Burning Thru Revelation And Gold

somewhere beyond
‘life as usual’
somewhere…
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fish may be learning
to see the very water
in which they are submersed…
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it’s a gift they seek
to give themselves,
a gift fleetingly
consuming time
and space like
ravenous gilled
furnaces burning
through revelation
and gold…
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a scaly examen
looking backwards
into a future
coming hard
round the bend
and thus having
open eyes in this
lurking present
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Bloody Loving Fingers

My heart always
beats thunderstorm surges
instead of blood
circling round and round
from ground to air to ground

I am splintered by great waves.
I am a window fixed
comprised of coloured glass
gathered from manifest-storms
of destiny manifest.

Sometimes I wonder what building
I should be hung in to let the light
shine thru formerly shattered me
now fixed, now gathered, now baptised
with those Bloody Loving Fingers dipping deep.
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Just Like Medusa But Before

My hair luxuriant
breezy-blowsey and dancing
on the insistent playful zephyr wind
and combed and tangled all at once…

My hair heavy, shiny
and pregnant with dreams
not yet birthed and dreamt
my hair free, unkempt

Like Medusa before me
(before she was betrayed, before
she was raped and blamed and
cursed by that collaborator Athena)
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my hair ravishing and alive like palm fronds,
like banners sparking and unfurled, unfettered,
undreamt and spread out into
endless ever-eager skies,

it wraps itself around dreamseeds
that float like stars, like fire-flies
and in its net they find a home,
a heart, and courage to lay down disguise

and take up residence in every
dreamer’s hopeful diamond-sleep
and blossom, unfold without care
those dream eggs held in my thick hair
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“Oh, you’re trans? But you look so good!”

What Cis People Say To Trans People Vs. What We Hear

“Oh, you’re trans? But you look so good!”







Rory Midhani for BuzzFeed News

Meredith Talusan is an LGBT Staff Writer for BuzzFeed News and is based in New York.
Contact Meredith Talusan at meredith.talusan@buzzfeed.com.
Illustrator:  Contact Rory Midhani at info@rorymidhani.com.

Her and Me and Your Futility

When you shattered my heart
delicate globe shot thru with
tunnels and annals
and columns and canals…

when you stormed at me
on me in me with your
stoney snow of bitter black
granite and jagged icy nuggets

of frozen flecks so broken
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She reached with fingers eager
to bleed upon the bloodless drained
edges of my torn and shattered soul,
fingers white and tender to the slash

and picked each cutty-edgy razor piece
up off the quick-sand floor
and put them all together, jumbly
but Her pattern knowing, more

than what I was before
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And then She made a hole thru which
the eye can see, the heart can hear
kaleidoscope music and dance
of Her and me and your futility

and so I spin now, caught in moments
stark, or velvet, or even gentle fuzzy
and simply refract light from the
million shattered pieces reassembled

in mosaic magic, kaleidoscopic and supreme.
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Agent Carter: My Fave Show

“Your line of work requires support. People who care about your wellbeing, who will be there to stitch up your wounds […] There is not a man or woman, no matter how fit he or she may be, who is capable of carrying the entire world on their shoulders.”

Can we talk about how we’re living an age where we can get an action tv show with a female protagonist and her male sidekick and they’re not in love and he’s a nurturing figure for her and she means adventures for him????

BLESS

I Am A Cello

I am a cello
alone in my beauty
inhabiting curves

like mountains inhabit
the space all around
so bright, luminous

and longing for hands
and legs all around
and the touch of fingers

on my strings tuned just so
like winds on the faces
of those shining ramparts

of stone, ice and lichen
that fall to the earth
in splashes of granite

and music like lava
slowed down by indifference
but still singing loudly

under the rainbow
across those tuned strings
and across my heart

for I am a cello

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Every Avenue

Your words were thicker than
The Black Forest
and thicker than blood

(by a long chalk)

you treated blood like water,
no, like stone, like brick
made without straw

(your house took all that)

and there, around that house
so flimsy a hufflepuffer could
poofty it away with ballooned cheeks

