowing there is another chapter in this story which can now commence.tumblr_nv4kuyubnO1s5neh1o1_1280

Skeleton Woman Come

skeleton woman, you have come
surfaced with hue and cry and thrum
and waters heaving, rising scum
and dead bones clicking and clacking
clikkity-knuckles wrapping and long
dragging in waters where your white hair
stays wet, stays living and ready to tenderly
wrap what it is you have come near to usher
into the womb-waiting death.i have hooked you, and you me,
and i have done with running away.
here…my tears for your bony tongue
drink and be filled, i ask only one thing:

that you be tender, be gentle
take them now, see the rot?
the decay, the deformities, have pity
in your mercies bury them slow
and let your waters feed them
to the seaweed and the fishes

and if you deem it good
and resurrection come to them
may it be ever in the rising of the sun
across the frozen waves
within the shell-pink dawn

That Someday Purge

it’s been
quite a while
since i jammed
my fingers
down my throat,
nails scraping soft
tender tissues,
ripping them
into ragged
ribbons of

agony and sweet relief.

i really
don’t know
why i did that
all those years.
i cannot even
find the impulse,
the compulsion
to expiate myself
and purge me
of that void.

but now
i think
we live
in times
of cultural

and we
binge on self
purge in guilt
bathe in shame
call it freedom.

we’ll live
a life of
being not doing
or consuming

and our throats
will heal
and our song
will be sung



time is the greatest distance
between two distant places…

me then.  me now.

Today I am grateful
for that excruciating
powerlessness I felt
over and over
again and again

as a young child
and I would just cry
and cry and just cry
and I would just try
and try and just try
to summon some presence
in the midst of such absence.

Today, I know how to
think differently, how to
give up, how to
lose hope without (how to)
losing Hope.

Then I was empty,
and full of a void
inside the abyss.

Today I am flexible
dynamic, resilient,
I am a willow
and never an oak
and my golden harps
which were hung
on my branches
forgotten and rusty
are now soft being
strummed by Hands
not yet seen playing
songs of resilience.

Today I feel grateful
for knowing incredible
unutterable sadness,
washing in ocean waves
of the world’s sorrow
and my growing awareness,
of dissolving, surrender,
of letting go over
and over again.

All my jagged pieces
pulled out and untangled
untwisted unwrapped
washed clean of the muck
so healing can commence

i am the moon

i sit in tall grass, silky
lashing back and forth
quiet like tiger-tails
talking in air, with movement

i think about earth
hung spinning in space
hurtling round the sun
amidst the bright stars
(but none of them close
so i am really not amongst
them, not at all)

and i am the moon
growing in silence
fattening on gentleness
increasing with time
and in finding myselftumblr_nuso16lJkp1rr74i9o1_500and then come those sharp
hungry teeth gnawing
and others come clawing
with silences ringing
or spoken words shattering
indictments sharp thrusting

and I shrink, get smaller
my light become shadow
and me just a sliver
barely hanging on

and then the world spins
and moves round solaris
and this achey cycle
starts over again

i am the moon
and i miss you sotumblr_nsd4seCFI41urmjt2o1_1280

To You Some Where

above the lavender i float
on scents of honey and promises of wine
i drift on hints to come and possibility
and lean in against the hard insistent
currents dragging against my wings
pulling me always to the sea
while i strain to the mountains
and the flowers there

i fly to you somewhere
i fly to you

A person’s life consists of a collection of events,
the last of which could also change the meaning of the whole,
not because it counts more than the previous ones
but because once they are included in a life,
events are arranged in an order that is not chronological but, rather,
corresponds to an inner architecture
Italo Calvino


Lil Mama’s Run

i don’t run so well these days,
what with clouds of unbecoming
filtered thru rejection
inhaled into my heart
asthma my constant partner

i suck air in like water
and splutter to get breath
a leaky bellows creaky
and riddled with these tears
that steal away my power

but i like you so much
i follow here, behind you
and see the place your feet
left rainbows in the rocks
and fuzzy from your socks

so i just trot along
me, gretel in this stone
but looking not for witches
but for your heart, my friend
and your smile leads me home

and just when i despair,
and my way seems so blocked
i find your evidences
that you want me to follow
and I can face tomorrow

Like Mama

and i must find the courage
to smear me on the world
like oranges on the morning
smeared on the fingertips
that pry with nails sharp

i must be resolved
to be spread thick and creamy
on hearts so dry and crumbly
and tasteless in their leaven
like butter sweet and saltytumblr_nqkwd8yiUl1rb2p37o1_1280i wanna be like Mama
so generous of spirit
so purposeful of heart
so resolute of vision
so loving in the tumult

let me light the longing twig
let me quench the burning branch
flame to tinder tender
and rain to thirsty flames
and known by Mama’s Nametumblr_nuj67qgboo1ufutspo1_540

