I didn’t even know there was this genre of music, and shortly after Mama did some miraculous things in my life, I heard about this concert of these dudes called “Lamb”…and I was like “what the heck, let’s go”.
Well, I started to cry about 2 minutes in and wept the entire time, just so moved by their down to earth love of God and love of humans.
If you put this on and let it play, I think you will be glad you did…
the cold winter snows
of death and separation
fall over the earth
each year, fall over
us all someday.
but look close,
see the nails
in the boards
pried back hard
and away for good
our loved ones
wait on the other
side, where the
grass is truly greener
and He has gone thru
first and waits too
busy building
preparing
a House
a Table
a Feast of Friends
forever
| — | Mother Teresa |
I see you there, still
underneath your words
underneath your pain
underneath your masks
deep beneath the strain
of putting every thing that hurts
all that grew from choices made
all that sprung from things not done
all that you have fearful run
from and still found it there within
though the darkness haunt you long
I will hover in the song
that I have sung your whole life long
and love the you I see there, still
I see you still…underneath
Me, In Response (Giggling Stifled)
the way Mama fills the void with light
the way Mama inhabits the space in my friend
the way my friend inhabits the holes in me
the way of Love
could figure out this riddle
could dissolve this mystery
of your love for me
not his slouchy raincoats
not his glass eye glinting
not his nasty cigar waving
(that wet wad wandering
don’t they all??)
there’s joy in them there hills
and gold in that there heart
that hides from every searcher
except for me
it’s there so certain
so obviously
and no one else
can find it
not even Columbo
i am burning
the insides, today…
for you i am
burning my cleansings
the insides of my veins
the insides of my organs
the hidden, the deepest,
the most secret
places i burn for you,
for your face
you are core inside core
inside me and the day
i chose to be
tattooed inside
by you inside
with you
was the day
my life was ever
set on high
and rendered ever
always
you see
you remember,
rags of past
times torn asunder
from their loom
where they were
so careful woven
to lay precious
ones under
well i have
made a fire of me
my insides (you)
and see the smoke,
how it cleanses
your self-recriminations
from your lungs
and replaces
them with us
my insides
which are you
pulsing thru me
coursing thru me
like wild horses
in spain
(see their flying manes)
under that rainy thunder sky
while torrents plunge
pelt pungent
onto the plains
so dry
and the smell
of hot rock
so dry
of heated flint
so dry
and flying dust
so dry
struck from sky
by fierce waters fallen
from on high
in our house
in us
we are made
clean in our love
forever.
the best decision
i ever made was you
in all your icy-fire ways
fiery-ice inside and me
ever entranced and held
ever committed to hold
both nurtured
i’d do it over again,
all again
longer than karma
(see her?
cruel imitation
with her puny wheel)
I saw this quote just now…and I want to comment on it afterwards. Read on:
“It annoys me so much when people take advantage of someone’s kindness.”
Please note: if a person is truly being kind, it is impossible to “take advantage”…you have already been given advantage. Any “taking” involved is just your mental gymnastics performed to justify something within yourself…the mere propping up of an ego-centered and self-oriented world view that fosters the idea that anything good must be taken.
The humiliation of receiving…it is a huge stumbling block for so many, and yet the privilege of being kind can overcome it.
Because kindness is only kindness if it is given with an open hand and a priori of any sort of reaction by the recipient.
How you respond to kindness given says nothing about me and everything about you.
Why not choose and act in kind?
Those
broken shards,
*scream*
those brittle,
bright blasted shards
jagged and hungry and
so shockingly absent.
They yawn with full belly
and ravenous soul for more
death, more hurt, more
*unlife*
but I have them
in my sights, now.
I shall throw me down
on my sister’s wounds
I shall bleed my heart dry
with balm from Gilead and
I shall cry out
in constant consolation
from her inward parts
while our
Strong Soldier Sisters Stand
round about us outside and ringed
in winged-woman-might
and tender hearts
so knit,
so tight.
And in
your death place
I find
life transcendent
And in
my own
your laugh rings
so resplendent
we will survive
our screams,
our tears,
our grief
and rest together
in Mama’s Sweet Relief.
here…coffee and cats, warm and sweet
and the window thin and clear
between me and out there
clouds close and quiet
and laying soft, snuggling over rainy earth
and you, thoughts of your life
snuggling in the base of my throat
sweet and thick, hurty-hearty present
and I morosely serene…staring
out the window at this grey new
spring morning.
thinking of beach bright you,
spring grey me
Kánte Dikaiosýni̱s. Agápi̱ Éleos. Perpatí̱ste Tapeiná.
Charissa
3 Lies We Need to Stop Telling About ‘Negative People’ — Everyday Feminism.
Very good article, and it addresses yet another binary prison.
Constance, your pursuit of happiness is not going to be actualised in the elimination of people you think of as negative…
…and this is largely because true happiness is something that has everything to do with who you are or are not, not others. Haven’t you noticed yet that every single “rilly rilly kewl” person you meet eventually does something or says something or is something that is unpleasant or (gasp) *negative*?
And I will say this, but speak for myself alone: I take a certain pride and joy in interacting with “Eeyore” people, and then bringing joy to them.
How in the world is anyone ever going to influence anyone anywhere for joy?