(and a sharp swift exhalation, just one)

you built with words a fortress
with walls thick and battlements
that do not gleam in sunsets

(like moonlight dancing with the sun on many-waters)

but brood and loom grey and flat
absorbing light and cutting off
every avenue.
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For Lil Mama

I’m so glad I found you
(or did you find me)
here in the ups and the downs

The stairs are the same
the doors lead the same
in heat, in the dust and the brown

you carry those weights
responsibilities
like water jugs, like tambourines

but still find your way
to find where I am
and give me your heart, your heart clean
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A Woman’s Full Truth

This is a truth for me…there are a bunch of people who I think have missed out…they think they know me, and yet they have never ever really met me!  “…caught in the easy shadows and then bails out…”

It is not only men who are in this class…some women too.  Some children too…

There are very few honors greater than to be allowed to witness a woman’s full truth, full radiance, full depth. Any man who gets caught in the easy shallows and then bails not only misses a taste of the infinite … but remains incomplete – having missed out on an opportunity to reclaim a piece of his own soul.
— Randall Alfred
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Maybe I’m Actually Not a Christian After All

Constance , by now you would be acquainted with my friend and brother John P…must read awaits you

john pavlovitz

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I’ve always thought that I was a Christian.

I’ve simply assumed that since I believed myself to be and strived to be, that this was enough. Though I’ve devoted my days to emulating Jesus and to reflecting his character in the world, this seems to have been a woefully errant path leading me far afield of righteousness.

Over recent years I’ve spent countless hours debating with those who contest my claims of faith; self-professed believers who debate my authenticity, my theology, my conduct, my motivations. They make dire assessments of both my moral worth and my eternal destination, chastising and condemning with great conviction.

It’s difficult to quantify just how much time and energy and mental bandwidth I’ve expended attempting to justify inclusion in their heavily fortified faith fraternity and to prove my personal spirituality valid and genuine in their eyes.

But these days I’m looking at what alleges to be Christianity in my country and I’m now almost certain…

View original post 506 more words

Born of Bud And Blossom

Amongst the thorns so sharp and bristley-bitter
and nestled in the crackley canes and stems so brittle
I sprang from buds clenched tight with fright and gripping
their green possessive cloaks around their high strung hearts
so pink, so red, so soft and velvet fragrant
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The sun pried without mercy, without quarter
and his hot fiery fingers plucked and pulled
and deep inside those shrouding shawls veridian
the pulsing surging petals pushed back hard
and cracked the sticky emerald shells of shame
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To blossom in the air renewed by wand’ring winds
and sway and dance, be wooed by every chance, to bend
low to the ground and then high straining for the heavens
releasing me, the fragrance strong, unquenchable
of grace and beauty, peace and love and joy.
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Yes.  I was born of bud and robust blossom
that fell away and left me hanging here
a kiss upon the cheek of summer memory
a promise in the winter of the spring
a herald of the Love of Heaven’s King.
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On Mountain’s Face

Across its face the river ran
all liquid grey and velvet-slate,
fell down the cheek of hanging cliff,
around the lakey eyes of blue…
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And out the other end it flew,
soft down on downy breasts of green,
thru meadows and thru softest thatch…
The river gathered fertile force

and ran down legs, insistent as
the wind that pushes clouds around
the world in days, it poured out fast,
it ran down mountain shins…at last
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it reached the heart of deepest seas.
It reached the inmost core of me.
It fed me with its journey-feast
and quenched my thirst to be set free…
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And then I my me offered up
beneath the summons of the sun
to become clouds pushed round the world…
And then, on mountains, me unfurled…

To fall and feed with heaven’s grace
And run again on mountain’s face.
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A Performance Lecture on the Theology of Gender

I have seen this wonderful man in person and very much enjoyed his presentation.

I am posting this for anyone curious about a theological perspective about matters of gender, presented in dramatic performance and gentle words.

 

1O Things This Christian Doesn’t Believe About The Bible | john pavlovitz

I don’t advocate consulting the Scriptures for an accurate understanding of matters of sexuality for the same reason I wouldn’t want a medical text from the same time period guiding a surgeon taking a scalpel to me.