A Treasure Made Trinket

i clothe myself in wonder
for you, wrap myself in night
i am your pirate plunder
you can have without a fight

the milky way my shining sash
the moon my pendant true
and cricket song my lingerie
i give myself to you

you there, so strong, so brilliant
straightforward as blazing suns
your ready laugh, your brewing storms
the way your rivers run

from mountains high, jagged austere
you flow into the sea
for you i wait, indigo here
for you to give you me

we…night and day bonded and true
and joy our wonder-fates
you wrapping me, me inside you
Mama’s happy litter-matestumblr_nkw43yNglr1th6k9do1_1280

The astonishing village where little girls turn into boys aged 12

Source: The astonishing village where little girls turn into boys aged 12

I have never heard of this before!


Do not miss the salient point here!!  It is NOT what is between the legs that determines gender, but what’s between the ears.

It’s In Rivers (My “Work” Response In Godly Play Training”

Yesterday I did a training for a method of faith formation in children called “Godly Play”.  What happens is that you hear/see a bible story and then you do “work” related to processing the meaning of it.

The story I heard was that of Abram and Sarai…and when asked where I saw myself in the story it was immediately evident that I was with Sarai…in the back…in laughter…before seeing the promise come true.

Obvi I made a poem…but the opportunity to do it the way I did was SOOO freaking gratifying.

I hope you enjoy it

It’s In Rivers





The Rustling of Those Wings

I always thought vultures
slept at night, devil-red heads
bulbous on scrawny leather necks
tucked under fetid wing and pinion.

I was wrong.

They never sleep
but circle

gliding around the dying
the rotten and discarded
waiting for that last quick breath
and then they land nearby
and hop like feather frogs
to their last supper never ending

I stick my head
out in the night
and cannot see them
but I know they are there
by the way
the rustling of those wings
echoes in my hearttumblr_nulpidcDV91utvlmvo1_500

What’s the Science? | Trans-Parenting

Source: What’s the Science? | Trans-Parenting

This is a good resource page for anyone to be able to find good sources to help explain what our current technological state reveals about the physical side of gender-orientation and the reasons for this particular point on the continuum of the intersection of gender and biology.

Take a look…it will settle you if you are uncertain, and affirm you if you are already an ally.

02, 9/11/12, 2:49 PM,  8C, 5360x5432 (392+1312), 100%, Custom,  1/15 s, R49.0, G34.0, B57.0

02, 9/11/12, 2:49 PM, 8C, 5360×5432 (392+1312), 100%, Custom, 1/15 s, R49.0, G34.0, B57.0

Humiliation and Embarrassment

Yesterday was the strangest day I have lived in a while…

…it started off with the strangest and most confusing comment I have had directed at me in a long time, one I am STILL confused about the motivation of the commenter…that hadda do with the topic of personality type (see my thoughts about that over here at this link: Personality Types

And then the rest of the day exemplified the stressors that get me spinning.

They don’t bear repeating, but wow was the day confusing…

One thing that is really stressful to me is when I am in the middle of two competing needs, each one to which I represent “help”, and each one is equally valid…wow is that hard, because what generally happens is that I get caught between a rock and a hard place…

If I meet the one need, the other one will sit there and testify that “Charissa is not here to help”, and if I stay with the other one then the first will go hungry and embody lack and THAT one will say that “Charissa is not here to help”.

Each one will think that I am simply inactive and have nothing to do so and thus am a resource to plug into the leaky dyke to staunch the leak.

And my perspective is that every moment of my day is scheduled, and generally the time I get to do other things I find in what are thought of as the wee hours…so when the two needs begin to compete? I am acutely aware that it is a lose-lose for me…meet one and not meet the other or meet the other and not meet the one.


And there was one of those experiences at the end of the day that was so humiliating and embarrassing that it made me wanna crawl into a hole in the ground and just disappear…let’s just say that something happened that hasn’t happened to me since kindergarten…



Like Sunlight, Like Fog

I’m often told I’m confident
(like the march of blazing sun
across the hills of night
awakening each day)

I’m told I look like rushing waves
that roll in from the sea
and pounce upon the sand
in joyful swelling sounds

This makes me laugh inside my heart
because I’m more like fog
that silent moves unsure
which way it wants to go

But still committed to the march
inexorable and slow
to be true to myself
in soft embrace sold out

to be completely there
and wrapped around all things
I cherish in the hug
of insubstantial presence

there, and yet untouched.tumblr_ntubpx3qIm1qm86t3o1_1280

Reader, You’re Done (Constance, You’re Good)

You are welcome to read…but don’t ever expect anything more than that.