People who are toxic and will destroy you if you let them? Okay, those people you would be wise to avoid if possible, or if not then be suited and booted around.
But people who are simply “negative” are likely reminding you of something about yourself that needs changing, and so Charissa says keep them around, and learn to grow! Give them some grace.
Someday you’re gonna need some for yourself.
Do Justice. Love Mercy. Walk Humbly.
Charissa
“I regret opening up to some people; they didn’t deserve to know me like that”
— this. (via sixtyy-two)
When someone says “I’m just being honest” what they almost always mean is “I am choosing to put myself before you, my feelings before you, my comfort over yours…and then make it all okay with the tattoo across your forehead of ‘honesty'”.
Honesty is the sincere grappling with what is right, cleanest, highest and best in any given situation, and honesty without tact is simple aggravated assault of the soul…
It is the overall good that is the most honest thing, orientation, goal.
And you darn well better make sure that you have standing with a person, deep deposits of presence and consistent serving before you make a raid on the account in the name of “just being…”
gawd, that sharp glinty knife
coming at me quick (again)
that edge, sliding softly and then
slipping in past that tender push back
and then into me, and the skin splits
and the layers melt side-side
like butter giving way easy and quick
before that silver edge honed true.
and the top of me falls away
and there below gapes the rest of me
me, of the rest, prickly and pokey
and all artichokey…and another stroke
of the blade downward-sweeping
and turning, graceful curving
to scrape my sides and scour them
of all those chokes, every mis-spoke…
and then into hot water, steamy
scourging, softening, sweetening…
and edible at last…
a tender Heart-not-choked
this lil artichoke
Her Name Was Taylor, by Lori Duron
Constance, I often run across the statement “This has to stop” in connection with accounts of the bullying and suicide epidemics that transgender people face. And that is good, that people are beginning to get it, the monstrous othering and policing that we face every single G Dam day of our lives simply because we were “guilty” of being born into this life with the knowledge that our gender orientation and our assigned birth biology are at odds.
But I am restive with the ease with which in this internet age we can flourish our fingers over a keyboard and then move on from post with the feeling that we have actually “done something”, when all we have actually done is in effect restate the problem without attempting resolution. It is sorta like having a math test and re-writing the problem
6 + 11 = x as
x = 11 + 6 (and we be sure to draw attention to our use of different colored font and italics).
Compassion is a bicameral quality. It has two lobes. It has the feeling, heart lobe…that throbbing, dripping, bleeding tender outpouring of sympathetic alignment if we have not experienced something for ourselves (and just so you know: if you are not transgender, it is impossible for you to empathize with a dysphoric person, just as if you are white you cannot empathize with a person of color…you can sympathize, but don’t deceive yourself into thinking you empathize)…
…but for it to be true compassion, it must have the action side as well. What will you do with your sympathy?
Lori Duron has again posted a truly moving recounting of a tragic tale of bullying and othering and policing that ended in another transgender life lost…and I will recite yet again the litany of 2015: a lost transgender life approximately every 30 hours since 2015 began!
As if it is not enough of a burden to face: the nearly overwhelming unendurable constant achy angst of dysphoria. Oh no…to that is added the onslaught of ignorance, fear, and hatred as expressed in the evil of bullying which drives so many to self-destructive action in addition to having to bear gender dysphoria!
But Lori goes one better: She posts people you can email, places you can step up and actually take action that extends beyond the hypothetical feel good phrase “This has to stop” and manifests in real, measurable action…and takes baby steps as a compassionate act.
And then I myself will go you one better: there are marches coming up in major cities…in June. They have various names, monikers…but at heart they are the same, in that they are opportunities for you to express–directly–your support with your body side by side with other bodies, facing gawkers and haters, the curious and disinterested, and others who have walked in solitary confinement in their skins…
Transgender Pride Marches.
Yes, there will be people there who look different than you…who walk or talk different than you…and who want/feel/think/need/deserve exactly the same things you do as human beings! Your presence there as an ally will mean more to them than any of them can say…in addition to the emails you write or the lawmakers you contact, or the PTA meetings you attend to make your cis-gender privileged voice heard that it is not going to be tolerated, this epidemic of transgender suicide and murder…and your other actions that you are thinking of and planning to take.
You are thinking of them? Actions to take? Plans to do something? Someone you can maybe even smile at? Befriend?
In the Portland Area, I believe Transgender Pride March Day is June 13th. I hope to be there and intend to be, God willing. I intend to walk, with a sense of presence and dignity (a word I use very reluctantly right now as it has been wielded against me like a sharp phallic sword to rape my heart and spirit, but I use it none the less to mean a sense of presence that contains worth and significance simply because I am a human being)…I intend to hold my head high and not angled down, and my eyes moving from face to face and eye to eye rather than always staring at the space in between…
I hope to see you there, beside me…cis, trans. But if I don’t? It would mean the world to see you standing at the curb, a smile on your face and a nod in your eyes.
This has to stop…this expression of emotion that lacks the manifestation of action.
If you don’t support in word and deed, then you don’t support.
We were connected and vital, and love flowed
we were enough for our lack and love covered all
we heard our hearts speak louder than hate
and louder than failure and laughed in the night
and tender was our time, we thought would last
forever.