Source: 1O Things This Christian Doesn’t Believe About The Bible | john pavlovitz

Like A Runaway Train

Sometimes I think about the future.
I think about the time coming, roaring
down on us like a runaway train
in the silent frozen landscape
of history not yet born.
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In that time, perhaps these halls
these empty rooms occupied by
the outpourings of my wakeful soul
and bright quick mind and visions of eyes
that see beyond around the bend
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will be wandered by real people with hands
hungry to touch, and know, and join with
my desperate lonely shouts and dances,
my perhaps pas de deux with Vincent and
his swirly starry nights hidden for years
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Because right now?  The halls are empty, the rooms
cold and dusty, and the cover-sheets of familiarity
and current contempt so casual drape
masterpieces and treasures and living
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I refuse to give in to the abandonment
thrown at me in glances that brush, stare
and walk by an embarrassment of riches
and I console myself with the comfort
of delusion and daydream that time
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will finally thunder thru this station
brakes blazing sparks flying
iron rails red hot with inertia interrupted
and smoking with steamy melty insistence
that here there be dragons and dreams
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and worthy immortal thoughts
of forever and forever
higher up
and
deeper in
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Lonely Shouting Silence

The staves and the staff
the words and the notes
and signs of quick runs,
of slurs and sly rhythms
syncopations jazzy
and slinky and languorous.

The paintings in stippled
sharp actiony thrusts
and swirly quick strokes
and brushed side to side,
side-side and side-side
and circular motion.
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My words here, my song,
art in living sound
and loud color on
display for a world…

and yet it is not
anything alive,
not thriving and wild
because your eyes knowing
are never touching…no

and so they hang still
they hide in dull vinyl
in grooves and in ridges
and gather bored dust
in lonely tumultuous
shouting soft silence
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Say Not A Word

Hush, Love…
say not a word
as I sit here in light
and desire is wafting
in shivery delight

see how it settles
and falls out of air?
Here, on my shoulder
precipitates there in
a silvery sheen of dewy desire
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my love a
melty hot flower of
mmmmmm
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say not a word, Love
but if you wish
you may bend close
here, to taste of my neck.

The Final Coming Thaw

I am floating on free seas held captive
in the ice of your remove and shrewd appraisal.

My heart passion like living rock moving
red and liquidy, red like plasma pulsing
scorchy and inexorably drawn in hungry
longing for the icy stillness of you.

And where we meet, I melt
you, steamy/dreamy, and yet
you run quick-cold to the reaches
and rime-rimmed rocks and reefs…

And there I sit, captive in you
and waiting for the thaw of Love
to be finally completed.

Sanctuary– For JD

Remember Litter-Mate…the fact that they other and police you affirms your authenticity!!

 

The Fall Of Ancient Time

I am not a place
for the faint of heart
or blustery of soul!

But I do get lonely
as the night wheels past
my achey longing heart.
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Do you not suffer
the war in this world?
Do you not feel
all the pain in this world?
The loneliness and the
no hope in this world,
the boredom and fear
of failure,
temptation
too strong to resist in this world?
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Bitterness of heart
amok in this world,
not knowing fully
who we are or who thou art,
not knowing this,
just knowing thy love
is beyond every knowing.

No other love has power
to fall on us and make us whole.

No other touch can withstand
the fall of Ancient Time
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Here inside a civil war
between me and me.
all the time winning
and all the time losing

because I am a world,
a universe and I cannot
be explored in just one day

It will take seasons,
whole winters and
years of summers
to mount up on wings
and cascade over mountains
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talking with you
sometimes is either
a slap in the face
or a slammed door,
and yet 
the Void…gaping gulf,
it is but exhalation
in the Light of your shadow!

And falling
into that seeming nothing,
yawning and gulping, well
it is but a dropped stitch
in the Banners over me
of You.
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This Speckled Star-lit Night

Ohhh Love,
it longs with me for thee
even though we’ve forgotten
thy name’s shape and feel and sound
and the way it breathes in me,
the way it speaks to me
in whispers, like wind
whispering between the clouds
to speak to earth
in breaths from beyond
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like the way
you touch my ankle
when we sit upon
the floor there,
by the fire
in the speckled-star-lit night
gathered close
outside the house
just like a mama bird who nestles
down so gentle on Her chicks…
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I miss you terribly
and ache so,
ever in this moment.