Oh, there can be reconciliation, certainly!  Rivers are so easy to cross, you know…but you haffa get wet feet to do it, and maybe even slip on some rocks and fall all the way in.  But the water is shallow, never over your head except when you are small in your thinking, and then it’s you that shrinks, not the river that grows deeper.

But that access…to walk around on the pillowed floor of my tender heart in your dirty work boots and me cleaning up after with my love?


Constance…you who is here as the Constant Reader?  You are not “Reader”…those from the past who sometimes stop here aghast and offended and unwilling to see what isn’t there in that Book they venerate but keep in a cage lest it get free and consume them.

And as to the four…if you ever come here and it isn’t too late…the road leads ever on, and my heart is ever open.  It is not capable of having a door against you (yeah, I know, I know…that only validates your claim about me not understanding boundaries…it’s true:  when I love someone utterly the most precious gift I know how to give is access and no barriers or limits…I guess that shows I am a fool in love, for sure).

But my heart will always be open and it’s chambers cleansed with my tears, purified with my regret, and perfumed by my love.

The Birth of My Fourth

it’s a crushing weight
tangible presence
part and parcel
of the essence
of this thing

just like red is
the truth of blood
and copper is
the air exhaled
by laughing lungs

it’s the love I feel
for your fire-self
your glowy soul
alive and strong
and destined here

to speak with laughs
to laugh with song
to sing in truths
to love in speed
to linger ever

as the crushing weight
here in my chest
upon my heart
this bloody living
love of youaaa

The Crucible of Grace

If you seek to extend grace and love to cover over a multitude of sins, the worst thing you can do is undercut that extension by talking about it and pointing it out.  Right?

This weekend has been excruciating, because the long-awaited and much dreaded article outing me to the entire world was published.  And I am letting it stand uncommented on, because the person who wrote it apparently needs this as they deal, process, and move forward in becoming.tumblr_nj9hjr55am1sodq0ro1_1280But it is awful having my voice stolen from me…it is awful being portrayed as a cruel caricature of who I am and who I was…it is tragic to see the consequences of what I chose and lived twisted so tragically as life spins on by and the gravity of the Fall pulls everything to that fierce collision with nothingness…and it is heartbreaking to see the person that I literally would instantly die for, right now this moment, if it would restore them to wholeness, flail around trying to recover their bearings and watch as they grapple with emotions and choices and basically just suffer a sort of death process.

The place this article was published did not contact me (though if they had, I would have said to go ahead…my loved one needs to speak unfettered)…the things that were written, well let’s just say that one person’s account sounds right until another person in a situation gives their lived experience, and then things are usually a lot more complicated and delicate in determining “what happened”.tumblr_n892glA3he1rmz4wdo1_1280Mostly what happened?  The binary.  The binary punished me from the beginning of my life, it trapped my parents into seeing me as someone I wasn’t…it tore my soul in half and left the only option forward for me a dissociation from self and adopting performance as my currency and agency in the world…it left a bloody gaping void within me that never ever could heal, and in which the Love of God was sufficient, but only just…it led to the birth of children who deserved more and got less in spite of me trying to give them everything…

What happened was a flawed imperfect person full of hope and love and wanting only to have kids and love them and raise them up into life did her best in the skin and role of a man…and is now vilified and excoriated for this…what happened is that I was born in a time and place and culture, and practiced the things that I thought were right and true and proper, and those so at odds with what I know now, what I matured into, grew into, and yet how does that undo things that happened 30 years ago?tumblr_nrqhpzN6nu1s5u2cno1_500And what happened was so much pain in my decision to transition that an entire narrative had to shift to account for the horror and the loss of a father…and I read of things, and am painted in ways that just do not match up with what I lived, what I remember, what emails and letters say to me, what other people who knew us and were around us a lot recall…

What happened was my dysphoria and depression and despair did indeed affect my heart and soul, and that affected everyone around me, and likely was the metaphorical equivalent to belts and abuse so does it really even matter if I never did the actual things I am accused of doing?  Actually no…it doesn’t matter that I never did them, because it is clear to me that I was them…poisonous, toxic, radioactive, damned for being absent and cursed for being present and above all accountable for every last ill in those lives so precious to me.

I never really understood before why God’s answer to the horror of the Fall was to come as Jesus to this world, and suffer and die…I do now though.  Because there are no words that I can say that would explain it, justify it, make it right, make it better, disappear it…all I could do would be to simply die in their place…tumblr_nu4nj5Mkg51rdq2opo1_1280…and if I could do that, I would want it to happen hidden, without anyone knowing, and the provision of that death simply being wholeness and happiness for my hearts…

I love you, hearts…I will grieve until the day grief itself is satisfied and all things are made new.  Say on.  Whatever you need, whatever you want, whatever you must.