“‘They never built these places with winter in mind’
Out the window down the gray road
You can see old walled monastery
Now become a barracks for the paramilitary police”
Hii.
I have been turning easier these days.
Oh I always fit snug, I had been cut right
for that elaborate crocheted lock
in your tough tender heart.
You sized me up well
with nary even an eye laid on,
just an ear tuned to sounds
of a deft touch and trustworthy twist
of key in lock, snik! Tumble, and open.
But remember? How there was that
rattle, jiggle back and forth jitterbug
of hand and key, and lock unmoved?
That was edged catching on tumblers
and still skert stiff sidewalls inside
hearts eager, afraid and brave
all at once…
edges filing away
time whiling away
we, twirling in this journey
sailing, sitting, smiling
and fitting key
in lock, so fitting.
One of the most compelling arguments that gender orientation resides somewhere other than genitalia is in intersexed people. Because with both sets of genitalia present, there is still a gender orientation self-perceived! Which proves that gender orientation resides somewhere other than that genitalia.
Just like it does for transgender people…
…just like it does for cis-gender people.
There is no reason to hate, no reason to reject…except for one’s own predilection for fear and ignorance.
In light of this nova-burst
I want to thank you for silver
I want to thank you for gold
I want to thank you for stardust
I am truly grateful that you would
check on me, earthbound here
and shackled by this self-gravity.
I really feel so awkward all the time
Cus I look for freedom as a voracious reader
of pages, of faces, of hearts
and suns gone nova.
Going Nova…
that explains perfectly how disconnected I feel
in my heart from all that while grasping
in my mind exactly what they are saying
and why they are saying it!
And feeling so goddamned guilty for even being…
always, feeling so goddamned guilty for even being.
Never ever had a choice in that, and untold time and tears
toiling in trying to be other…
Going Nova…
I guess that’s a choice I make inside my heart
as I float between me and those shimmery stars
that woo me so…
anyway I am trying to say sorry to you for something
but I don’t even know what it is or how to say it…
sorry…nova…for what I am, who I am?
Charissa, trying to survive this human experience
in a body and brain at constant odds…is that me and what I am?
I am a girl and have always been and have no need to prove that I am
(and couldn’t anyway, even if I did) God knows
patriarchal fists slam into me trying to beat the woman outta me,
feminist talons slash my skin trying to tear the woman offa me…
while my own nails I keep razor sharp and always ready to rip that male biology
right outta such dumb DNA that’s so much less than me.
Anything I say can be construed as lack of humility because
I never had a chance at solidarity in biological sisterhood with you
and remaining silent can be the height of arrogance because
it reeks of presumption and I am neither or both or all
(silent, arrogant, presumptuous)
I am Going Nova.
I try my best to be a tender soul, to be a gentle soul and do good
and bring honor to woman and women by how I live, how I draw close
to my God Who has been, is and always will be Mama…
the Wise, the Comforter, My Helper in this time of death
hiding behind Hosannas and Hail Caesars.
Please hear my heart, but if you don’t the fault is mine
in all my dark and clumsy lack, so let your eyes
do all the happy work of ears and see me in these words…
Going Nova on Palm Sunday
“Those who love you
are not fooled by mistakes you have made
or dark images you hold about yourself.
They remember your beauty when you feel ugly;
your wholeness when you are broken;
your innocence when you feel guilty;
and your purpose when you are confused.”
— Alan Cohen
| — | Emily Giffin, Heart of the Matter |
To put it another way, I don’t think we’re called to imitate Jesus, but I do think we’re called to follow Jesus. There’s a subtle difference. Following Jesus implies an ongoing relationship, not merely imitating a really good guy who lived and died 2,000 years ago. Following Jesus implies that we might end up somewhere new doing things that are new—things that aren’t reflected in scripture because we inhabit a very different world than Jesus did. Even if we believe that Jesus was fully God, that doesn’t mean that Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection tell us all there is to know about God. God is still working, God exists beyond the limits of history (even Jesus’s history as a man), and God promises to do a new thing within us.
Following Jesus implies forward movement, striving for a destination, which we might call “the kingdom,” as Jesus did. And as you know if you’ve ever taken a leisurely Sunday road trip or cross-country adventure or European rail journey, there is far more than one way to travel to get to the same destination.
via Why “What Would Jesus Do?” Isn’t Exactly the Right Question.
| — | Rachel Van Dyken, Shame |
| — | Biance Sparacino (How To Ruin Your Life Without Even Noticing That You Are) |
When ‘midst the gay I meet
That gentle smile of thine,
Though still on me it turns most sweet,
I scarce can call it mine:
But when to me alone
Your secret tears you show,
Oh, then I feel those tears my own,
And claim them while they flow.
Then still with bright looks bless
The gay, the cold, the free;
Give smiles to those who love you less,
But keep your tears for me.
The snow on Jura’s steep
Can smile in many a beam,
Yet still in chains of coldness sleep,
How bright soe’er it seem.
But, when some deep-felt ray,
Whose touch is fire, appears,
Oh, then the smile is warm’d away,
And, melting, turns to tears.
Then still with bright looks bless
The gay, the cold, the free;
Give smiles to those who love you less,
But keep your tears for me.