City of Bones

Barcelona,
oh City of Bones
laying hot and dry in the sun
beating down on streets, on tombs
and tiles so red over white and so hot
and shimmering radiant still,
oh ye bones!
barcelona_above___revisited_by_coigach-d9h3eegBarcelona, City of Bones
Baking before the gates of the Sun,
I sacrificed my purity for thee, such as it might be
(my purity, not my sacrifice)

Purity…
of thought,
of mind,
of heart and soul,
purity of
song and deed
and strong intention.

Barcelona, my sacrifice
so droll, so dirty is actually
sterility masquerading
as purity and thus is merely

the absence of jazz,
the absence of spice,
the absence of that
jagged noise of exultation
and thus there is no
purity and nothing
quite acceptable
enough.
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Gladly do I lay it there
(my sacrifice, not my purity)
on the bony altar of your burning eyes
hung there above the freezing flames
of your sharp haughty sniff and thus
do I seek sanctuary in the fires of
your hunger, games appeased and satiated.
Image 002 And these words I leave
(my longing words so red, so sharp)
along the edge of your wet teeth,
hard teeth so white and glistening,
and there, blurred,

there they mingle
with your breath,
with the liquid you
and thus become
inflammable and ready
to leap up like the Phoenix
to take their ease in air and be
us, there, us there
be us there in the air.
Rise

And this city here,
right in plain sight and swaying
in the salty breeze blowing in stiff
off the racing aching blue seas,
this City of Bones dancing on air

with my words
there in air
like banners in the wind,
like thirsty golden kerchiefs
flying midst meteors, comets,
midst stars in the night

flapping in the solar flares
and furies of the sun and lapping
up the finest purest beams
of silver, argent grey moonlighttumblr_nw4iwesgqi1s2clnyo1_1280

And those fires
(of the night)
my words those silver fires
streaking, shooting across
the vast expanse of velvet
black thick nothing, silver flames
curling, licking at the bones
of the City hanging
in the deep dark void
shimmer And the music rounding there amidst
those handy banners sounds like owls
talking soft and hooty in the wind-torn branches
and our hearts are slender limber flexing long flagpoles
and we fly our flags of love like maidens flying
tokens for our champions…tumblr_o03sa8dubM1unv2uco1_1280Together we all

(words and banners and bones)

shine upon your battlements

Barcelona
City of Bones
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30 Years Previous (For JD)

UPDATE:  I have edited this a little…because I always had to force it to make the other one a part of it…truthfully, he ghosted, present by proxy but I never ever saw him walking in the crucible…he was an outside lurker, a skulker, and too shamed and hangdog to enter in…and skert too.  Skert that he was so bad that there would be nuffin’ left of him once the cleansing fires got their way…and maybe even more skert that there WOULD be sumfin left…
*****

Dearest Litter-Mate:

I think of you…nearly every moment of the day while I am fully functioning, doing other things…I can smell the burning singing smell that is so acrid to the natural nose, and is the sweet incense of devotion unto the One who walks the Heavens and searches the earth.

“Precious in the Eyes of the Lord is the Death of Their Saints” said the prophet of old…he knew his shit, that dude…

But you are there…deep inside me, in those lonely caverns that I have wandered, those places of the soul that the force and floods of horror, of rage, of desolation, and of utter defeat have worn so smooth over such a long time.tumblr_ntxz2cvGXA1s5neh1o1_500
You are there…and it may seem so utterly dislocated and strange to you that you sometimes are bewildered, sometimes bemused, and always befuddled that the failure of humanity and the fucked-upness of specific humans can simultaneously be so powerless and so crushing.