I only ask Mama, please hold me close and sustain me in Your Love.

Forever In My Bones

The echoing of silence
implications of ashes
a song inside my tears
a signifying bond
the moan within my blood.

The writing of a moon
engraven on this water
and carried by the winds
into your heart beyond
the reach of tongue or pen…

this is my ever burden
my sentence that I carry
forever in my bones


Louder Than Beethoven

She talks like cliffs,
speaking words of grey granite
and loose limestone that
stand against blue skies
and grab onto puffy clouds.

She’s exalted over valleys, far distant in chasms
between the green and the happy streams
and places there beside her words
where eagles spin and scream
and echo in the sunset’s gleam.

She is low meadows laying soft.
She is all signification, all there
but you must have faith to listen
because she speaks in silence
louder than Beethoven.

She is not easy or attainable
but she will not hurt you, just
make you count the cost
and if you don’t, then rest assured
you will hurt yourself.

I love her in the mountain air
and in the meadow mist
both lively and lazy.
She is my best friend, and
more solid than all the earth.

I Think I Agree With This, But…

“The secret is not to “think” about thoughts,
but to allow them to flow through the mind,
while keeping your mind free of afterthoughts.”
Sogyal Rinpoche,

The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying

…I recommend a time later where you attend to nothing else but the afterthoughts.

Hey.  Prayer is a conversation.  How can you have a relationship with They To Whom you pray if you do not stop to listen to Their answers?

The Baby Box

Lee Jong-rak is the South Korean pastor who created the “Baby Box”. The idea is that mothers who do not want their babies, can leave them inside the box which includes a thick towel and lights and heating to keep the baby warm. When a baby is placed inside the box, a bell rings in Lee Jon-rak’s home which the box is attached to, and he or a member of his staff will go and collect the unwanted baby and bring them inside to his orphanage.

Hundreds of babies are left abandoned at the side of the road in South Korea yearly and Jong-rak knew the perfect way to save the lives of these innocent babies. There is a sign above the drop box which reads: “Place to leave babies.” He confessed that he didn’t expect the box to be as popular as it has been.

On one occasion a mother dropping her baby off explained to him that she had poison to kill herself and her baby but because of this box, she had an alternative. On another occasion, a baby was left with this heart wrenching note:

“My baby!
Mom is so sorry.
I am so sorry
to make this decision. 

My son!
I hope you to
meet great parents,
and I am very, very sorry .
I don’t deserve to say a word.
Sorry, sorry, and I love you my son. 

Mom loves you more
than anything else.
I leave you here
because I don’t know
who your father is. 

I used to
think about
something bad,
but I guess
this box is safer
for you.

That’s why
I decided
to leave you here.
My son,
Please forgive me.”

Sometimes I say the same things to my own children, but there is no answer, nothing but the wind whispering in the trees and memories that stain my heart red.

Used To Be Me…

…but now?  Even in the face of huge loss, no…especially in the face of these losses, this is never me anymore.

Thank God for HRT.  Thank God for Their Word, affirming me in my existence and Their Love for me…
Thank God for my true friend and sister and safe place to fall (you know who you are…always)

No, this is not me anymore, thank God!

Walk Like Grace Kelly

The other day I was marvelling
as I thought about Grace Kelly,
floating above the surface of the earth
with every step and every glance
and every smile.

She was timeless,
she was a rock and a river
all at the same time,
such redwood-tall poise
and ocean-depth intrigue.

She was full of herself
in the best of ways,

And here I sit breathing
this same air she might have breathed
and wondering what chance in hell
I have if death actually managed
to pull her feet down to earth.

Nevertheless, I hop
each stride I take,
kicking one foot out and up
to step on that invisible riser
like Grace did…

and I try to walk like Grace Kelly,
on the air like Christ
on the waters.

So This is Forty-Something | Cage-Free Christian

“By far the hardest thing to come to terms with are the dreams that will either never be reality or have been permanently ripped from us. That is reality for us all. Time, that heartless beast, just doesn’t seem to care one bit about you or me or our desires and dreams. It relentlessly marches forward and takes us with it whether we go somewhat gracefully or dragged kicking and screaming.”

Source: So This is Forty-Something | Cage-Free Christian

This is my friend and litter-mate Jennifer Dickenson, pup from the same Mama El-Shaddai who has grown into a Big-Dog runner of fields who still has a Lil Dog snuggly heart.

I strongly recommend that you follow her…you won’t regret it!tumblr_nsmcdsP0NR1qdt6e2o1_1280