Moore, Thomas (1779 – 1852)
Love comes from years
of breathing skin to skin
tangled in each other’s dreams
until each night weaves
another thread in the same
web of blood and sleep and I
have only passed through quickly like
light and you have only surrounded me
suddenly like flame
(1779 – 1852)
Come close, up here, on the porch and draw near where I sit,
hunkered down, clinging close, pressed with all I am
against this barrier thin, austere, and yet impermeable
thru which I see, and speak, and yearn but over cannot cross.
I get naked, bare and slick and covered in Her Oil
and hurl myself hard, fearless, face first pounding in wild flails
until the fists of my heart break and bloody grow within this cage
and sorrow rises right alongside all my heartsick rage
at being born here in this place so richly furnished wrong
at hearing music so distinct but dissonant from my song
Maybe we together can make a crack in this stark mass
and relieve my long days spent here, on the wrong side of the glass.
…warm, snug.
Side by side, sisters
nestled against Her
and to each other
learning how to be white
and to bear all things
as our day dawns (you/me/She)
in all of our colours.
She runs in the canyons
there beneath the smiles,
hidden in the miles.
Around her she throws gleams,
glints, she strews her favors in winter
like flowers cast by gathered throngs
lining her way, ostensibly cheering her on
but really just hungry for blossoms and blessings
and she looks with stark eye, assessing cost
beneath gleams, glints, under
dazzle-cast clouds hiding
and she’s striding, loping
like the lean wolf taught her
in those early years of lashing
words and cutting looks
and her fire unbreakable
burning in that flood that drowned…
it’s canyons for her
when it’s time to tap out.
They are really just the same
as the mountains that she runs
and talks about and paints pictures of
with words and heart brushes
except that no one else knows this,
or sees any difference.
But she
knows, loves
those dry,
clean walls
close and
carved of
living stone
and loving
survival long
wrenched from
the desert’s
clutches.
She’s a true hermit, like those of old,
untouchable in this land and yet such
a product of its austere and strict demands
and she knows she’s a canyon herself,
majestic not in what remains but what is gone.
Sweat runs freely here, and carries toxins back
to their source in the sidewinders and scorpions
and stinging nettles so she doesn’t even bother
for pretty or cute and she has long ago arrived
in beautiful and assessed even that place for what it isn’t,
content with knowing what it is…
she runs in canyons, while I sit,
staring thru rain-streaked windows,
hunkered down in this Oregon deluge
so grey and green and clammy,
so ham-handed and drizzly
imitating the stony walls she runs between
and I absorb this water and channel it,
stream it, spray it against that unrelenting blue sky
that tears the rainbows right outta the water
and waves them like banners in the wind
so she can see where the pit stop is, pause, drink,
squint, wipe the sweat away
(gawd, that impossibly feminine gesture so implacably tough)
She is grit, she has sand…she runs canyons.
*****
Much love to you this day,
from your true friend
and heart sister
Charissa
Do Justice. Love Mercy. Walk Humbly.
Love, Charissa
“People grow when they are loved well.
If you want to help others heal,
love them without an agenda.”
After all this hurt and all this pain
(when would that be? After?
When does that happen?)
I choose silences.
I choose to let myself be haunted by words
rather than speak those rivers
that would erode fabricated realities.
Tonight the wind smells like memories…
oh nothing I can put my finger on,
mind you…just memories
blowing on winds fragrant
with nostalgia and neglect.
I am mindful in these memories
of the language of lilies
and I wonder if I have missed
some great and vital means and end
in their present beauty,
some antidote for anxiety,
some prescription for preoccupation,
some long term cure contained
in short-lived beauty born?
I am mindful of Mary
there in Bethany pouring out
perfume fragrant and pervading
with extravagance
permeating every pore present
and singing the liturgies of lilies
on the winds!
Sweetly, singly soaring over that rukus of disgust and anger
that puffed up, distracted religious men
righteously piled on in their
Canticle to Cacophony!
They hated her…but they hated Him more
for His blindness to her there,
clinging in tears and wild hair
sinner
whore
profligate waster
defiler and defiled!
They hated His stinky feet
smelling of humility and adoration,
perfumed in gratitude and broken beauty
and I think they would hate me, too
sitting silent and choosing
the haunting wind over the haughty story.
I imagine the language of lilies
that day divinely appointed
and here this night now,
I look, listen midst ashes all around me
to catch a glimpse of life
in risk and recognition,
of rising up, above
the toiling, turning,
spinning and weaving…
life lived
simple and poured out
in haunting perfumed
adoration and beauty…
life as a lily,
and how it grows fleeting
and haunted by memories in the wind
and eternity in my heart.
…thank God for the director at the center where I volunteer! She knows what the right thing to do and say is!
So…there was this “specimen” who came to the center today. I know him, and he “knew” me…and did not even come close to recognizing who I was. I was dressed in a very nice American Eagle plaid shirt, soft pink, flannel, and a tie-die spink broomstick skirt, with a black t-shirt top and pink jewelry.
I looked nice.
But as I walked by, I felt his eyes, I felt his derision. I was in his vicinity less than 5 seconds, and yet for some reason he was compelled to refer to me to my director as “a dude in a dress”…
…as in “what’s with the dude in the dress”…
My director simply said “She wanted to wear a dress today”. When he sought to contradict that and reiterate his insult, she stopped him, and repeated herself…and then a third time!