I have not seen anyone else in these places.  I say this to you to encourage you…and also to disabuse you of the notion that there is any exit except death…there isn’t.  And that is such a good thing.  I am dead-living proof!!  No, you do NOT want to have come this far only to have some small parts of yourself left alive to be like “trichinosis of the heart”, just parasitically causing you to vomit up the food that God gives, the bread from heaven.

There is a company that forms in each generation…it is the company of the dead-living and it is the opposite of the living-dead.  There are not a lot of beings in it at any one time?  And yet there are whole halls of heaven that are full of nuffin but these royal noble cavaliers!  Hebrews 11 is the way they are described in the bible, but I prefer to see them for what they are:  anti-zombies.
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You have figured out why zombies are such an attractive modern myth, have you not?  I mean, think about it:  dead people, who ambulate, and are compelled to bite other people and infect them with the exact death they shamble in…or, given whatever mythos you subscribe to, they may even eat the brains, or consume the flesh, whatever…the point is, they take other healthy people and reproduce their death in those people and enslave them to the same doom.tumblr_nq5vc0hxpU1qz9v0to5_1280

Well “anti-zombies” do just the opposite.

But how is it that the dead-living can accomplish this work?

You know…now.  You know.

We must die…die the death of the One who has gone before, and be resurrected in that One now dead to ourselves and alive in the Living One’s life…and there is nothing that can come thru that except thru the gate of death…thru the Eye of the Needle…nothing else but you can get thru.

Thus the layers…thus the experience of getting burned, thinking okay this is the last level…then a new level of sorrow, thinking okay that was it…and a new level…and so on and so one.

My love…do not lose hope or feel sorry for yourself.  Behold what manner of Love the Father has given unto you!  Turn!  Look around, see who is remaining, and look into their eyes, deep!  LOOK!!!

*Charissa stops typing, waits*

Who else do you really want?  You have been thru the fires!  You have seen the worst, and the best thing about that is it is so ridiculously benign and dorky…it is now ready to become lovable and precious and your absolute best asset.  We are promised that Their Perfect Strength is perfected in our weakness, and thus it is that we begin to literally and honestly boast in weakness so that Their strength may be made perfect!18c3032daf033968d7ebd9cd091f3a2e
Anyway, as I was saying, I am aware that myriads of our company has been formed in a manner like unto the same one as I have endured…but I have never seen anyone else wandering the particular halls that have been mine to both haunt and inhabit in grace…and there you are.

I think perhaps it is because Mama has given me to be the “Virgil” to your “Dante”?  Weak Metaphor, but the notion of one who has been in the crucible, died a few times in the crucible, and been raised/risen after these deaths and now ready, willing, and able to encourage, exhort and edify you as you make your way along the path of losing all to gain Hearts Like Theirs.

I wish I could do more…I wish I could give you sumfin, grant sumfin, wave my wand and holler out some magic word that would “get er dun” and release you into the freedom found only under the mercy…but that would leave the work incomplete, and your faith and trust would be in me rather than in the only One who can grant that very thing but in the form which lasts eternally and transforms wholly other into that New Creation of which Immanuel is the first fruits and older brother.

What I can do is leave you lil packs of food…leave you canteens…make my slash marks on the barren tree-trunks and scratch my hieroglyphics on the walls of limestone so smooth, so implacable…they look a bit like bones, don’t they?  Cool to the touch, smooth, lacking flesh or any hint that there was ever any life in them…and yet…barcelona_above___revisited_by_coigach-d9h3eeg
…and yet, place your fingertips upon their surface…see how they shimmer when you do!!  See how they pulse with promise and throb with anticipation of the coming flames that are the Phoenix-Flames.wg441_ghost_1This morning, I was remembering a particularly difficult stretch, waaaay back in the 80s…it was so strange back then, to be so young and feel so old and weary…and there were the oddest collection of souls that came my way in various places and times and ways and means.  One of the best was the New Wave groups that became somewhat popular during these days…Talking Heads, The Clash (yes, I call them New Wave and Not Punk), Joy Division, Public Image LTD (the implosion of the Sex Pistols birthed that group)…and one of my very faves Echo and the Bunnymen.  Their music got me thru so much.