I was soo blessed by that, what she did. She did not try to go into any explanation, she did not differentiate me in any way whatsoever. She simply cut him off, and told him that I wanted to wear that pretty dress today.
I don’t know which was stronger…the resignation and sadness over another insult by another privileged boy, or the gladness and genuine admiration for this strong and steady soul who sees something worthy in me and lays it out straight to anyone who comes around.
I think I will go with the latter…
Do Justice. Love Mercy. Walk Humbly.
Charissa Grace
Dating a Scorpio | POPSUGAR Love & Sex.
All I can tell you is that every single last word? TRUE!!
Good thing I have my lil side-step skitterdance, my lil pincy-pince claws, and my hard briny shell that keeps me from getting kilt!!
Giggles…then again, here is this link…in all fairness:
5 Brutal Truths About Loving A Cancer (As Written By A Cancer) | 
YourTango.
look here, Sis…inside this door
(ignore the shoes on the floor)
feel the smooth cedar sides
and smell the incense promises
of growing into things
when all else stops fitting.
Feel the door? I have been carving there
the promises I hear
broadcast from Mama’s Hair
(it’s in the falling rain, Silly Sis!
I swear! And rainsong is full
of Her promises so clear!)
but push aside all these other clothes,
ones that we can use later for dress-up
when we are high on herb tea
and dreamy…lucid…flying
and feel right here.
Yeah, that’s the one!
I found this, laying in an old hat box!
It was hiding from everyone,
down at Mortie’s Second Hand store!
I brought it to the counter and asked
How Much? He thought I meant the box.
He said he would sell it to me for a song.
I went to open it but his old liver-spotted hand
reached out gnarly but softer than spaghetti
and pressed on mine, and with the smallest shake
of his head he whispered “sing”.
So I did…singing of sun, shining. tomorrow…
Bottom Dollars and love…
and he added tears in harmonic light
Right??! I know! A bargain!
And when I went to try it on,
the dress said “hang me up and wait for Sis!”
So there…just for you…waiting its whole life
for you to step into it
and dance.
Love, me
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
a bed of fresh-washed sheets
and smells of fresh baked bread
waft yellow down my hall
into my twitching nose.
I 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.
My 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.
I 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.
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.
Transgender kids show consistent gender identity across measures.
Good Morning Constance!
I am posting this link for a couple of reasons:
First, because it is educational and will help you in your continuing learning curve regarding gender orientation…it may even inform you some about your own gender orientation, and why you hold it so strongly!
I have long theorized that the intense resistance to gender variant people is at root the projection of the power-holder’s own deeply held gender orientation! Because gender is so hardwired and awareness of it so deeply entrenched, it is impossible to imagine anyone who appears one way on the exterior who is so vastly different on the inside.
In an odd sort of way, the very intensity of the resistance is the affirmation of the phenomenon! All humans are intensely and deeply oriented gender-wise! But what is becoming more and more known is that not all humans have a body whose biological assignment matches that interior orientation.
It’s actually pretty simple.
There is one other thing, though, that this article infers: just because I never said anything to you about my gender dysphoria doesn’t mean that it didn’t exist. Just because I hid it…out of fear of rejection, ostracization, accusation, and ultimately alienation as “the other”…doesn’t mean that it wasn’t there.
By the way…those fears were well founded! All of those things happened to me…sometimes it was by people who didn’t know any better. Sometimes it was by people who do. Regardless…it still happened.
Reader…no one “owes” you a justification for their orientation. You are not on the Judgement Seat, you are not the one who passes muster on this topic about anyone…or, really, on any other topic. It is not your place to make those calls.
It is your place to love God, and love your neighbor with pure religion which is caring for widows and orphans and outcasts. Oh, and if you really want to know someone? Get close enough to sample their life…taste the fruit that is there. This is the one action that Jesus sanctioned as okay per His own words.
Oh wait: I heard the objection to that one, when I was told that it was possible for me to manifest good fruit in my life (such as love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, gentleness, goodness faithfulness, and self control, all things against which there is no law) and still be possessed by a demon!
Seriously, that was communicated to me. The fruits of the Holy Spirit were present in my life by the power of the “transgender demon” that had possessed me! That is sort of like saying that an oak tree was bearing the fruits of an apple tree or a pear tree!
Yes…it was indeed astonishing in its twisting of logic and reason, and yes it was indeed painful that the person who said this went on to say that unless I “got delivered” from this spirit and stopped the dangerous foolishness that is in actuality my transition, the person who said this would no longer associate with me or have anything to do with me or be my friend.
After over 3 decades.
A person who was born and raised in the church and steeped in scripture, who knows full-well Jesus’ words, is showing me the ugly face of modern christendom as expressed to LGTBQ people.
Well…I recall the old old chorus “I Have Decided to Follow Jesus” which contains the verses that say “though none go with me, still I will follow” and “the cross before me, the world behind me”. I am more deeply committed to these words than any other time in my life…and I am finding joy inexpressible and peace like a river in God.
Constance, those of you who read here and are not christian are most likely shaking your heads and muttering that this is why you are not a christian! Sadly, I cannot disagree with you. This is not what it is to be a christian, abandoning people, shunning people…that is what it means to be a religious nut who loves themself more than God.
But please: do not judge God by the insanity of some of Their followers…they know not what they are doing. God is not like they are. Not one bit.
And now we are at full circle, and the true rootedness of gender orientation is on display.
Christian Constance…non-christian Constance…all valued and received and loved by me Charissa…I exhort you to do what you know in your heart is the inarguable truth in relating to human beings in your life: treat them the way you in your heart want to be treated by others, and do so as the proactive person in that transaction!
Don’t sit back and wait until someone does this for you!
Do it now…first! Do it extravagantly, passionately! Do it with undeniable vigor and gusto! Do it, dripping with passion and love and joy and peace and patience and kindness and gentleness and faithfulness and goodness and self control!
And if you fall short? M’eh! Who doesn’t fall short? Since when did the failing to achieve something obviate the goal? Willie Mayes struck out a lot. Michael Jordan missed a lot of game winning shots. John Elway led his team to a couple of bitter Super Bowl defeats. And all three athletes went on to lead their teams to glory and go down in the annals of sports history as among the greats of all-time.
Missing the mark is the best qualifier for your return to the range for more practice!
So practice the golden rule…love one another…and look for ways to affirm everyone you meet in every way you can!
Including gender orientation.
Do Justice. Love Mercy. Walk Humbly.
Charissa Grace
M’aimeras-tu toujours quand je serai trop vieille
Avec plein de rides, que mes seins tomberont
Sous mon corps sage et que mes mains trembleront
Dis me chanteras-tu encore des merveilles.
M’aimeras-tu toujours quand fanera ma fleur
Que ma vue baissera à l’ardeur des étoiles
Et que l’hiver sur moi aura mis son grand voile
Dis feras-tu encore une fois battre mon cœur.
M’aimeras-tu toujours quand ma peau fripera
Que mes cheveux seront aussi blancs que la neige
Que sur mes yeux l’automne aura mis son cortège
Dis pourrais-je à jamais me poser sur tes pas.
M’aimeras-tu toujours quand l’ombre sera fébrile
Que le temps signera de noir mes insomnies
Que l’ocre de ma plume obscurcira ma vie
Dis voudras-tu de moi même si je suis fragile.
M’aimeras-tu toujours quand faiblira ma voix
Et que mes oreilles seront dans le silence
Que le jour et la nuit n’auront plus de nuance
Dis mon amour voudras-tu encore de moi ?
Mystic4Ever
Le 18 Mai 2010
So my baby just told me “Baby, there are times when you are so a teen-age girl!” Wait, whaaa??? Giggles…she is right, of course.
I saw this thing I am posting below, and sooo relate to it, from a gender perspective. The act of solidarity and love is profound and lasting…the phase will likely pass as an aspect of growing.
Constance…be sure your actions strengthen what remains rather than what is transitory.
Good Morning Constance! 🙂
Lately I have been waking and finding myself more rested…spiritually, emotionally, and physically. There are a lot of ways that dysphoria burdened me…a lot of ways. For years I didn’t know what dysphoria was and thus attributed so much of the trauma I lived as just being a function of being me.
It was the primary thing that drove me…straight past religion and into the arms of the God behind the curtain of religion that humans have erected. If it were not for Them, Their love, acceptance, and encouragement, I would have long ago despaired and taken my own life.
Then I began to face my gender issues, get educated on what they were (and weren’t), and the relationship between me and Them blossomed and flourished even more…depths and heights I had no idea of…and the sense of destiny and mission and purpose began to take shape and form! No longer was I here merely to serve out a life sentence in the penitentiary of this flesh, just slogging thru until release. No. I had been formed and fashioned in just such a precise and intricate way so as to be in this place at this time to help set other captives free, to break down walls of oppression and to be part of that rolling river of justice, that mighty stream of righteousness to all peoples.
So that was cool.
But these mornings…finding this new place of peace, liberty…I think it is a deeper connection to God that is derived from congruence and alignment of brain and body due to the HRT that I have been doing…there are fewer filters and a wider open field to run in. And for the last few years, the Person of God I have been encountering most is the Blessed Holy Spirit, the One I affectionately call Mama.
*Oh, and to you, prisoner of patriarchy, who rebuked me for “feminizing God and reducing His Divinity”? To you I say don’t go away mad, just go away…you who “masculinize God, and reduce Their Divinity” The Bible teaches that God created man in Their Image, male and female, and it is very broad in how this is worded, indicating that not only are there some humans assigned to biologically female bodies, and some humans assigned to biologically male bodies, but also that each human being made is both male and female in their creation…because each one is in the Image of God. This would by inference prove that God Themselves transcend gender, as the origin and agency of the creation of human beings! So again…just go away. I don’t receive your judgment and your fear. Perhaps if you just stop, exhale yourself out of yourself so you are at last empty, you may find a humble path to repentance for doing the very things you judge me guilty of. Then inhale the God…who made you…and me…and owns us both.*
Mama…I have written poems about Her, and I urge you to search the blog for the word Mama, and check them out. I rather like them. Mama is so incredible and, well, I am not gonna try to describe Her.