Take a listen to these tunes…and you can turn the music up and SCREAM THE LYRICS AT THE TOP OF YOUR FRIKKIN LUNGS!!!  Giggles…it is soooo freaking freeing.  And as you listen, think about young Charissa, wandering the halls even back then, and now a topsider who walks among zombies uninfected tho not unbitten.
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When your head pops out of the ground, it will be to spring, for you will see no shadows.

In the meantime, know that you are never alone…not for a moment, because I am thinking of you, carrying you like a beloved book-bag, holding you like a precious journal that must be written in everyday, and scrawling my prayers onto the Face of God like I desperately scratched my thoughts onto the livres of that long ago tome.

I have just re-read this…there are whole outlines inside each sentence…if you want them, they fall vertically from the words, and are hyperlinked to your shut eyes and open inner vision as you think, as you listen, as you weep…and know that the tears shall be sweet and cleansing, and you will be glad in the Lord for every single ounce of suffering.tumblr_llz2o0zzP51qisir0o1_500
I am not blowing smoke…I am not giving you platitudes.  This shit is real, and you are gonna lose all things…except for the things that are you and are the flesh and blood gifts of the Goodness of God.  But all the things that need to go because they keep you allergic to zombie-venom and thus vulnerable to becoming one of them?  They are gonna go…up in flames, thru your fingers, gone.

And you will find yourself still here.  And pretty soon, it will be time for the gathering of stones (now is the time for casting them away).  And it will be time to light the grill, and cook some fish, some turkey, whatever…and beyond that?  I don’t see anything.

Wanna know why?  Because there is no beyond that!!  That is the whole point!  It is then that the what-you-do’s and the things-you-say’s are so ordinary to you, and so extra-ordinary to those who need medicine in the soul!

In the meantime…here are a couple of songs from one of the cadre that kept me alive in the 80s, and the knowledge that other feet have trod the paths of the dead…and emerged laffing our fool heads off!tumblr_nyhozchyuh1qat5pio1_400
I love you…and JD…what can I say to you that we did not already say before we knew we knew one another?

 

I’m Right Here

Originally posted on Cages and Keys:
I’m here. I’m here. I’m right here…and I am not well ? Squatting in the ashes, scraping festering sores And there you are…right there Cold eyes deliberately unseeing Cadaverous hearts, pickled and pristine ? I…

President Obama’s Tenure Has Been More “Christian” Than His Critics Will Ever Admit

Source: President Obama’s Tenure Has Been More “Christian” Than His Critics Will Ever Admit

My Dear Brother in the Faith has hit another one dead on the button…this is a fantastic article and it summarizes soo much better than I can what my very own thoughts and feelings are regarding Barack Obama.

Full disclosure…I was a full on opponent of Obama in 2008.  He has been incredible…and I cannot in fairness say that he surprised me.  All I can truly say is he was/is himself…it is I who have changed…Hopefully I have grown and shrunk both, for both are necessary.

What John says…big time.

Heaven Or Hell

So many people these days judge me…they dramatically confuse my gender journey with some sort of sexual expression and/or indulgence…and there is not any sort of intersection between these two.  Let me try to explain.

Like the graphic below says, sexuality for me is an expression of, a following result of something far greater and grander.

I think that sexuality is sacred and precious…and also the ultimate powerful created thing, for from sexuality a human being created in God’s Image can emerge…and no, that doesn’t mean that I think sex is for procreation only.  But because that potential is there, the act itself is an act of being, and as such it is transformative…

…it is gonna change you, in essential fundamental ways.

Thus…for me?  Sexuality that happens apart from true and lifelong committed love is simply hell, for it ultimately serves to sever the human soul from all relationships except relationship with self and self alone (which is the best description of hell that I can think of)…

Sexuality that happens in the context of a committed and lifelong monogamous relationship?

The closest thing to heaven that I have experienced this side of its Eternal Shores.

I know I am in a vast minority of people…those who both celebrate sexuality and its essential vital importance to a whole life…and also advocate its selective expression…as a symbolic act of worship and fidelity.

I love you, my Dearest Darling.
Forever