The reason for this post is because a lot of you have been in contact with me and have indicated you would actually show interest in and desire to be in relationship with a God like Mama…but that She is different than the god they were taught of as children when they attended church. That god they want nothing to do with! And who could blame them?
Well, I want to invite you to try out something: I would like to invite you to talk to Her. She was telling me in my heart that She will talk to anyone who approaches Her with an open heart and humble spirit (that means a spirit that knows that it doesn’t know but would love to be taught). And She said to suggest this to you:
If you would like to know Mama…then talk to Her and simply say “Mama, the One that Charissa talks about…I would like to start a dialogue with You. I will show up everyday at the time and place that is established, and I will literally talk with You just as I would my bestie when we go out to coffee.”
If you do this…She will not disappoint, though She will indeed surprise and confound, often times will bring things to you that may make you uncomfortable or downright angry! I know this for a fact from experience. But hang in there, stay present, and above all, be honest. If you get mad, tell Her. Speak from your innermost core…hey, She is God and already knows what is there anyway, so you might as well. I have said literally the worst things I have ever said to anyone to my Mama in those moments…but I didn’t stop there, for She talks back, yeah? She will bring thoughts, new understandings, revelations…
…and awakenings. Spiritual awakenings.
Spiritual awakenings are such a crucial component of being in this life, and they are common to nearly every religious experience and cultural expression. They share a lot of common factors in spite of the various trails that people walk to arrive in them. Here are some components of them:
☾Increased tendency to let things happen rather than making them happen
☾Feelings of being connected to others and nature
☾Overwhelming episodes of appreciation
☾A tendency to think and act spontaneously rather than from fears of past experience
☾A loss of the ability to worry
☾A loss of interest in conflict
☾A loss of interest in interpreting the actions of others
☾A loss of interest in judging others
☾A loss of interest in judging self
☾Gaining the ability to love without expecting anything in return
☾To be so strong that nothing disturbs your peace of mind.
I saw that list this morning, and I wanted to share it with you, but with the Charissa-twist that comes with my connection to Mama:
☾When I am in relationship with Mama, I have an increased tendency to let things happen rather than making them happen.
☾When I am in relationship with Mama, I have feelings of being connected to others and creation
☾When I am in relationship with Mama, I experience overwhelming episodes of appreciation
☾When I am in relationship with Mama, I have a tendency to think and act spontaneously rather than from fears of past experience
☾When I am in relationship with Mama, I have a loss of the ability to worry
☾When I am in relationship with Mama, I have a loss of interest in conflict
☾When I am in relationship with Mama, I have a loss of interest in interpreting the actions of others
☾When I am in relationship with Mama, I have a loss of interest in judging others
☾When I am in relationship with Mama, I have a loss of interest in judging self
☾When I am in relationship with Mama, I am gaining the ability to love without expecting anything in return
☾When I am in relationship with Mama, I am so strong that nothing disturbs your peace of mind
(I was trying to make a rainbow, by the way lol!!)
My point is this: Spiritual Awakening is not an experience…it is a state of being that can be entered into through relationship with a Person…through Mama.
Oh no…you don’t have to enter into connection with Her…there are many beings out there to connect to and not all of them good…but I am in relationship with Her, and I can testify of Her goodness, Her faithfulness, Her steadfast unending love and acceptance, Her humor and fierce sense of Justice, Her unending Tender Mercies…
Mama.
I Love You, Mama
Your girl, Charissa Grace
To a Church That Dehumanizes Gays.
This letter.
Read.
Constance…pure and simple, the church simply must search its heart and come up with a better response than it currently has towards LGTBQ people.
I fear that it may never but for the same reason that so many cis-gender people may never grapple with the discrimination and hatred that is exuded towards transgender people: if it doesn’t affect you, you generally fail to really let it impinge upon your comfort.
When you are impacted by either of these issues, or really any issue, then it changes your heart and opens your eyes.
Blessed are those who would humble themselves and ask for a heart like Jesus and eyes like Mama.
Loving LGBT People Well, 12 Suggestions for Traditional Churches | A Queer Calling.
Good Morning Constance! 🙂 Once again I want to thank you for being here, on Charissa’s Grace Notes with me, and journeying in your own ways from works and death to Grace and Life…your presence here, your comments, your shared humanity brings me hope and adds ammunition for those lonely times in the night when all are sleeping, all is still, and I watch…awake on the walls. ❤ Thank you ❤
So the link above is from an interesting blog that is worth perusing. It lists several suggestions for Christian people to love and serve in ways consistent with the gospel, and likely far more congruent with the heart of Jesus Himself, the Great Friend of Sinners.
We have all heard the old saw “love the sinner and hate the sin”…heck, prolly a whole lot of people who read here have even said that. I have before…much to my great regret…I have indeed. When I did, I didn’t really realize what that said and implied about the person I was speaking to…and even worse what it said and implied about my own heart and self evaluation.
Alas…what I and others were usually saying is we think the loving thing to do is make sure the person knows they are a sinner. And quite simply, this is just not the way that Jesus did things…oh wait! There were times that He outright called people out on their sins! I forgot about those!
Yeah…it was to the Pharisees! Ya know those folks of that day who were the ones who loved to point out how everyone else was a sinner! He ripped them a new one over and over and over again because who they were in their own eyes was more important than who their neighbor is in God’s eyes…and that is fatal.
Of course I am not advocating “loving sin” by opposing the use of that phrase! Don’t be ridiculous! What I am saying is you ought to major in people, and minor in sin management. After all, your skills at sin management must suck, or Jesus would not have felt the need to descend from His state in Heaven, take on human flesh, and then suffer and die for you (ya know, a sinner). Right? If you were capable of managing sin, well then He would have just encouraged and taught you until you got it right!
Jesus never said “love the sinner but hate the sin”, and no one believes that meant that Jesus was compromising, prevaricating, or condoning anything evil. No…Jesus understands one crucial thing:
Saying Yes to Love is far more effective and powerful than saying No to sin.
The true YES renders the no moot.
And that brings me to why I link to this article, because if we are going to discard futile harmful platitudes, then how to we pick up effective and edifying alternatives?
They list a dozen, and they are “process oriented” and not items that you can check off on your daily righteousness list.
They demand that you see the people in your life as your moral equals.
They demand that you give the people in your life the same standing as worthy of God’s love as you have.
They demand that you understand that your perspective is extremely limited and insufficient by definition, as you are a very finite, very imperfect, and very limited being.
As you go, take with you my lil motto that I have pulled from Micah 6. It is a superb guide for keeping it simple and loving. And it has an order of listing for a reason.
Do Justice. Love Mercy. Walk Humbly.
Love, Charissa
‘it’s like a roller coaster!” she said.
her eyes caught the dim light, dark light
that swam in that murky place
awash in muddy music
and clattery chattery din,
they reflected it back
changed and amplified,
pure and clarified
and charged with
that thrill of being alive,
that thrill of being.
“ya gotta let go!” she went on.
my heart was stirred by her words,
like a drink sitting and then a straw
just hops into the drink
and rattles and revolves and churns
the spirits and icecubes
until it refreshes and is spritely
and cries out for lips
on its rim…and sips…yeah…
my heart was ready to be sipped.
“just raise your arms
while you drop and scream
your fool head off
in joyful terror midst the fall!”
and her smile, so lovely to us all
sitting entranced and inspired
must have been so fell, so grim
so terrifying to the forces of hell
that lurked nibbling at the edges
and stealing bites of hearts and souls
with electric metered music teeth
and measured shot-glass jaws.
“cus you’re gonna be held in place
and when you’re done you’ll be
so glad you did…raise your arms!”
and then she tossed her head back
just a couple inches
but whole tides turned on that sweep
like the moon across benighted skies
tugs whole oceans below in some
heavenly waltz or dosie-do! 
her name was Terri
her name is Terri
and i was forever encouraged
in the meeting…and for me the word
terrify
will ever have layers and connotations
because of her,
towering red and turning
the dim to shiny from the inside out
her there across from me
and shiny red and clear all at once
amidst the dim and the dark and the din.
she leaned forward and laughed
a brilliant smile into my soul
and I felt Mama kiss the world
and rested in the moment
a little bit more whole.
“We’re both “The Girl” in the relationship. That’s kinda the point.”
For Part TEN, click HERE
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
The old man was quiet, and then said simply, “Yes. I did.”
“Oh, show us, Grandpa. Please show us,” the children begged in unison.
“Now, now,” protested the old man. “It’s time for bed, you fuzzy heads! Come into my arms and I’ll carry you to your room.
“Oh, Grand-pa!” they wailed, but they obeyed.
He hoisted them like they were babes and turned to leave the fire’s light. He hesitated, and then he strode over to a dark, lifeless lamp, and stood still a moment. The Children, one under each arm, looked at each other excitedly and held their breath.
And then…the old man breathed on the lamp…WHOOSH…and laughed as light
…pure light…
leapt up in the lamp in answer to the call of his breath.
The old man laughed and danced around the room, swinging the children high and breathing upon lamp after lamp
until the whole room had blossomed, ablaze in light, and then he whisked the children out of the room and whirled down the hall to their beds.
***** ***** *****
Some time later, he emerged.
“Hello Father”, came a deep, strong voice.
The speaker was a tall, noble man with grey streaks of wisdom in his beard and a golden crown upon his head.The old man looked up and grinned. “Hello son, err, Your Highness,” he bowed with only a hint of teasing.
“Kids settled in, Father?” asked the King. “I was just coming to tuck them in.”
“Oh yes. I expect you’ll find them ready and waiting. Ready and waiting”.
The king looked at his father…all dressed beautiful red—like blood—and hair white as snow and shining bright.
“You’re putting’ on a little weight, there Father. Your belly looks like jelly!’
“Aye, that it does, son, that it does. Too much ale and good cooking’ I guess.”
“But you look healthy, dad. By the Star—you look like you will live forever!”
The old man threw back his snowy head, pulled his crimson cloak around him, and roared in delight.
“That I may, son, that I may”.
Then he walked down the dark hall to his chambers and as he passed, every dark dormant lamp
blazed on in glorious heavenly echo of the light of his passing.
The King stood and watched him until he disappeared round the corner, and the echoes of his laughter faded in the distance.
“Behold, the Light King”, he said softly. “Behold.
He turned and went in to his children.
The End
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
For Part TEN, click HERE
Charissa's Grace Notes 
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